&stf 


Tffi  GREAT  CRYPTOGRAM: 

B  FRANCtf  BACONS  CIPHER  inTh? 
SO-CALLED  JHAKESPEARE  PL/MM 


B  ByiGNATIU5  DONNELLY,  Author 
of  4AtIdJitiy:TheAntediIuvi2)Ji  Worlds 
"Ra^iajTokOTi?  A£e  of  Fire  ^  Grayer: 


4Xn-d  now  Iwill  vncl&spe&Jeeret  booke 
A^toyourquicke  conceyuing  Difcontents" 
He  re&deyou  Mzviter,  deeped  daaigerouj, 
Ar  full  of  perill  zsrJ  zvduenturou/ Jpirit, 
As  to  o'erwadke  ^Current , roaring  loudt 
Onth*vnftedf<xft  footing  of ^jpe^e." 

MHenrrlV,  ActI,Jc3. 


-Chicago,- 
-Dew  Ifork  an£  Jfon<k>tl- 

!R5iPeaIe&  Company 
18S0, 


\)pj 


COPYRIGHT,   1887, 

By  IGNATIUS  DONNELLY 
[all  rights  reserved.] 


l'N/VER8fT 


To  [*IY  Dear^ 


OQKs 
^jjectionately 
Ded'icated. 


INTRODUCTION 


THE  question  may  be  asked  by  some,  Why  divide  your 
book  into  two  parts,  an  argument  and  a  demonstration  ? 
If  the  Cipher  is  conclusive,  why  is  any  discussion  of  probabili- 
ties necessary  ? 

In  answer  to  this  I  would  state  that,  for  a  long  time  before 
I  conceived  the  idea  of  the  possibility  of  there  being  a  Cipher 
in  the  Shakespeare  Plays,  I  had  been  at  work  collecting  proofs, 
from  many  sources,  to  establish  the  fact  that  Francis  Bacon 
was  the  real  author  of  those  great  works.  Much  of  the  material 
so  amassed  is  new  and  curious,  and  well  worthy  of  preserva- 
tion. While  the  Cipher  will  be  able  to  stand  alone,  these 
facts  will  throw  many  valuable  side-lights  upon  the  story  told 
therein. 

Moreover,  that  part  of  the  book  called  "  Parallelisms  "  will, 
I  hope,  be  interesting  to  scholars,  even  after  Bacon's  authorship 
of  the  Plays  is  universally  acknowledged,  as  showing  how  the 
same  great  mind  unconsciously  cast  itself  forth  in  parallel  lines, 
in  prose  and  poetry,  in  the  two  greatest  sets  of  writings  in  the 
world. 

And  I  trust  the  essays  on  the  geography,  the  politics,  the 
religion  and  the  purposes  of  the  Plays  will  possess  an  interest 
apart  from  the  question  of  authorship. 

I  have  tried  to  establish  every  statement  I  have  made  by 
abundant  testimony,  and  to  give  due  credit  to  each  author 
from  whom   I  have  borrowed. 

For  the  shortcomings  of  the  work  I  shall  have  to  ask  the 
indulgence  of  the  reader.  It  was  written  in  the  midst  of  many 
interruptions  and  distractions ;  and  it  lacks  that  perfection 
which  ampler  leisure  might  possibly  have  given  it. 

As  to  the  actuality  of  the  Cipher  there  can  be  but  one  con- 
clusion. A  long,  continuous  narrative,  running  through  many 
pages,    detailing    historical    events     in    a    perfectly    symmetrical. 


vi  INTRODUCTION. 

rhetorical,  grammatical  manner,  and  always  growing  out  of  the 
same  numbers,  employed  in  the  same  way,  and  counting  from  the 
same,  or  similar,  starting-points,  cannot  be  otherwise  than  a  pre- 
arranged aritfwietical  cipher. 

Let  those  who  would  deny  this  proposition  produce  a  single 
page  of  a  connected  story,  eliminated,  by  an  arithmetical  rule, 
from  any  other  work ;  in  fact,  let  them  find  five  words  that 
will  cohere,  by  accident,  in  due  order,  in  any  publication,  where 
they  were  not  first  placed  with  intent  and  aforethought.  I 
have  never  yet  been  able  to  find  even  three  such.  Regularity 
does  not  grow  out  of  chaos.  There  can  be  no  intellectual 
order  without  preexisting  intellectual  purpose.  The  fruits  of 
mind  can  only  be  found  where  mind  is  or  has  been. 

It  may  be  thought,  by  some,  that  I  speak  with  too  much 
severity  of  Shakspere  and  his  family ;  but  it  must  be  remem- 
bered that  I  am  battling  against  the  great  high  walls  of  public 
prejudice  and  intrenched  error.  ''Fate,"  it  is  said,  "obeys  the 
downright  striker."  I  trust  my  earnestness  will  not  be  mistaken 
for  maliciousness. 

In  the  concluding  chapters  I  have  tried  to  do  justice  to  the 
memory  of  Francis  Bacon,  and  to  the  great  minds  that  first  an- 
nounced to  the  world  his  claim  to  the  authorship  of  the  Plays. 
I  feel  that  it  is  a  noble  privilege  to  thus  assist  in  lifting  the 
burden  of  injustice  from  the  shoulders  of  long-suffering  merit. 

The  key  here  turned,  for  the  first  time,  in  the  secret  wards 
of  the  Cipher,  will  yet  unlock  a  vast  history,  nearly  as  great  in 
bulk  as  the  Plays  themselves,  and  tell  a  mighty  story  of  one  of 
the  greatest  and  most  momentous  eras  of  human  history,  illu- 
minated by  the  most  gifted  human  being  that  ever  dwelt  upon 
the  earth. 

I  conclude  by  invoking,  in  behalf  of  my  book,  the  kindly 
judgment  and  good-will  of  all  men.  I.  D. 


THE  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


BOOK  I.— THE  ARGUMENT. 

PART  I. 

WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE  DID  NOT  WRITE   THE  PLAYS. 

Chapter  I. — The  Learning  of  the  Plays,    -----  13 

II. — Shakspere's  .Education,      -----  27 

III. — Shakspere's  Real  Character,  -  -  -  .44 

IV. — The  Lost  Manuscripts  and  Library,       ...  73 

V. — The  Author  of  the  Plays  a   Lawyer,       -            -            -  IC2 

PART  II. 

FRANCIS  BACON  THE  REAL  AUTHOR  OF  THE  PLAYS. 

Chapter  I. — Francis  Bacon  a  Poet,              .....  I2r 

II. — The  Author  of  the  Plays  a  Philosopher,        -            -  149 

III. — The  Geography  of  the  Plays,            -            -            -            -  :6i 

IV. — The  Politics  of  the  Plays,            -             -           -            -  173 

V. — The  Religion  of  the  Plays,    -----  196 

VI. — The  Purposes  of  the  Plays,          -.--••  212 

VII. — The  Reasons  for  Concealment,          -  246 

VIII. — Corroborating  Circumstances,    -  259 

PART  III. 

PA  RA  LLELISMS. 

Chapter  I. — Identical  Expressions,              -            -            -            -  295 

II. — Identical  Metaphors,        -  335 

III. — Identical  Opinions,       .---..  370 

IV. — Identical  Quotations,        -                        -  397 

V. — Identical  Studies,         -            -            -            -            -            -  41^ 

VI. — Identical  Errors,   ------  437 

VII. — Identical  Use  of  Unusual  Words,     -  444 

VIII. — Identities  of  Character,               -  462 

IX.  —  Identities  of  Style,       -.-...  481 

vii 


viii  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 

BOOK  II.— THE  DEMONSTRATION. 
PART  I. 

THE  CIPHER  IN  THE  PLA  VS. 

Chapter  I. — How  I  Came  to  Look  for  a  Cipher,  -  -  -  505 

II. — How  I  Became  Certain  There  Was  a  Cipher,  -  -  516 

III. — A  Vain  Search  in  the  Common  Editions,  -  -  545 

IV. — The  Great  Folio  of  1623,  -  548 

V. — Lost  in  the  Wilderness,  565 

VI. — The  Cipher  Found,  -  ....  575 


PART  II. 

THE  CIPHER  NARRA  TIVE. 

Chapter  I. — The  Treasonable  Play  of  Richard  II.,                       -           -  619 
II. — The  Treasonable  History  of  Henry  IV.,  Written  by  Dr. 

Hayward,         ...                       ...  630 

III. — The  Cipher  Explained,                -                                     -  639 

IV. — Bacon  Hears  the  Bad  News,          ....  670 

V. — Cecil  Tells  the  Story  of  Marlowe,  ....  688 

VI. — The  Story  of  Shakspere's  Youth,            -            -            -  694 

VII. — The  Purposes  of  the  Plays,       -  702 

VIII — The  Queen  Beats  Hayward,          ...            -  709 

IX. — Cecil  Says  Shakspere  Did  Not  Write  the  Plays,     -            -  718 

X. — Shakspere  Incapable  of  Writing  the  Plays,      -           -  729 

XL — Shakspere  Wounded,      ------  732 

XII. — Shakspere  Carried  to  Prison,       -  740 

XIII. — The  Youthful  Shakspere  Described,              •            -            -  756 

XIV. — The  Bishop  of  Worcester  and  His  Advice,                     -  762 

XV. — Shakspere's  Aristocratic  Pretensions,          -            -           -  770 

XVI. — Shakspere's  Sickness,           .....  784 

XVII. — Shakspere    the   Model    from  which   Bacon    Drew    the 

Characters  of  Falstaff  and  Sir  Tobie,                       -           -  809 

XVIII. — Sweet  Ann  Hathaway,         .....  826 

XIX. — Bacon  Overwhelmed,                           %-  844 

XX. — The  Queen's  Orders  to  Find  Shakspere,            -           -  854 

XXI. — Fragments,            .-.-.--  870 

XXI I.— A  Word  Personal,      ......  889 


BOOK  III.— CONCLUSIONS. 

Chapter  I.— Delia  Bacon,         -  -  ....  899 

II. — William  Henry  Smith,         -  ...  9i6 

III. — The  Baconians,     ..-...--  923 

IV. — Other  Masks  of  Bacon,       -----  939 

V. — Francis  Bacon,     -  -  -  ....  975 


ILLUSTRATIONS, 


Francis  Bacon  — The  True  Shakespeare.     After  the  portrait  by  Van  Somer. 

Frontispiece. 
William  Shakspere.     Facsimile  of  the  celebrated  Droeshout  portrait  in  the 

1623  Folio,     ---------  64 

Ben  Jonson.     After  the  portrait  by  Oliver,               -  96 

Gorhambury.     Bacon's  residence,           ----._  T60 

Sir  Robert  Cecil.      --------  193 

f ac-simile  of  a  page  from  the  author's  copy  of  the  great  folio,        -  566 
Letter  of  Lord  Chancellor  Verulam  (Francis   Bacon)  to  the  University 

of  Cambridge.     Facsimile,     -------  6S0 

Queen  Elizabeth.     After  the  portrait  in  the  collection  of  the  Marquis  of 

Salisbury,               --------  712 

Robert  Devereux,  Earl  of  Essex.     After  the  portrait  in  the  collection  of 

the  Earl  of  Verulam,    -                                      -  632 

William  Henry  Smith,         -                                                       .  920 

William  D.  O'Connor,     --------  928 

Nathaniel  Holmes,                           ......  936 

Mrs.  Constance  M.  Pott,                        -            -            -            -                        -  944 

Dr.  William  Thomson.                      ._....  950 

Prof.  Thomas  Davidson,                         -                                   -                       -  958 


IX 


BOOK  I. 
THE  ARGUMENT 


"Nay;  pray  you  come; 
Or  if  thou  wilt  hold  further  document, 
Do  it  in  note/." 

Much  Ado  about Abthing,  11,3. 


•;T57T? 

OF  THE 

i    VNIYER81TY 


PART    I. 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE  DID  NOT 
WRITE  THE  PLAYS. 


CHAPTER    I. 

THE  LEARNING  REVEALED  IN    THE   SHAKESPEARE 
WRITINGS. 

"  From  his  cradle 
He  was  a  scholar,  and  a  ripe  and  good  one." 

Henry  VIII.,  iz\  2. 

IT  was  formerly  the  universal  belief,  entertained  even  among  the 
critical,  that  the  writings    which  go  by  the  name  of    William 
Shakespeare  were  the  work  of  an  untaught,  unlearned  man. 

Addison  compared  Shakspere1  to  the  agate  in  the  ring  of 
Pyrrhus,  which  had  the  figure  of  Apollo  and  the  nine  Muses 
pictured  in  the  veins  of  the  stone  by  the  hand  of  Nature,  without 
any  assistance  from  Art. 

Voltaire  regarded  him  as  a  "  drunken  savage." 
Pope  speaks  of  him  as  "  a  man  of  no  education." 
Richard    Grant    White    says     Shakspere    was    regarded,    even 
down  to  the  time  of   Pope,  as  "this  bewitching  but  untutored  and 
half-savage  child  of  nature." 

He  was  looked  upon  as  a  rustic-bred  bard  who  sang  as  the 
birds  sing  —  a  greater  Burns,  who,  as  Milton  says,  "warbled  his 
native  wood-notes  wild." 

This  view  was  in  accordance  with  the  declaration  of  Ben  Jon- 
son  that  he  possessed  "  small  Latin  and  less  Greek,"  and  the  state- 

1  Wherever  reference  is  had  in  these  pages  to  the  man  of  Stratford  the  name  will  be  spelled, 
as  he  spelled  it  in  his  will,  Shakspere.  Wherever  the  reference  is  to  the  Plays,  or  to  the  real  author 
of  the  Plays,  the  name  will  be  spelled  Shakespeare,  for  that  was  the  name  on  the  title-pages  of 
quartos  and  folios. 

13 


i4         WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE  DID  NOT   WRITE    THE  PLAYS. 

ment  of  old  Fuller,  in  his  Worthies,  in  1622,  that  "his  learning  was 

very  little." 

Fuller  says: 

Plautus  was  never  any  scholar,  as  doubtless  our  Shakespeare,  if  alive,  would 
confess  himself. 

Leonard  Digges  says: 

The  patterne  of  all  wit, 
Art  without  Art  unparaleld  as  yet. 
Next  Nature  onely  helpt  him,  for  looke  thorow 
This  whole  booke,  thou  shalt  find  he  doth  not  borrow 
One  phrase  from  Greekes,  nor  Latines  imitate, 
Nor  once  from  vulgar  languages  translate. 

Rev.  John  Ward,  Vicar  of  Stratford,  writing  forty-seven  years 
after  Shakspere's  death,  and  speaking  the  traditions  of  Stratford, 
says: 

I  have  heard  that  Mr.  Shakespeare  was  a  natural  wit,  tvithout  any  art  at  all. 

Seventy  odd  years  after  Shakspere's  death,    Bentham,    in   his 

State  of  the  English  Schools  and  Churches,  says: 

William  Shakespeare  was  born  at  Stratford,  in  Warwickshire;  his  learning 
was  very  little,  and  therefore  it  is  more  a  matter  for  wonder  that  he  should  be  a 
very  excellent  poet.1 

But  in  the  last  fifty  years  this  view  is  completely  changed. 
The  critical  world  is  now  substantially  agreed  that  the  man  who 
wrote  the  plays  was  one  of  the  most  learned  men  of  the  world,  not 
only  in  that  learning  which  comes  from  observation  and  reflection, 
but  in  book-lore,  ancient  and  modern,  and  in  the  knowledge  of 
many  languages. 

I.     His  Classical  Learning. 

Grant  White  admits: 

He  had  as  much  learning  as  he  had  occasion  to  use,  and  even  more.2 

It  was  at  one  time  believed  that  the  writer  of  the  plays  was 
unable  to  read  any  of  the  Latin  or  Greek  authors  in  the  original 
tongues,  and  that  he  depended  altogether  upon  translations;  but 
such,  it  is  now  proved,  was  not  the  case. 

The  Comedy  of  Errors,  which  is  little  more  than  a  repro- 
duction   of    the    Menoechmi   of   Plautus,  first   appeared    at    certain 

1  Chap.  19.  2  White,  Life  and  Genius  of  Shakespeare,  p.  256. 


THE   LEARNING  REVEALED   IN    THE  PLAYS. 


*5 


Christmas  revels  given  by  Bacon  and  his  fellow  lawyers,  at 
Gray's  Inn,  in  1594;  while,  says  Halliwell,  "  the  Menoechmi  of 
Plautus  was  not  translated  into  English,  or  rather  no  English 
translation  of   it  was  printed,  before  1595." 

"  The  greater  part  of  the  story  of  Timon  was  taken  from  the 
untranslated  Greek  of  Lucian."1 

"  Shakespeare's  plays,"  says  White,2  "  show  forty  per  cent  of 
Romance  or  Latin  words,  which  is  probably  a  larger  proportion 
than  is  now  used  by  our  best  writers;  certainly  larger  than  is 
heard  from  those  who  speak  their  mother  tongue  with  spon- 
taneous, idiomatic  correctness." 

We  find  in  Twelfth  Night  these  lines: 

Like  the  Egyptian  thief,  at  point  of  death, 
Kill  what  I  love.3 

This  is  an  allusion  to  a  story  from  Heliodorus'  u'Ethiopics.      I  do 

not  know  of  any  English  translation  of  it  in  the  time  of  Shakspere. 

Holmes  says: 

The  writer  was  a  classical  scholar.  Rowe  found  traces  in  him  of  the  Electra 
of  Sophocles;  Colman,  of  Ovid;  Pope,  of  Dares  Phrygius,  and  other  Greek 
authors;  Farmer,  of  Horace  and  Virgil;  Malone,  of  Lucretius,  Statius,  Catullus, 
Seneca,  Sophocles,  and  Euripides;  Stevens,  of  Plautus;  Knight,  of  the  Antig- 
one of  Sophocles;  and  White,  of  the  Alcestis  of  Euripides.4 

White  says: 

His  very  frequent  use  of  Latin  derivatives  in  their  radical  sense  shows  a 
somewhat  thoughtful  and  observant  study  of  that  language.5 

White  further  says: 

Where,  even  in  Plutarch's  pages,  are  the  aristocratic  republican  tone  and  the 
tough  muscularity  of  mind,  which  characterized  the  Romans,  so  embodied  as  in 
Shakespeare's  Roman  plays?  Where,  even  in  Homer's  song,  the  subtle  wisdom  of 
the  crafty  Ulysses,  the  sullen  selfishness  and  conscious  martial  might  of  broad 
Achilles;  the  blundering  courage  of  thick-headed  Ajax  ;  or  the  mingled  gallantry 
and  foppery  of  Paris,  so  vividly  portrayed  as  in  Troilus  and  CreSsida  ? 6 

Knight  says: 

The  marvelous  accuracy,  the  real,  substantial  learning,  of  the  three  Roman 
plays  of  Shakespeare  present  the  most  complete  evidence  to  our  minds  that  they 
were  the  result  of  a  profound  study  of  the  whole  range  of  Roman  history,  in- 
cluding the  nicer  details  of  Roman  manners,  not  in  those  days  to  be  acquired  in  « 
compendious  form,  but  to  be  brought  out  by  diligent  reading  alone.7 

1  Holmes,  A  uthorship  of  Shakespeare,  p.  57.  5  Life  and  Genius  cf  Shakespeare,  p.  31. 

2  Life  and  Genius  cf Shakespeare ,  p.  216.  6  Ibid.,  p.  257. 

3  Act  v,  scene  1.  7  Knight's  Shak.  Biography,  p.  528. 

4  Authorship  of  Shakespeare,  p.  57. 


1 6         WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE  DID  NOT   WRITE    THE  PLAYS. 

And  again: 

In  his  Roman  plays  he  appears  co-existent  with  his  wonderful  characters,  and 
to  have  read  all  the  obscure  pages  of  Roman  history  with  a  clearer  eye  than  philosopher 
or  historian.  When  he  employs  Latinisms  in  the  construction  of  his  sentences, 
and  even  in  the  creation  of  new  words,  he  does  so  with  singular  facility  and  unerring 
correctness.1 

Appleton  Morgan  says: 

In  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  Charmian  suggests  a  game  of  billiards.  But  this 
is  not,  as  is  supposed,  an  anachronism,  for  the  human  encyclopedia  who  wrote  that 
sentence  appears  to  have  known  —  what  very  few  people  know  nowadays  —  that 
the  game  of  billiards  is  older  than  Cleopatra.2 

Whately3  describes  Shakespeare  as  possessed  of  "  an  amazing 
genius  which  could  pervade  all  nature  at  a  glance,  and  to  whom 
nothing  within  the  limits  of  the  universe  appears  to  be  unknown." 

A  recent  writer  says,  speaking  of   the  resemblance  between  the 

Eumenides  of  ^Eschylus  and  the  Hamlet  of  Shakespeare: 

The  plot  is  so  similar  that  we  should  certainly  have  credited  the  English  poet 
with  copying  it,  if  he  could  have  read  Greek.  .  .  .  The  common  elements  are 
indeed  remarkable.  Orestes  and  Hamlet  have  both  to  avenge  a  beloved  father 
who  has  fallen  a  victim  to  the  guilty  passion  of  an  unfaithful  wife;  in  each  case  the 
adulterer  has  ascended  the  throne;  and  a  claim  of  higher  than  mere  mortal 
authority  demands  his  punishment;  for  the  permitted  return  of  Hamlet's  father 
from  the  world  beyond  the  grave  may  be  set  beside  the  command  of  Apollo  to 
Orestes  to  become  the  executive  of  the  wrath  of  Heaven.4 

Knight5  sees  evidence  that  Shakespeare  was  a  close  student  of 
the  works  of  Plato. 

Alexander  Schmidt,  in  his  lexicon,  under  the  word  Adonis,  quotes 

the  following  lines  from  Shakespeare: 

Thy  promises  are  like  Adonis'  gardens, 

That  one  day  bloomed  and  fruitful  were  the  next.6 

Upon  which  Schmidt  comments: 

Perhaps  confounded  with  the  garden  of  King  Alcinous  in  the  Odyssey? 

Richard  Grant  White  says: 

No  mention  of  any  such  garden  in  the  classic  writings  of  Greece  and  Rome  is 
known  to  scholars. 

But  the  writer  of  the  plays,  who,  we  are  told,  was  no  scholar, 

had  penetrated  more  deeply  into  the    lassie  writings  than  his  learned 

critics;  and  a  recent  commentator,  James  D.  Butler,  has  found  out 

the  source  of  this  allusion.    He  says: 

1  Knight's  Shak.  Biography,  p.  528.  6  Knight's  Shak.,  note  6,  act  v,  Merchant  of  Venice. 

2  Some  Shak.  Commentators,  p.  35.  6  1st  Henry  17.,  i,  6. 
8  Shah.  Myth.,  p.  82.  »  vjj(  1I7_I26. 

4  Julia  Wedgewood. 


THE   LEARNING  REVEALED   IN    THE   PLAYS.  17 

This  couplet  must  have  been  suggested  by  Plato.  (Phaedrus,  p.  276.)  The 
translation  is  Jowett's  —  that  I  may  not  be  suspected  of  warping  the  original  to  fit 
my  theory: 

Would  a  husbandman,  said  Socrates,  who  is  a  man  of  sense,  take  the  seeds, 
which  he  values  and  which  he  wishes  to  be  fruitful,  and  in  sober  earnest  plant 
them  during  the  heat  of  summer,  in  some  garden  of  Adonis,  that  he  may  rejoice 
when  he  sees  them  in  eight  days  appearing  in  beauty?  Would  he  not  do  that,  if 
at  all,  to  please  the  spectators  at  a  festival?  But  the  seeds  about  which  he  is  in 
earnest  he  sows  in  fitting  soil,  and  practices  husbandry,  and  is  satisfied  if  in  eight 
months  they  arrive  at  perfection.1 

Here  we  clearly  have  the  original  of  the  disputed  passage: 

Thy  promises  are  like  Adonis'  gardens, 

That  one  day  bloomed  and  fruitful  were  the  next. 

Judge  Holmes2  finds  the  original  of  the  expression,  "the  mind's 

eye,"  in  Plato,  who  uses  precisely  the  same  phrase.     He  also  thinks 

the  passage  of  Plato, — 

While  begetting  and  rearing  children,  and  handing  in  succession  from  some  to 
others  life  like  a  torch,  and  even  paying,  according  to  law,  worship  to  the  gods, — 

gave  the  hint  for  the  following  lines  in  Measure  for  Measure: 

Heaven  doth  with  us  as  we  with  torches  do, 
Not  light  them  for  ourselves. 

He  also  finds  in  Plato  the  original  of  Lear's  phrase,  "  this  same 

Earned  Theban." 

Knight  thinks  the  expression, — 

Were  she  as  rough 
As  the  swelling  Adriatic  seas,3  — 

was  without  doubt  taken  from  Horace,4  "of  whose  odes  there  was  no 

translation  in  the  sixteenth  century." 

The  grand  lines  in  Macbeth, — 

And  all  our  yesterdays  have  lighted  fools 

The  way  to  dusty  death.     Out,  out,  brief  candle!  — 

are  traced  to  Catullus.     I  give  the  translation  of  another: 

Soles  occidere  et  redire pos stint. 
Nobis,  cum  semel  occidit  brevis  lux, 
Nox  est perpetuo  una  dor?nienda. 

(The  lights  of  heaven  go  out  and  return. 
When  once  our  brief  candle  goes  out, 
One  night  is  to  be  perpetually  slept.) 

That  beautiful  thought  in  Hamlet, — 

And  from  her  unpolluted  flesh 
May  violets  spring, 5  — 

1  Shakespeariana,  May,  1886,  p.  230.  3  Taming  of  the  Shrew,  i,  2.  5  Act  v,  scene  1. 

2  A  uthorship  of  Shakespeare,  p.  396.  4  Ode  xix,  book  iii. 


1 8         WILLIAM  SIIAKSPERE  DID  NOT   WRITE    THE  PLAYS. 

seems  to  have  had  its  original  in  the  lines  of  Persius: 

Nunc  levior  cippus  non  imprimit  ossa, 
Laudat  posteritas,  nunc  non  e  manibus  ittis, 
Nunc  non  e  tumulo  fortunataque  favilla 
Nascuntur  violce  ? l  — 

which  has  been  translated: 

Will  a  less  tomb,  composed  of  smaller  stones, 
Press  with  less  weight  upon  the  under  bones? 
Posterity  may  praise  them,  why,  what  though? 
Can  yet  their  manes  such  a  gift  bestow 
As  to  make  violets  from  their  ashes  grow? 

W.  O.  Follett  (Sandusky,  Ohio),  in  his  pamphlet,  Addendum 
to  Who  Wrote  Shakespeare,  quotes2  a  remark  of  the  brothers 
Langhorne  in  the  preface  to  their  translation  of  the  Lives  of  Plu- 
tarch, to  this  effect: 

It  is  said  by  those  who  are  not  willing  to  allow  Shakspere  much  learning,  that 
he  availed  himself  of  the  last  mentioned  translation  [of  Plutarch,  by  Thomas 
North].  But  they  seem  to  forget  that,  in  order  to  support  their  arguments  of  this 
kind,  it  is  necessary  for  them  to  prove  that  Plato,  too,  was  translated  into  English 
at  the  same  time;  for  the  celebrated  soliloquy,  "  To  be  or  not  to  be,"  is  taken 
almost  verbatim  from  that  philosopher;  yet  we  have  never  found  that  Plato  was 
translated  in  those  times. 

Mrs.  Pott  has  shown  in  her  great  work3  that  very  many  of  the 
Latin  quotations  found  in  Francis  Bacon's  sheets  of  notes  and 
memoranda,  preserved  in  the  British  Museum,  and  called  his  Pro- 
mus of  Formularies  and  Elegancies,  are  either  transferred  bodily  to 
the  plays  or  worked  over  in  new  forms.  It  follows,  therefore,  that 
the  writer  of  the  Plays  must  have  read  the  authors  from  whom 
Bacon  culled  these  sentences,  or  have  had  access  to  Bacon's  manu- 
script notes,  or  that  he  was  Bacon  himself. 

In  the  Promus  notes  we  find  the  proverb9  "Diluculo  surgere  sa/it- 
berrimum." 

Sir  Toby  Belch  says  to  Sir  Andrew  Aguecheek: 

Approach,  Sir  Andrew;  not  to  be  a-bed  after  midnight  is  to  be  up  betimes, 
and  diluculo  stirgere,  thou  knowest.4 

Again: 

Qui  dissimulat  liber  non  est.    (He  who  dissembles  is  not  free.)5 

In  Shakespeare  we  have: 

The  dissembler  is  a  slave,6 

1  Sat.  i.  3  Promus,  pp.  31-38.  5  Promus  notes,  folio  83  C. 

4  Page  7.  4  Twelfth  Night,  ii,  3.  6  Pericles,  i,  1. 


THE  LEARNING  REVEALED  IN   THE   PLAYS.  19 

Again,  in  the  Promus  notes,  we  have: 

Divitice  impedimenta  virtu tis.     (The  baggage  of  virtue.) 

Bacon  says: 

I  cannot  call  riches  better  than  the  baggage  of  virtue. 

Shakespeare  says: 

If  thou  art  rich,  thou'rt  poor; 
For,  like  an  ass  whose  back  with  ingots  bows, 
Thou  bearest  thy  heavy  riches  but  a  journey, 
Till  death  unloads  thee.1 

Again: 

Mors  et  fugacem  persequitur  virum.     (Death  pursues   even  the  man  that  flies 
from  him.) 

Shakespeare  has: 

Away!  for  death  doth  hold  us  in  pursuit.2 

And  again: 

Mors  omnia  solvit.     (Death  dissolves  all  things.) 

Shakespeare  has: 

Let  heaven  dissolve  my  life.3 
And  again: 
Hoc  solum  scio,  quod  nihil  scio.     (This  only  I  know,  that  I  know  nothing.) 

Shakespeare  has: 

The  wise  man  knows  himself  to  be  a  fool.4 
Again: 
Tela  honoris  tenerior.     (The  stuff  of  which  honor  is  made  is  rather  tender.) 

Shakespeare  has: 

The  tender  honor  of  a  maid.5 

Again: 

Tranquillo  qui  libet  gubernator. —  Eras.  Ad.  4496.     (Any  one  can  be  a  pilot  in 
fine  weather.) 

Shakespeare  says: 

Nay,  mother, 
Where  is  your  ancient  courage?     You  were  used 
To  say,  extremity  was  the  trier  of  spirits; 
That  common  chances  common  men  could  bear; 
That  when  the  sea  was  calm  all  boats  alike 
Showed  mastership  in  floating.6 

1  Measure  /or  Measure,  iii,  i.  4  As  You  Like  It,  v,  i. 

13d  Henry  VI.,  ii,  5.  5  All's  Well  that  Ends  Well,  iii,  5. 

8  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  iii,  2.  6  Coriolanus,  iv,  1. 


2o         WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE  DID  NOT   WRITE    THE  PLAYS. 

Again: 

In  aliquibus  manetur  quia  Hon  datur  rvgressus.  (In  some  [places]  one  has 
to  remain  because  there  is  no  getting  back.) ' 

And  in  Shakespeare  we  find: 

I  am  in  blood 
Stepped  in  so  far,  that,  should  I  wade  no  more, 
Returning  were  as  easy  as  go  o'er.'2 

Again: 

Frigus  adurit.     (Cold  parches.) 

And  Shakespeare  says: 

Frost  itself  as  actively  doth  burn.3 
Again: 
Anosce  teipsiu.     (Know  thyself.) 

Shakespeare  has: 

Mistress,  know  yourself.4 
He  knows  nothing  who  knows  not  himself.5 
That  fool  knows  not  himself.6 

I  could  cite  many  other  similar  instances,  but  these  will  doubt- 
less be  sufficient  to  satisfy  the  reader. 

II.     His  Knowledge  of  the  Modern  Languages. 

It  furthermore  now  appears  that  the  writer  of  the  plays  was 
versed  in  the  languages  and  literature  of  France,  Italy,  and  even 
Spain;  while  he  had  some  familiarity  with  the  annals  and  tongues 
of  Northern  Europe. 

As  to  the  French,  whole  pages  of  the  plays  are  written  in  that 
language.7 

His  knowledge  of  Italian  is  clearly  proved. 

The  story  of  Othello  was  taken  from  the  Italian  of  Cinthio's  II  Capitano  More, 
of  which  no  translation  is  known  to  have  existed;  the  tale  of  Cymbeline  was  drawn 
from  an  Italian  novel  of  Boccaccio,  not  known  to  have  been  translated  into  English, 
and  the  like  is  true  of  other  plays.8 

Richard  Grant  White9  conclusively  proves  that  the  writer  of 
Othello  had  read  the  Orlando  Furioso  in  the  original  Italian;  that  the 
very  words  are  borrowed  as  well    as  the    thought;    and  that    the 

1  Promns  notes,  No.  1361.  6  Troilus  and  Cressida,  ii,  1. 

•  Macbeth,  iii,  4.  Henry  J'. 

8  Hamlet,  iii,  4.  8  Holmes,  Authorship  of  Shakespeare,  p.  58. 

*  As  You  Like  It,  iv,  1.  9  Life  and  Genius  of  Shakespeare,  p.  35. 
6  A  IPs  Well  that  Ends  Well,  ii,  4. 


R8ITY 


s 


THE  LEARNING  RE  VEALED   IX    THE   PLA  VS.  2 1 

author  adhered  to  the  expressions  in  the  Italian  where  the  only 
translation  then  in  existence  had  departed  from  them.  The 
same  high  authority  also  shows  that  in  the  famous  passage, 
"  Who  steals  my  purse  steals  trash,"  etc.,  the  writer  of  Othello 
borrowed  from  the  Orlando  Innatnorato  of  Berni,  "of  which  poem  to 
this  day  there  is  no  English  version.'' 

The  plot  of  the  comedy  of  Twelfth  Night;  oh\  What  You  Will,  is 
drawn  from  two  Italian  comedies,  both  having  the  same  title, 
GVInganni  (The  Cheats),  both  published  before  the  date  of  Shake- 
speare's play,  and  which  Shakespeare  must  have  read  in  the  original 
Italian,  as  there  were,  I  believe,  no  English  translations  of  them. 

The  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona  is  supposed  to  have  been  written 
several  years  before  1598,  the  year  when  Bartholomew  Yonge's 
translation  of  the  Diana  of  Jorge  de  Montemayor  was  published  in 
England;  and  Halliwell  believes  that  there  are  similarities  between 
Shakespeare's  play  and  Montemayor's  romance  "too  minute  to  be 
accidental."  If  this  is  the  case  we  must  conclude  that  Shakespeare 
either  read  some  translation  of  the  romance  in  manuscript  before 
1598,  or  else  that  he  read  it  in  the  original.     Says  Halliwell: 

The  absolute  origin  of  the  entire  plot  has  possibly  to  be  discovered  in  some 
Italian  novel.  The  error  in  the  first  folio  of  Padua  for  Milan,  in  act  ii,  scene  5,  has 
perhaps  to  be  referred  to  some  scene  in  the  original  novel.  Tieck  mentions  an  old 
German  play  founded  on  a  tale  similar  to  The  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona;  but  it  has 
not  yet  been  made  accessible  to  English  students,  and  we  have  no  means  of 
ascertaining  how  far  the  resemblance  extends. 

It  further  appears  that  Shakespeare  found  the  original  of  The 
Merchant  of  Venice  in  an  untranslated  Italian  novel.    Mr.  Collier  says: 

In  the  novel  II  Pecorone  of  Giovanni  Fiorentino,  the  lender  of  the  money 
(under  very  similar  circumstances,  and  the  wants  of  the  Christian  borrower  arising 
out  of  nearly  the  same  events)  is  a  Jew;  and  there  also  we  have  the 

equal  pound 
Of  your  fair  flesh,  to  be  cut  off  and  taken 
In  what  part  of  your  body  pleaseth  me. 

The  words  in  the  Italian  are  lichel  Giudeo gli potesse  levare  una  libra  di  came 
d'addosso  di  qualumque  luogo  e'  voiesse,"  which  are  so  nearly  like  those  of 
Shakespeare  as  to  lead  us  to  believe  that  he  followed  here  some  literal  translation 
of  the  novel  in  //  Pecorone.  None  such  has,  however,  reached  our  time,  and  the 
version  we  have  printed  at  the  foot  of  the  Italian  was  made  and  published 
in  1765. ! 

Mrs.    Pott,  in  her  great   work,  calls  attention  to   the  following 

1  Introduction  to  the  Adventures  of  Gianetta,  Shakespeare's  Library,  part  i,  vol.  i,  p.  315. 


22         WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE  DID  NOT   WRITE    THE  PLA  VS. 

Italian  proverb,  and  the  parallel  passage  in  Lear.    No  one  can  doubt 

that  the  former  suggested  the  latter: 

Non  far  cib  che  tu  puoi; 
Non  spender  cib  che  tu  hai; 
Non  creder  cib  che  tu  odi; 
Non  dir  cib  che  tu  sat. ' 

(Do  less  than  thou  canst; 
Spend  less  than  thou  hast; 
Believe  less  than  thou  hearest; 
Say  less  than  thou  knowest.) 

While  in  Shakespeare  we  have: 

Have  more  than  thou  showest, 
Speak  more  than  thou  knowest, 
Lend  less  than  thou  owest, 
Ride  more  than  thou  goest, 
Learn  more  than  thou  trowest.'2 

And,  again,  the  same  author  calls  attention  to  the  following 
Italian  proverb  and  parallel  passage: 

II  savio  fa  della  necessita  virtu.     (The  wise  man  makes  a  virtue  of  necessity.)  s 

Shakespeare  says: 

Are  you  content  to  make  a  virtue  of  necessity  ?4 

The  same  author  calls  attention  to  numerous  instances  where 

the  author  of  the  plays  borrowed  from  Spanish  proverbs.     I  select 

one  of  the  most  striking: 

Desque  naci  I  lore  ye  cada  dia  nace  porque.  (When  I  was  born  I  cried,  and  every 
day  shows  why.) 

Shakespeare  has: 

When  we  are  born  we  cry,  that  we  are  come 
To  this  great  stage  of  fools.5 

In  Love's  Labor  Lost6  we  find  the  author  quoting  part  of  an 
Italian  proverb: 

Vinegia,   Vinegia, 

Chi  non  ti  vede  ei  non  ti  pregia. 

The  proverb  is: 

Veaetia,   Venetia,  chi  non  tivede,  non  ti  pregia , 
Ala  chi  t'ha  troppo  veduto  ti  dispregia. 

The  plot  of  Hamlet  was  taken  from  Saxo  Grammaticus,  the 
Danish   historian,   of    whom,   says  Whately,  writing  in    1748,  "no 

1  Protuus,  p.  524.  3  Promus,  p.  525.  5  Lear,  iv,  6. 

*  Lear,  i,  6.  4  T11J0  Grntlejuen  of  Verona  x  iv,  1.  6  Act  iv,  scene  2. 


THE  LEARNING  REVEALED   IN    THE   PLAYS.  23 

translation  hath  yet  been  made."1  So  that  it  would  appear  the 
author  of  Hamlet  must  have  read  the  Danish  chronicle  in  the  orig- 
inal tongue. 

Dr.  Herman  Brunnhofer,  Dr.  Benno  Tschischwitz  (in  his  Shake- 
speare Forschungen)  and  Rev.  Bovvechier  Wrey  Savile2  all  unite  in 
believing  that  the  writer  of  Hamlet  was  familiar  with  the  works  of 
Giordano  Bruno,  who  visited  England,  1583  to  1586;  and  that  the 
words  of  Hamlet,3  "  If  the  sun  breed  maggots  in  a  dead  dog,  being 
a  god  kissing  carrion,"  etc.,  are  taken  from  Bruno's  Spaccio  delta 
Bestia  Trionfante.  Furthermore,  that  the  author  of  Hamlet  was 
familiar  with  "  the  atomic  theory"  of  the  ancients.  And  the  Rev. 
Bowechier  Wrey  Savile  says: 

Inasmuch  as  neither  Bruno's  Spaccio,  nor  the  fragments  of  Parmenides'  poem, 
On  Nature,  which  have  come  down  to  us,  were  known  in  an  English  dress  at  the 
beginning  of  the  seventeenth  century  (Toland's  translation  of  Bruno's  Spaccio  did 
not  appear  until  1713),  it  would  seem  to  show  that  the  author  of  Hamlet  must  have 
been  acquainted  with  both  Greek  and  Italian,  as  was  the  case  with  the  learned 
Francis  Bacon. 

III.     A  Scholar  Even  in  His  Youth. 

The  evidences  of  scholarship  mark  the  earliest  as  well  as  the 
latest  works  of  the  great  poet;  in  fact,  they  are  more  observable  in 
the  works  of  his  youth  than  in  those  of  middle  life.  Even  the 
writers  who  have  least  doubt  as  to  the  Shaksperean  authorship  of 
the  plays  admit  this  fact. 

White  says  the  early  plays  show  "A  mind  fresh  from  academic 
studies."4 

Speaking  of  the  early  plays,  Prof.  Dowden  finds  among  their 
characteristics: 

Frequency  of  classical  allusions,  frequency  of  puns  and  conceits,  wit  and  image- 
ry drawn  out  in  detail  to  the  point  of  exhaustion.  ...  In  Love' s  Labor  Lost  the 
arrangement  is  too  geometrical;   the  groupings  are  artificial,  not  organic  or  vital. 

Coleridge  was  of  opinion  that 

A  young  author's  first  work  almost  always  bespeaks  his  recent  pursuits. 

And,  hence,  he  concludes  that 

The  habits  of  William  Shakespeare  had  been  scholastic  and  those  of  a  student. 

The  scholarship  of  the  writer  of  the  plays  and  his  familiarity 

with   the   Latin   language   are  also  shown    in   the  use  of   odd   and 

1  A  u  Inquiry  into  the  Learning  of  Shakespeare.         3  Act  ii,  scene  i. 

2  Shakespcariana,  Oct.,  1884,  p.  312.  4  White,  Shakespeare" s  Genius,  p.  257. 


24 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE  DID  NO  T   WRITE    THE  PLA  VS. 


extraordinary  words,  many  of  them  coined  by  himself,  and  such 
as  would  not  naturally  occur  to  an  untaught  genius,  familiar  with 
no  language  but  his  own.     I  give  a  few  specimens: 

Rubrous,  Twelfth  Night,  i,  4.  Evitate,  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  v,  5. 

Pendulous,  King  Lear,  iii,  4.  Imbost,  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  iv,  3. 

Abortive,  Richard  III,  i,  2.  Disnatured,  King  Tear,  i,  4.              [ii,  1. 

Cautelous,  Julius  Cccsar,  ii,  I.  Inaidable,  All's   Well  That  Ends    Well, 

Cautel,  Hamlet,  i,  3.  Unsuppressive,  Julitis  Ccesar,  ii,  1. 
Deracinate,   Troilus  and  Cressida,  i,  3;        Oppugnancy,  Troilus  and  Cressida,  i,  3. 

Henry  V.,  v,  2.  Enskied,  Measure  for  Measure,  i,  5. 

Surcease,  Macbeth,  i,  7.  Legerity,  Hemy  V.,  iv,  1. 

Recordation,  id  Henry  IV.,  ii,  3.  Propinquity,  King  Lear,  i,  1. 

En  wheel,  Othello,  ii,  1.  Credent,  Hamlet,  i,  3. 

Armipotent,  All's  Well  That  Ends  Well,  Sluggardised,    The    Two    Gentlemen    of 

iv,  3.  Ve?'ona,  i,  I. 

Knight  says,  speaking  of  the  word  expedient:1 

Expedient.  The  word  properly  means,  "that  disengages  itself  from  all  entan- 
glements." To  set  at  liberty  the  foot  which  was  held  fast  is  exped-ire.  Shakspere 
always  uses  this  word  in  strict  accordance  with  its  derivation,  as,  in  truth,  he  does 
most  words  that  may  be  called  learned} 

Knight3  also  notes  the  fact  that  he  uses  the  word  reduce  in 
the  Latin  sense,  "to  bring  back." 

IV.     His  Universal  Learning. 

The  range  of  his  studies  was  not  confined  to  antique  tongues 
and  foreign  languages.  He  must  have  read  all  the  books  of  travel 
which  grew  out  of  that  age  of  sea-voyages  and  explorations. 

Dr.  Brinton4  points  out  that  the  idea  of  Ariel  having  been 
pegged  in  the  knotty  entrails  of  an  oak  until  freed  by  Prospero 
was  borrowed  from  the  mythology  of  the  Yurucares,  a  South 
American  tribe  of  Indians,  in  which  the  first  men  were  confined  in 
the  heart  of  an  enormous  bole,  until  the  god  Tiri  let  them  out  by 
cleaving  it  in  twain.  He  further  claims  that  Caliban  is  undoubt- 
edly the  word  Carib,  often  spelt  Caribani  and  Calibani  in  olden 
writers;  and  his  "dam's  god,  Setebvs,"  was  the  supreme  deity  of  the 
Patagonians,  when  first  visited  by  Magellan. 

In  The  Merchant  of  Venice  we  read: 

Bring  them,  I  pray  thee,  with  imagined  speed, 
Unto  the  tranect,  to  the  common  ferry.5 

1  King John,  ii,  1.  2  Knight's  Shak.,  i  History,  p.  24.  3  Richard  III.,  v,  4. 

4  Myths  of  the  New  World,  p.  240,  note.  5  Act  iii,  scene  5. 


THE  LEARNING  REVEALED  IN   THE  PLAYS.  25 

Of  this  word  Knight  says: 

No  other  example  is  found  of  the  use  of  this  word  in  English,  and  yet  there  is 
little  doubt  that  the  word  is  correct.  T7-anare  and  trainare  are  interpreted  by 
Florio  not  only  as  to  draw \  which  is  the  common  acceptation,  but  as  to  pass  or  swim 
over.     Thus  the  tranect  was  most  probably  the  tow-boat  of  the  ferry. x 

In  King  John  we  have: 

Now,  by  my  life,  this  day  grows  wondrous  hot; 
Some  airy  devil  hovers  in  the  sky, 
And  pours  down  mischief.2 

Collier  changed  airy  to  fiery,  "which,  we  may  be  sure,"  he  says, 
"was  the  word  of  the  poet."  But  Knight  turns  to  Burton  and 
shows  that  he  described  "aerial  spirits  or  devils,  who  keep  most 
quarter  in  the  air,  and  cause  many  tempests,  thunder  and  light- 
ning," etc.  And  he  also  referred  to  the  fact  that  "  Paul  to  the 
Ephesians  called  them  forms  of  the  air.**     Knight  adds: 

Shakspere  knew  this  curious  learning  from  the  schoolmen,  but  the  correctors 
knew  nothing  about  it. 

We  have   another  instance,  in  the  following,  where  the  great 

poet  knew  a  good  deal  more  than  his  commentators. 

In  Romeo  and  Juliet  he  says: 

Are  you  at  leisure,  holy  Father,  now; 

Or  shall  I  come  to  you  at  evening  mass  ?  3 

Upon  this  Richard  Grant  White  says: 

If  he  became  a  member  of  the  Church  of  Rome  it  must  have  been  after  he 
wrote  Romeo  and  Juliet,  in  which  he  speaks  of  "  evening  mass;  "  for  the  humblest 
member  of  that  church  knows  that  there  is  no  mass  at  vespers.4 

But  we  have  the  authority  of  the  learned  Cardinal  Bona  that 
the  name  mass  was  given  to  the  morning  and  evening  prayers 
of  the  Christian  soldiers.  Salvazzio  states  that  the  name  was 
given  to  the  lectures  or  lessons  in  matins.  In  the  "  Rule  of 
St.  Aurelian  "  it  is  stated  that  at  Christmas  and  on  the  Epiphany 
six  masses  are  to  be  read  at  matins,  from  the  prophet  Isaiah,  and  six 
from  the  gospel;  whilst  on  the  festivals  of  martyrs  the  first  mass  is 
to  be  read  from  the  acts  of  the  martyrs.  In  his  rule  for  nuns  the 
same  holy  Bishop  tells  them  that,  as  the  nights  are  long,  they  may  1 
recite  three  masses  at  the  lectern.  As  the  female  sex  could  not 
act  as  priests,  it  is  plain  that  the  word   mass    was  formerly  the 

1  Knight's  Shak.  Com.,  p.  240.  3  Act  iv,  scene  r. 

2  Act  iii,  scene  2.  4  Life  and  Genius  of  Shak.,  p.  187. 


26        WILLIAM    SLLAKSPERE   DLD   NOT    WRITE    THE   PLAYS. 

synonym  for  prayers,  and  did  not  mean,  as  nowadays,  exclusively 
the  great  sacrifice  of  the  church;  and  therefore  "  evening  mass  " 
simply  means  the  evening  service.  In  fact,  as  Bishop  Clifford 
shows,  the  word  mass  or,  as  it  was  written  in  Anglo-Saxon, 
masse,  came  to  be  regarded  as  the  synonym  for  feast ;  hence, 
Candlemas,  lammas,  Michaelmas,  etc.,  are  the  feast  of  candles,  the 
feast  of  loaves,  the  feast  of  St.  Michael,  etc.  "  Moreover,  mass 
being  the  chief  religious  service  of  the  Catholic  Church,  the  word 
came  to  be  used  in  the  sense  of  church  service  in  general.  Evening- 
mass  means  evening  service  or  vespers." 

What  a  curious  reaching-out  for  facts,  in  a  day  barren  of 
encyclopaedias,  is  shown  in  these  lines: 

Adrian.  Widow  Dido,  said  you?  You  make  me  study  of  that:  she  was  of 
Carthage,  not  of  Tunis. 

Gonzalo.     This  Tunis,  sir,  was  Carthage. 

Adrian.     Carthage? 

Gonzalo,     I  assure  you,  Carthage.1 

V.     Our  Conclusion. 

We  commence  our  argument,  therefore,  with  this  proposition: 
The  author  of  the  plays,  whoever  he  may  have  been,  was  unques- 
tionably a  profound  scholar  and  most  laborious  student.  He  had 
read  in  their  own  tongues  all  the  great,  and  some  of  the  obscure 
writers  of  antiquity;  he  was  familiar  with  the  languages  of  the 
principal  nations  of  Europe;  his  mind  had  compassed  all  the  learn- 
ing of  his  time  and  of  preceding  ages;  he  had  pored  over  the 
pages  of  French  and  Italian  novelists;  he  had  read  the  philosoph- 
ical utterances  of  the  great  thinkers  of  Greece  and  Rome;  and  he 
had  closely  considered  the  narrations  of  the  explorers  who  were 
just  laying  bare  the  secrets  of  new  islands  and  continents.  It  has 
been  justly  said  that  the  plays  could  not  have  been  written  with- 
out a  library,  and  cannot,  to-day,  be  studied  without  one.  To 
their  proper  elucidation  the  learning  of  the  whole  world  is  neces- 
sary. Goethe  says  of  the  writer  of  the  plays:  "He  drew  a  sponge 
over  the  table  of  human  knowledge." 

We  pass,  then,  to  the  question,  Did  William  Shakspere  possess 
such  a  vast  mass  of  information?  —  could  he  have  possessed  it? 

1  Tempest,  ii,  i. 


CHAPTER    II. 

THE  EDUCATION  OF   WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE. 

Touchstone.    Art  thou  learned  ? 

William.     No,  sir. 

Touchstone.    Then  learn  this  of  me :  to  have  is  to  have. 

As   You  Like  It,  v,  i. 

TT  must  not  be  forgotten  that  the  world  of  three  hundred  years 
ago  was  a  very  different  world  from  that  of  to-day. 
A  young  man,  at  the  present  time,  can  receive  in  the  backwoods 
of  the  United  States,  or  Canada,  or  in  the  towns  of  Australia,  an 
education  which  Cambridge  and  Oxford  could  not  have  afforded 
to  the  noblemen  of  England  in  the  sixteenth  century.  That  tre- 
mendous educator,  the  daily  press,  had  then  no  existence.  Now 
it  comes  to  almost  every  door,  bringing  not  only  the  news  of  the 
whole  world,  but  an  abstract  of  the  entire  literary  and  scientific 
knowledge  of  the  age. 

I.     England  in  the  Sixteenth  Century. 

Three  hundred  years  ago  the  English-speaking  population  of  the 
world  was  confined  almost  altogether  to  the  island  of  Great  Britain, 
and  the  refinement  and  culture  of  the  island  scarcely  extended 
beyond  a  few  towns  and  the  universities.  London  was  the  great 
center,  not  only  of  politics,  but  of  literature  and  courtly  manners. 
The  agricultural  population  and  the  yeomanry  of  the  smaller 
towns  were  steeped  to  the  lips  in  ignorance,  rude  and  barbarous 
in  their  manners,  and  brutal  in  their  modes  of  life. 

They  did  not  even  speak  the  same  language.  Goadby  tells  us 
that,  when  the  militia  met  from  the  different  counties  to  organize 
resistance  to  the  invasion  of  the  Spaniards, 

It  was  hard  to  catch  the  words  of  command,  so  pronounced  were  the  different 
dialects.1 

Simpson  says  : 

If  cattle-driving  was  to  be  interpreted  as  levying  war,  all  England  at  harvest 
tide  was  in  a  state  of  warfare.     The  disputes  about  tithes    and  boundaries   were 

1  Goadby,  England of  Shak.,  p.  83. 


28       WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE  DID  NOT    WRITE    THE   PLAYS. 

then  usually  settled  by  bands  of  armed  men,  and  the  records  of  the  Star-Chamber 
swarm  with  such  cases.1 

The  cots  or  dwellings  of  the  humble  classes  in  Shakspere's  time 
were,  as  the  haughty  Spaniard  wrote,  in  the  retgn  of  Elizabeth's 
sister,  built  "of  sticks  and  dirt." 

"People,"  says  Richard  Grant  White,  "corresponding  in  posi- 
tion to  those  whose  means  and  tastes  would  now  insure  them  as 
much  comfort  in  their  homes  as  a  king  has  in  his  palace,  and  even 
simple  elegance  beside,  then  lived  in  houses  which  in  their  best 
estate  would  seem  at  the  present  day  rude,  cheerless  and  confined, 
to  any  man  not  bred  in  poverty."2 

II.     Stratford  in  the  Time  of  Shakspere. 

The  lives  of  the  people  were  coarse,  barren  and  filthy. 

Thorold  Rogers  says: 

In  the  absence  of  all  winter  roots  and  herbs,  beyond  a  few  onions,  a  diet  of 
salted  provisions,  extending  over  so  long  a  period,  would  be  sure  to  engender 
disease;  .  .  .  and,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  scurvy  and  leprosy,  the  invariable  results  of 
an  unwholesome  diet,  were  endemic,  the  latter  malignant  and  infectious  in 
medieval  England.  The  virulence  of  these  diseases,  due  in  the  first  instance  to 
unwholesome  food,  was  aggravated  by  the  inconceivably  filthy  habits  of  the  people* 

Richard  Grant  White  says: 

Stratford  then  contained  about  fifteen  hundred  inhabitants,  who  dwelt  chiefly 
in  thatched  cottages,  which  straggled  over  the  ground,  too  near  together  for  rural 
beauty,  too  far  apart  to  seem  snug  and  neighborly;  and  scattered  through  the 
gardens  and  orchards  around  the  best  of  these  were  neglected  stables,  cow-yards 
and  sheep-cotes.  Many  of  the  meaner  houses  were  without  chimneys  or  glazed 
windows.  The  streets  were  cumbered  with  logs  and  blocks,  and  foul  with  offal, 
mud,  muck-heaps  and  reeking  stable  refuse,  the  accumulation  of  which  the  town 
ordinances  and  the  infliction  of  fines  could  not  prevent  even  before  the  doors  of  the 
better  sort  of  people.  The  very  first  we  hear  of  John  Shakespeare  himself,  in  1552, 
is  that  he  and  a  certain  Humphrey  Reynolds  and  Adrian  Quiney  "  fecerunt 
sterquinarium,"  in  the  quarter  called  Henley  Street,  against  the  order  of  the  court; 
for  which  dirty  piece  of  business  they  were  "in  misericordiaf  as  they  well 
deserved.  But  the  next  year  John  Shakespeare  and  Adrian  Quiney  repeated  the 
unsavory  offense,  and  this  time  in  company  with  the  bailiff  himself.4 

Halliwell-Phillipps  says: 

The  sanitary  condition  of  the  thoroughfares  of  Stratford-on-Avon  was,  to  our 
present  notions,  simply  terrible.  Under-surface  drainage  of  every  kind  was  then 
an  unknown  art  in  the  district.  There  was  a  far  greater  amount  of  moisture  in 
the  land  than  would  now  be  thought  possible,  and  streamlets  of  water-power  suffi- 

1  School  of  Shak.,  vol.  i,  p.  60.  3  Work  and  Wages,  Thorold  Rogers,  p.  96. 

2  Life  and  Genius  ofShak.,  p.  17.  4  Life  and  Genius  of  S/iak.,  p.  21. 


THE  EDUCATION  OE    WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE.  2g 

cient  for  the  operation  of  corn-mills  meandered  through  the  town.  This  general 
humidity  intensified  the  evils  arising  from  the  want  of  scavengers,  or  other  effect- 
ive appliances  for  the  preservation  of  cleanliness.  House-slops  were  recklessly 
thrown  into  ill-kept  channels  that  lined  the  sides  of  unmetaled  roads;  pigs  and 
geese  too  often  reveled  in  the  puddles  and  ruts,  while  here  and  there  were  small 
middens,  ever  in  the  course  of  accumulation,  the  receptacles  of  offal  and  of  every 
species  of  nastiness.  A  regulation  for  the  removal  of  these  collections  to  certain 
specified  localities,  interspersed  through  the  borough  and  known  as  common 
dung-hills,  appears  to  have  been  the  extent  of  the  interference  that  the  authorities 
ventured  or  cared  to  exercise  in  such  matters.  Sometimes  when  the  nuisance  was 
thought  to  be  sufficiently  flagrant,  they  made  a  raid  on  those  inhabitants  who  had 
suffered  their  refuse  to  accumulate  largely  in  the  highways.  On  one  of  these 
occasions;  in  April,  1552,  John  Shakespeare  was  fined  the  sum  of  twelve  pence  for 
having  amassed  what  was  no  doubt  a  conspicuous  sterquinarium  before  his  house 
in  Henley  Street,  and  under  these  unsavory  circumstances  does  the  history  of  the 
poet's  father  commence  in  the  records  of  England.  It  is  sad  to  be  compelled  to 
admit  that  there  was  little  excuse  for  his  negligence,  one  of  the  public  stores  of  filth 
being  within  a  stone's  throto  of  his  residence.  ' 

The  people  of  Stratford  were  densely  ignorant.  At  the  time  of 
Shakspere's  birth,  only  six  aldermen  of  the  town,  out  of  nineteen, 
could  write  their  names;  and  of  the  thirteen  who  could  not  read  or 
write,  Shakspere's  father,  John  Shakspere,  was  one. 

Knight  says: 

We  were  reluctant  to  yield  our  assent  to  Malone's  assertion  that  Shakspere's 
father  had  a  mark  to  himself.  The  marks  are  not  distinctly  affixed  to  each  name 
in  this  document.  But  subsequent  discoveries  establish  the  fact  that  he  used  two 
marks  —  one  something  like  an  open  pair  of  compasses,  the  other  the  common  cross.'2 

III.     Shakspere's  Family  Totally  Uneducated. 

Shakspere's  whole  family  were  illiterate.  He  was  the  first  of 
his  race  we  know  of  who  was  able  to  read  and  write.  His  father  and 
mother,  grandfathers  and  grandmothers,  aunts  and  cousins  —  all 
signed  their  names,  on  the  few  occasions  when  they  were  obliged 
to  sign  them,  with  crosses.  His  daughter  Judith  could  not  read 
or  write.  The  whole  population  around  him  were  in  the  same 
condition. 

The  highest  authority  upon  these  questions  says: 

Exclusive  of  Bibles,  church  services,  psalters  and  educational  manuals,  there 
were  certainly  not  more  than  two  or  three  dozen  oooks,  if  so  many,  in  the  whole 
town. 

The  copy  of  the  black-letter  English  History,  so  often  depicted  as  well  thumbed 
by  Shakespeare,  in  his  father's  parlor,  never  existed  out  of  the  imagination.3 

1  Outlines  Life  ofShak.,  p.  18.  2  Knight's  Skak.  Biography,  p.  17. 

3  Halliwell-Phillipps,  Life  ofShak.,  p.  42. 


3° 


WILLIAM   SIIAKSPERE   DID   NOT    WRITE    THE   PLAYS. 


Goadby  says: 


The  common  people  were  densely  ignorant.  They  had  to  pick  up  their 
mother  tongue  as  best  they  could.  The  first  English  grammar  was  not  published 
until  1586.  [This  was  after  Shakspere  had  finished  his  education.]  It  is  evident 
that  much  schooling  was  impossible,  for  the  necessary  books  did  not  exist.  The 
horn-book  for  teaching  the  alphabet  would  almost  exhaust  the  resources  of  any  common 
day  schools  that  might  exist  in  the  towns  and  villages.     Little  if  any  English  was 

TAUGHT  EVEN  IN  THE  LOWER  CLASSES  OF  THE  GRAMMAR  SCHOOLS.1 

Prof.  Thorold  Rogers  says: 

Sometimes  perhaps,  in  the  days  after  the  Reformation,  a  more  than  ordinarily 
opulent  ecclesiastic,  having  no  family  ties,  would  train  up  some  clever  rustic  child, 
teach  him  and  help  him  on  to  the  university.  But,  as  a  rule,  since  that  event, 
there  was  no  educated  person  in  the  parish  beyond  the  parson,  and  he  had  the  anxieties 
of  a  narrow  fortune  and  a  numerous  family.2 

The  Rev  John  Shaw,  who  was  temporary  chaplain  in  a  village 

in   Lancashire   in   1644,  tells  of  an  old   man  of  sixty  years  of  age, 

whose  whole  knowledge  of  Jesus  Christ  had  been  derived  from  a 

miracle  play      "'Oh,  sir,'  said   he,  'I  think  I  heard  of  that  man 

you   speak  of  once    in    a    play    at    Kendall    called    Corpus  ChrisH 

Play  where  there  was  a  man  on  a  tree  and  blood  ran  down.9  " 

IV.     The  Universities  of  That  Day. 

Even  the  universities  were  not  such  schools  as  the  name  would 

to-day  imply. 

The  state  of  education  was  almost  as  unsettled  as  that  of  religion.  The  Uni- 
versities of  Cambridge  and  Oxford  were  thronged  with  poor  scholars,  and  eminent 
professors  taught  in  the  schools  and  colleges.  But  the  Reformation  had  made  sad 
havoc  with  their  buildings  and  libraries,  and  the  spirit  of  amusement  had  affected 
their  studies.3 

The  students  turned  much  more  readily  to  dissipation  than  to 
literature.  In  the  year  1570,  the  scholars  of  Trinity  College,  Cam- 
bridge, consumed  2,250  barrels  of  beer!4 

The  knowledge  of  Greek  had  sensibly  declined,  but  Latin  was  still  cultivated 
with  considerable  success.5 

The  number  of  scholars  of  the  university  fit  for  schoolmasters  was  small. 
"Whereas  they  make  one  scholar  they  n.arre  ten,"  averred  Peacham,  who  describes 
one  specimen  as  whipping  his  boys  on  a  cold  morning  "for  no  other  purpose  than 
to  get  himself  a  heate."  6 

The  country  swarmed  to  such  an  extent  with  scholars  of  the 
universities,  who  made  a  living  as  beggars,  that  Parliament  had  to 
interfere  against  the  nuisance.     By  the  act  of  14th   Elizabeth,  "all 

1  Goadby,  England  of Slink. ,  p.  101.  3  Goadby,  England,  p.  97.  5  Ibid.,  p.  97. 

2  Rogers,  Work  and  linages,  p.  85.  *  Ibid.,  p.  73.  6  Ibid.,  p.  99. 


THE   EDUCATION   OF    WILLIAM   SUA K SP ERE.  31 

scholars  of  the  Universities  of  Oxford  or  Cambridge  that  go  about 
begging,  not  being  authorized  under  the  seal  of  said  universities," 
are  declared  "vagabonds,"  and  punishable  as  such. 

V.     "A  Bookless  Neighborhood." 

If  this  was  the  condition  of  the  two  great  "twins  of  learning," 
sole  centers  of  light  in  the  darkness  of  a  barbarous  age,  we  can 
readily  conceive  what  must  have  been  the  means  of  public  educa- 
tion in  the  dirty  little  hamlet  of  Stratford,  with  its  fifteen  hundred 
untaught  souls,  its  two  hundred  and  fifty  householders,  and  its 
illiterate  officials. 

It  was,  as  Halliwell-Phillipps  has  called  it,  "a  bookless  neigh- 
borhood." 

We  have  the  inventory  of  the  personal  property  of  Robert 
Arden,  Shakspere's  mother's  father,  and  the  inventory  of  the  per- 
sonal property  of  Agnes  Arden,  his  widow,  and  the  will  of  the 
same  Agnes  Arden,  and  any  number  of  other  wills,  but  in  them  all, 
in  the  midst  of  a  plentiful  array  of  "oxenne,"  "kyne,"  "sheepe," 
"pigges,"  "basons,"  "chafyng  dyches,"  "toweles  and  dyepers," 
"shettes,"  "frying  panes,"  "gredyerenes,"  "barrelles,"  "hansaws," 
"knedyng  troghs,"  "poringers,"  "sawcers,"  "pott-hookes,"  and 
"linkes,"  we  do  not  find  reference  to  a  single  book,  not  even  to  a 
family  Bible  or  a  prayer-book.  Everything  speaks  of  a  rude,  coarse 
and  unintellectual  people.  Here  is  an  extract  from  the  will  of 
Agnes  Arden,  Shakspere's  grandmother: 

I  geve  to  the  said  Jhon  Hill  my  best  platter  of  the  best  sort,  and  my  best 
platter  of  the  second  sorte,  and  j  poringer,  one  sawcer  and  one  best  candlesticke. 
And  I  also  give  to  the  said  Jhon  one  paire  of  sheetes.  I  give  to  the  said  Jhon 
my  second  pot,  my  best  pan,   .   .   .  and  one  cow  with  the  white  rump. 

"One  John  Shakspeare,  of  Budbrook,  near  Warwick,  considered 

it  a  sufficient  mark  of  respect  to  his  father-in-law  to  leave  him  'his 

best  boots.'  " 1 

VI.     A   Gross    Improbability. 

It  would  indeed  be  a  miracle  if  out  of  this  vulgar,  dirty,  illiter- 
ate family  came  the  greatest  genius,  the  profoundest  thinker,  the 
broadest  scholar  that  has  adorned  the  annals  of  the  human  race. 
It  is  possible.     It  is  scarcely  probable. 

1  Outlines  Life  of  Shak.,  p.  183. 


32         WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE  DID  NOT   WRITE    THE  PLAYS. 

Professor  Grant  Allen,  writing  in  the  Science  Monthly  of  March 
1882  (p.  591),  and  speaking  of  the  life  of  Sir  Charles  Lyell,  says: 

Whence  did  he  come?  What  conditions  went  to  beget  him?  From  what 
stocks  were  his  qualities  derived,  and  why  ?  These  are  the  questions  that  must 
henceforth  always  be  first  asked  when  we  have  to  deal  with  the  life  of  any  great 
man.  For  we  have  now  learned  that  a  great  man  is  no  unaccountable  accident,  no 
chance  result  of  a  toss-up  on  the  part  of  nature,  but  simply  the  highest  outcome 
and  final  efflorescence  of  many  long  ancestral  lines,  converging  at  last  toward  a 
single  happy  combination. 

Herbert  Spencer  says: 

If  you  assume  that  two  European  parents  may  produce  a  negro  child,  or  that 
from  woolly-haired  prognathous  Papuans  may  come  a  fair,  straight-haired  infant 
of  Caucasian  type,  you  may  assume  that  the  advent  of  the  great  man  can  occur 
anywhere  and  under  any  circumstances.  If,  disregarding  these  accumulated 
results  of  experience  which  current  proverbs  and  the  generalizations  of  psycholo- 
gists alike  express,  you  suppose  that  a  Newton  might  be  born  in  a  Hottentot 
family;  that  a  Milton  might  spring  up  among  the  Andamanese;  that  a  Howard  or  a 
Clarkson  might  have  Fiji  parents:  then  you  may  proceed  with  facility  to  explain 
social  progress  as  caused  by  the  actions  of  the  great  man.  But  if  all  biological 
science,  enforcing  all  popular  belief,  convinces  you  that  by  no  possibility  will  an 
Aristotle  come  from  a  father  and  mother  with  facial  angles  of  fifty  degrees;  and 
that  out  of  a  tribe  of  cannibals,  whose  chorus  in  preparation  for  a  feast  of  human 
flesh  is  a  kind  of  rhythmical  roaring,  there  is  not  the  remotest  chance  of  a 
Beethoven  arising:  then  you  must  admit  that  the  genesis  of  the  great  man  depends 
on  the  long  series  of  complex  influences  which  has  produced  the  race  in  which  he 
appears,  and  the  social  state  into  which  that  race  has  slowly  grown. 

And  it  is  to  this  social  state,  to  this  squalid  village,  that  the 
great  thinker  of  the  human  race,  after  association,  as  we  are  told, 
with  courts  and  wits  and  scholars  and  princes,  returned  in  middle 
life.  He  left  intellectual  London,  which  was  then  the  center  of 
mental  activity,  and  the  seat  of  whatever  learning  and  refinement 
were  to  be  found  in  England,  not  to  seek  the  peace  of  rural  land- 
scapes and  breathe  the  sweet  perfumes  of  gardens  and  hedge-rows, 
but  to  sit  down  contentedly  in  the  midst  of  pig-sties,  and  to  inhale 
the  malarial  odors  from  reeking  streets  and  stinking  ditches.  To 
show  that  this  is  no  exaggeration,  let  me  state  a  few  facts. 

Henry  Smith,  of  Stratford,  in  1605,  is  notified  to  "plucke  downe 
his  pigges  cote,  which  is  built  ner^  the  chappie  wall,  and  the  house 
of  office  there."  And  John  Sadler,  miller,  is  fined  for  bringing  feed 
and  feeding  his  hogs  in  "chappie  lane."  In  1613  John  Rogers,  the 
vicar,  erected  a  pig-sty  immediately  opposite  the  back  court  of 
Shakspere's  residence.  For  one  hundred  and  fifty  years  after 
Shakspere's  death,  Chapel  Ditch,  which  lay  next  to  the  New  Place 


THE  EDUCATION  OF    WILLIAM  SIIAKSPERE. 


33 


Garden,  "  was  a  receptacle  for  all  manner  of  filth  that  any  person 
chose  to  put  there."1  It  was  four  or  five  feet  wide  and  filled  for 
a  foot  deep  with  flowing  filth.  More  than  one  hundred  years 
after  Shakspere's  death,  to-wit,  in  1734,  the  Court  Leet  of  Strat- 
ford presented  Joseph  Sawbridge,  in  Henley  Street,  "  for  not  car- 
ring  in  his  muck  before  his  door."  2 

The  houses  were  thatched  with  reeds.3 

The  streets  were  narrow,  irregular  and  without  sidewalks;  full 
of  refuse,  and  lively  with  pigs,  poultry  and  ravenous  birds.4 

The  highways  were  "foule,  long  and  cumbersome."5  Good 
bridges  were  so  rare  that  in  some  cases  they  were  ascribed  to  the 
devil.  There  was  no  mail  service  except  between  London  and  a 
few  principal  points.  The  postage  upon  a  letter  from  Lynn  to 
London  was  26s.  8d.,  equal  in  value  to  about  §30  of  our  money 
to-day.  The  stage  wagons  moved  at  the  rate  o.f  two  miles  an  hour. 
Places  twelve  miles  apart  were  then  practically  farther  removed 
than  towns  would  now  be  one  hundred  miles  apart.  There  was 
little  or  no  intercourse  among  the  common  people.  Men  lived  and 
died  where  they  were  born. 

There  were  no  carriages.  The  Queen  imported  a  Dutch  coach 
in  1564,  the  sight  of  which  "put  both  man  and  horse  in  amaze- 
ment," remarks  Taylor,  the  water  poet.  "Some  said  it  was  a  great 
crab-shell,  brought  out  of  China,  and  some  imagined  it  to  be  one 
of  the  pagan  temples,  in  which  the  cannibals  adored  the  devil." 
There  were  few  chimneys;  dining-room  and  kitchen  were  all  one; 
"each  one  made  his  fire  against  the  reredrosse  in  the  hall  where  he 
dined  and  dressed  his  meat,"  says  Harrison.  The  beds  were  of 
straw,  with  wooden  bolsters  (like  the  Chinese);  the  people  ate  out 
of  wooden  platters  with  wooden  spoons.  The  churches  were  with- 
out pews  and  full  of  fleas.6 

VII.     The  EnCxLish  People  in  the  Sixteenth  Century. 

The  people  were  fierce,  jovial,  rude,  hearty,  brutal  and  pugna- 
cious. They  were  great  eaters  of  beef  and  drinkers  of  beer.  We 
find  them  accurately  described  in  the  plays: 

1  Outlines  Life  of  Shak.,  p.  429.  3  Goadby's  England  of  Shak.,  p.  16.  5  Ibid. 

2  Ibid.,  p.  205.  4  Ibid.  6  Ibid.,  p.  75. 


W/Y£R8fTY 


34       WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE  DID  NOT    WRITE    THE   PLAYS. 

The  men  do  sympathise  with  the  mastiffs,  in  robustious  and  rough  coming-on, 
leaving  their  wits  with  their  wives;  and  then  give  them  great  meals  of  beef,  and 
iron  and  steel,  they  will  eat  like  wolves  and  fight  like  devils.1 

They  lived  out  of  doors;  they  had  few  books,  and,  of  course,  no 
newspapers.  Their  favorite  amusements  were  bear-baitings,  bull- 
baitings,  cock-fights,  dog-fights,  foot-ball  and  "  rough-and-tumble 
fighting."2  The  cock,  having  crowed  when  Peter  denied  his  Mas- 
ter, was  regarded  as  the  devil's  bird,  and  many  clergymen  enjoined 
cock-throwing,  or  throwing  of  sticks  at  cocks,  as  a  pious  exercise 
and  agreeable  to  God. 

There  were  few  vegetables  upon  the  tables,  and  these  were  largely 
imported  from  Holland.  The  leaves  of  the  turnip  were  used  as  a 
salad.  Vegetables  were  regarded  as  medicines.  No  forks  were  used 
until  161 1,  when  the  custom  was  imported  from  Italy.  Tea  came  into 
England  in  1610,  and  coffee  in  1652.  Beer  or  wine  was  used  with 
all  meals.     Men  and  women  went  to  the  taverns  and  drank  together. 

The  speech  of  the  country  people  was  a  barbarous  jargon:  we 
have  some  specimens  of  it  in  the  plays. 

Take,  for  instance,  the  following  from  Lear: 

Stewart.     Let  go  his  own. 

Edgar.     Chill  not  go,  zir, 

Without  vurther  'casion.     .     .     . 

Let  poor  volke  passe:  and  chud  ha'  bin  zwaggerd  out  of  my  life,  'twould  not 
ha'  bin  zo  long  as  'tis,  by  a  vortnight.  .  .  .  Keepe  out  of  che  vor'ye  or  ice  try 
whither  your  Costard  or  my  Ballow  be  the  harder;  chill  be  plaine  with  you.3 

VIII.     A  Country  School  in  Shakspere's  Time. 

Halliwell-Phillipps  says,  speaking  of  Shakspere's  education  in 
"the  horn-book  and  the  A,  B,  C  ": 

There  were  few  persons  at  that  time  at  Stratford-on-Avon  capable  of  initiating 
him  even  into  these  preparatory  accomplishments.4 

What  manner  of  school  was  it  in  which  he  received  all  the  edu- 
cation ever  imparted  to  him  ? 

The  following  is   Roger  Ascham's  description  of  schools   and 

schoolmasters  in  his  day,    as  quoted  by  Appleton  Morgan,    in    a 

newspaper  article: 

It  is  pitie  that  commonly  more  care  is  had,  yea,  and  that  among  verie  wise 
men,  to  find  out  rather  a  cunnynge  man  for  their  horse,  than  a  cunnynge  man  for 

1  Henry  V.,  iii,  7.  3  Act  iv,  scene  6. 

2  Goadby's  England,  p.  69.  4  Halliwell-Phillipps,  Outlines  Life  of  Shak.,  p.  24. 


THE  EDUCATION  OF    WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE.  35 

their  children.1  .  .  .  The  master  mostly  being  as  ignorant  as  the  child,  what  to 
say  properly  and  fitly  to  the  matter.2  They  for  the  most  part  so  behave  themselves 
that  their  very  name  is  hateful  to  the  scholar,  who  trembleth  at  their  coming-in, 
rejoiceth  at  their  absence,  and  looketh  him  returned  in  the  face  as  his  deadly 
enemy. 

Mr.   Morgan  continues: 

To  the  charges  of  undue  severity,  says  Drake,  "we  must  add  the  accusation 
of  immorality  and  buffoonery.  They  were  put  on  the  stage  along  with  the  zany 
and  pantaloon,  to  be  laughed  at."3 

As  to  school  books,  or  other  implements  of  instruction,  except  the  following, 
viz.  (to  cite  them  in  the  order  in  which  they  were  prized  and  employed):  First,  the 
birch  rod;  second,  the  church  catechism;  third,  the  horn-book  or  criss-cross  row. 
Drake  says,4  the  thirty-ninth  injunction  of  Elizabeth  enacted  that  every  grammar 
school  "shall  teach  the  grammar  set  forth  by  King  Henry  the  VIII.,  of  noble 
memory,  and  continued  in  the  reign  of  Edward  the  VI.,  and  none  other."  This 
was  the  Lily's  Latin  Grammar,  and  its  study  appears  to  have  constituted  the 
difference  between  a  "school"  and  a  "grammar  school."  Drake  adds,  "There 
was,  however,  another  book  which  we  may  almost  confidently  affirm  young 
Shakspere  to  have  studied  under  the  tuition  of  the  master  of  the  free  grammar 
school  at  Stratford,  the  production  of  one  Ockland,  a  panegyric  on  the  characters 
and  government  of  the  reign  of  Elizabeth  and  her  ministers,  which  was  enjoined 
by  authority  to  be  read  in  every  grammar  school."  Another  text-book  which  may 
have  been  extant  was  the  one  referred  to  by  Ascham  as  follows:  "  I  have  formerly 
seen  Mr.  Horman's  book,  who  was  a  master  of  Eton  school.  The  book  itself  could 
be  of  no  great  use,  for,  as  I  remember,  it  was  only  a  collection  of  single  sentences 
without  order  or  method,  put  into  Latin."  But  the  rod  was  for  long  years  the 
principal  instructor.  Peter  Mason,  a  pupil  of  Nicholas  Udal,  master  of  Eton, 
says  he  used  to  receive  fifty-three  lashes  in  the  course  of  one  Latin  exercise.  At 
that  temple  of  learning,  and  from  Dr.  Busby's  time  downward,  the  authorities 
agree  in  giving  it  the  foremost  place  in  English  curriculums. 

In  The  Compleat  Gentleman,  edition  of  1634,  the  author  says  a  country 
school  teacher  "by  no  entreaty  would  teach  any  scholar  further  than  his 
(the  scholar's)  father  had  learned  before  him;  as,  if  he  had  but  only  learned 
to  read  English,  the  son,  though  he  went  with  him  seven  years,  should  go 
no  further.  His  reason  was  that  they  would  otherwise  prove  saucy  rogues  and 
control  their  fathers.  Yet  these  are  they  that  have  our  hopeful  gentry  under 
their  charge." 

Nay,  in  1771,  when  Shakspere  had  been  dead  a  century  and  a  half,  things 
were  about  as  he  left  them.  John  Britton,  who  attended  the  provincial 
grammar  school  of  Kingston,  St.  Nicholas  parish,  in  Wilts,  about  1771-80,  says 
that  he  was  taught  the  "criss-cross  row,"  imparted  by  the  learned  pedagogue 
as  follows: 

Teacher — "  Commether  Billy  Chubb,  an'  breng  the  horren  book.  Ge  ma  the 
vester  in  the  wendow,  you  Pat  Came.  What!  be  a  sleepid?  I'll  wake  ye!  Now, 
Billy,  there's  a  good  bway;  ston  still  there,  an'  mind  what  I  da  za  ta  ye,  an'  whan 
I  da  point  na!  Criss-cross  girta  little  A,  B,  C.  That's  right,  Billy;  you'll  zoon 
lam  criss-cross  row;  you'll  zoon  averg  it,  Bobby  Jiffry!  You'll  zoon  be  a  scoll- 
ard  !     A's  a  purty  chubby  bwoy,  Lord  love  en! " 

1  IVorA-s,  Bennett's  edition,  p.  212.  3  Shak.  and  His  Times,  vol.  i,  p.  97. 

2  Ibid.,  p.  12.  *  Ibid.,  p.  26. 


36        WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE  DID   NOT    WRITE    THE  PLAYS. 

IX.     English  not  Taught  in  the  Schools  of  That  Day. 

And  it  is  very  doubtful,  as  we  have  seen,  whether  English  was 
taught  at  all  in  that  Stratford  school.  It  certainly  was  not  in 
most  of  the  grammar  schools  of  England  at  that  time.  .  Even  White 
is  forced  to  admit  this.     He  says: 

For  book  instruction  there  was  the  free  grammar  school  of  Stratford,  well 
endowed  by  Thomas  Jolyffe,  in  the  reign  of  Edward  IV.,  where,  unless  it  differed 
from  all  others  of  its  kind,  he  could  have  learned  Latin  and  some  Greek.  Some 
English,  too;  but  not  much,  for  English  was  held  in  scorn  by  the  scholars  of  those 
days,  and  long  after.1 

It  will  readily  be  conceded  that  in  such  a  town,  among  such  a 
people,  and  with  such  a  school,  Shakspere  could  have  learned  but 
little,  and  that  little  of  the  rudest  kind.  And  to  this  conclusion 
even  so  stout  a  Shaksperean  as  Richard  Grant  White  is  driven. 
He  says,  in  a  recent  number  of  the  Atlantic  magazine: 

Shakespeare  was  the  son  of  a  Warwickshire  peasant,  or  very  inferior  yeoman, 
by  the  daughter  of  a  well-to-do  farmer.  Both  his  father  and  mother  were  so  igno- 
rant that  they  signed  with  a  mark  instead  of  writing  their  names.  Few  of  their 
friends  could  write  theirs.  Shakespeare  probably  had  a  little  instruction  in  Latin 
in  the  Stratford  grammar  school.  When,  at  twenty-two  years  of  age,  he  fled  from 
Stratford  to  London,  we  may  be  sure  that  he  had  never  seen  half  a  dozen  books  other 
than  his  horn-book,  his  Latin  accidence  and  a  Bible.  Probably  there  were  not  half  a 
dozen  others  in  all  Stratford.  The  notion  that  he  was  once  an  attorney's  clerk  is 
blown  to  pieces. 

Where,  then,  did  he  acquire  the  vast  learning  demonstrated  by 
the  plays? 

X.     Shakspere's  Youthful  Habits. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  child  is  father  to  the  man. 
While  little  Francis  Bacon's  youthful  associates  were  enjoying  their 
game  of  ball,  the  future  philosopher  wras  at  the  end  of  a  tunnel 
experimenting  in  echoes.  Pope  "lisped  in  numbers,  for  the  num- 
bers came."  At  nine  years  of  age  Charles  Dickens  (a  sort  of  lesser 
Shakespeare)  knew  all  about  Falstaff,  and  the  robbery  at  Gad's 
Hill,  and  had  established  the  hope  in  his  heart  that  he  might  some 
day  own  the  handsome  house  in  that  place  in  which  he  afterward 
resided.  It  was  his  habit  to  creep  away  to  a  garret  in  his  father's 
house,  and  there,  enraptured,  pore  oyer  the  pages  of  Roderick  Random, 
Peregrine  Pickle,  Humphrey  Clinker,  Tom  Jones,  The  Arabian  Nights, 

1  Life  and  Genius  of Shak.,  p.  30. 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE. 


37 


The  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  and  Robinso?i  Crusoe.  Dr.  Glennie  tells  us  of 
Byron,  that  in  his  boyhood  "  his  reading  in  history  and  poetry  was 
far  beyond  the  usual  standard  of  his  age.  .  .  .  He  was  a  great 
reader  and  admirer  of  the  Old  Testament,  and  had  read  it  through 
and  through  before  he  was  eight  years  old."  At  fifteen  years  of 
age  Robert  Burns  had  read  The  Spectator,  Pope's  works,  some  of 
Shakespeare's  plays,  Locke's  Essay  on  the  Human  Understanding,  Allan 
Ramsay's  works,  and  a  number  of  religious  books,  and  "had 
studied  the  English  grammar  and  gained  some  knowledge  of  the 
French." 

Genius  is  a  powerful  predisposition,  so  strong  that  it  overrules 
a  man's  whole  life,  from  boyhood  to  the  grave.  The  greatness  of 
a  mind  is  in  proportion  to  its  receptivity,  its  capacity  to  assimilate 
a  vast  mass  of  food;  it  is  an  intellectual  stomach  that  eliminates 
not  muscle  but  thought.  Its  power  holds  a  due  relation  to  its 
greed  —  it  is  an  eternal  and  insatiable  hunger.  In  itself  it  is  but 
an  instrument.     It  can  work  only  upon  external  material. 

The  writer  of  the  plays  recognizes  this  truth.  He  says,  speaking 
of  Cardinal  Wolsey: 

From  his  cradle 
He  was  a  scholar,  and  a  ripe  and  good  one, 
Exceeding  wise,  fair-spoken  and  persuading.1 

The  commentators  have  tried  to  alter  the  punctuation  of 
this  sentence.  They  have  asked,  "How  could  he  be  'a  scholar 
from  his  cradle  '  ? "  What  the  poet  meant  was  that  the  extraor- 
dinary capacity  to  receive  impressions  and  acquire  knowledge, 
which  constitutes  the  basis  of  the  education  of  the  infant,  con- 
tinued with  unabated  force  all  through  the  life  of  the  great  church- 
man. The  retention  of  this  youthful  impressibility  of  the  mind  is 
one  of  the  essentials  of  greatness. 

And  again  the  poet  says: 

This  morning,  like  the  spirit  of  a  youth 
That  means  to  be  of  note,  begins  betimes} 

How  did  William  Shakspere,  the  Stratford-on-Avon  boy,  "  begin 
betimes  "  ? 

In  his  fourteenth  year  it  is  supposed  he  left  school;  but 
there  is  really  no  proof  that  he  ever  attended  school  for  an  hour. 

1  Henry  VIII.,  iv,  2.  2  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  iv,  2. 


38         WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE  DID  NOT  WRITE   THE  PLA  VS. 

White    expresses    the    opinion    that    "William    Shakespeare   was 
obliged  to  leave  school  early  and  earn  his  living." 

At  sixteen,  tradition  says,  he  was  apprenticed  to  a  butcher. 

Aubrey  says: 

I  have  been  told  heretofore  by  some  of  the  neighbors  that  when  he  was  a 
boy  he  exercised  his  father's  trade;  but  when  he  killed  a  calf  he  would  doe  it  in  a 
high  style  and  make  a  speech. 

Rowe,  speaking  for  Betterton,  says,  "  Upon  his  leaving  school 
he  seems  to  have  given  entirely  into  that  way  of  living  which  his 
father  proposed  to  him,"  that  of  a  dealer  in  wool. 

Neither  the  pursuit  of  butcher  or  wool-dealer  could  have  been 
very  favorable  to  the  acquisition  of  knowledge  in  a  rude  age  and  a 
"  bookless  neighborhood." 

But  perhaps  the  boy  was  of  a  very  studious  nature  and  his 
industry  eked  out  the  poor  materials  available  ?     Let  us  see: 

There  is  a  tradition  of  his  youth  setting  forth  that  in  the  neigh- 
boring village  of  Bidford  there  was  a  society — not  a  literary  society, 
not  a  debating  club  like  that  of  which  Robert  Burns  was  a  member 
—  but  a  brutal  crew  calling  themselves  "  The  Bidford  Topers," 
whose  boast  was  that  they  could  drink  more  beer  than  the  "  topers  " 
of  any  of  the  adjoining  intellectual  villages.  They  challenged 
Stratford,  and  among  the  gallant  young  men  who  accepted  the  chal- 
lenge was  William  Shakspere.  The  " Bidford  topers"  were  too 
many  for  the  Stratford  "  topers,"  and  the  latter  attempted  to 
walk  home  again,  but  were  so  besotted  that  their  legs  gave  out, 
and  they  spent  the  night  by  the  roadside  under  a  large  crab-tree, 
which  stands  to  this  day  and  is  known  as  "  Shakspere's  crab."  As  the 
imagination  sees  him,  stretched  sodden  and  senseless,  beneath  the 
crab-tree,  we  may  apply  to  him  the  words  of  the  real  Shakespeare: 

O  monstrous  beast !  —  how  like  a  swine  he  lies.1 

The  first  appearance  of  the  father  is  connected  with  a  filth- 
heap.     The  first  recorded  act  of  the  son  is  this  spirituelle  contest. 

The  next  incident  in  the  life  of  Shakspere  occurred  when  he 
was  nineteen  years  old.  This  was  his  marriage  to  a  girl  of  twenty- 
seven,  that  is  to  say,  eight  years  older  than  himself.  Six  months 
after  the  marriage  their  first  child  was  born. 

1  Taming  of  the  Shrew. 


THE  EDUCATION  OF    WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE. 


39 


But  perhaps,  after  this  inauspicious  match,  he  settled  down  and 
devoted  himself  to  study  ?     Not  at  all. 

The  Reverend  William  Fulman,  an  antiquary,  who  died  in 
1688,  bequeathed  his  manuscript  biographical  memoranda  to 
the  Reverend  Richard  Davies,  rector  of  Sapperton,  in  Gloucester- 
shire, and  archdeacon  of  Lichfield,  who  died  in  1708.  To  a  note 
of  Fulman's,  which  barely  records  Shakspere's  birth,  death 
and  occupation,  Davies  made  brief  additions,  the  principal  of 
which  is  that  William  Shakspere  was  "  much  given  to  all 
unluckinesse  in  stealing  venison  and  rabbits,  particularly  from 
Sir  Lucy,  who  had  him  oft  whipt  and  sometimes  imprisoned, 
and  at  last  made  him  fly  his  native  county,  to  his  great  ad- 
vancement." 

The  man  who  wrote  this  was  probably  born  within  little  more 
than  twenty-five  years  after  Shakspere's  death.  The  tradition 
comes  to  us  also  from  other  sources. 

The  same  story  is  told  by  Rowe,  on  the  authority  of  Betterton, 
who  went  down  to  Stratford  to  collect  materials  for  a  life  of 
Shakspere.     Rowe  says: 

He  had,  by  a  misfortune  common  enough  to  young  fellows,  fallen  into  ill  com- 
pany, and  amongst  them  some,  that  made  a  frequent  practice  of  deer-stealing, 
engaged  him  more  than  once  in  robbing  a  park  that  belonged  to  Sir  Thomas  Lucy,  of 
Charlecote,  near  Stratford.  For  this  he  was  prosecuted  by  that  gentleman, 
as  he  thought,  somewhat  too  severely,  and  in  order  to  revenge  that  ill- 
usage  he  made  a  ballad  upon  him.  And  although  this,  probably  the  first 
essay  of  his  poetry,  be  lost,  yet  it  is  said  to  have  been  so  very  bitter  that 
it  redoubled  the  prosecution  against  him  to  that  degree  that  he  was  obliged 
to  leave  his  business  and  family  in  Warwickshire  for  some  time  and  shelter 
himself  in  London. 

A  pretended  specimen  of  the  ballad  has  come  down  to  us,  a 
rude  and  vulgar  thing: 

A  parliament  member,  a  justice  of  peace, 
At  home  a  poor  scare-crow,  at  London  an  asse. 
If  lowsie  is  Lucy,  as  some  volke  miscalle  it, 
Then  Lucy  is  lowsie  whatever  befall  it. 

He  thinks  himself  great, 

Yet  an  ass  is  his  state; 
We  allow  by  his  ears  but  with  asses  to  mate. 
If  Lucy  is  lowsie  as  some  volke  miscalle  it, 
Sing  lowsie  Lucy  whatever  befall  it. 

And  touching  this  Sir  Thomas  Lucy,  Richard  Grant  White, 
after  visiting  Stratford  and  Charlecote,  speaks  as  follows: 


4o        WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE  DID   NOT    WRITE    THE  PLAYS. 

This  was  a  truly  kindly  nature,  we  may  almost  say  a  noble  soul.  I  am  with 
Sir  Thomas  in  this  matter,  and  if  Shakespeare  suffered  any  discipline  at  his  hands, 
I  believe  that  he  deserved  it.1 

XI.     Shakspere  Goes  to  London. 

He  proceeded  to  London  "  somewhere  about  1586  or  1587,"  say 
his  biographers.  His  twin  children,  Hamnet  and  Judith,  had  been 
born  in  February,  1585. 

We  can  readily  conceive  his  condition.  His  father  was  bank- 
rupt; his  own  family  rapidly  increasing  —  his  wife  had  just  been 
delivered  of  twins;  his  home  was  dirty,  bookless  and  miserable; 
his  companions  degraded;  his  pursuits  low;  he  had  been  whipped 
and  imprisoned,  and  he  fled,  probably  penniless,  to  the  great  city. 
As  his  admirer,  Richard  Grant  White,  says,  "  we  may  be  sure  he  had 
never  seen  half  a  dozen  books  other  than  his  horn-book,  his  Latin 
accidence,  and  a  Bible."  There  is  indeed  no  certainty  that  he  had 
ever  seen  even  the  last  work,  for  neither  father  nor  mother  could 
read  or  write,  and  had  no  use  for,  and  do  not  seem  to  have  pos- 
sessed, a  Bible. 

Says  Halliwell-Phillipps  : 

Removed  prematurely  from  school;  residing  with  illiterate  relatives  in  a  book- 
less neighborhood;  thrown  into  the  midst  of  occupations  adverse  to  scholastic  prog- 
ress, it  is  difficult  to  believe  that  when  he  left  Stratford  he  was  not  all  but  destitute 
of  polished  accomplishments. 2 

To  London  fled  all  the  adventurers,  vagabonds  and  paupers  of 
the  realm.  They  gathered  around  the  play-houses.  These  were 
rude  structures,  open  to  the  heavens  —  sometimes  the  roofless  yard 
of  a  tavern  served  as  the  theater,  and  a  rough  scaffold  as  the  stage. 
Here  the  ruffians,  the  thieves,  the  vagabonds,  the  apprentices,  the 
pimps  and  the  prostitutes  assembled  —  a  stormy,  dirty,  quarrelsome 
multitude.  Here  William  Shakspere  came.  He  was,  we  will  con- 
cede, bright,  keen  and  active,  intent  on  getting  ahead  in  the  world, 
fond  of  money,  but  poor  as  poverty  and  ignorant  as  barbarism. 
What  could  he  do? 

XII.     He  Becomes  a  Horse-holder. 
He  took  to  the  first  thing  that  presented  itself,  holding  horses 
at  the  door  of  the  play-house  for  the  young  gentlemen  who  came  to 
witness  the  performance.     And  this,  tradition  assures  us,  he  did. 

1  England  Without  and  Within,  p.  514.  2  Halliwell-Phillipps,  Outlines  Life  o/Shak.,  p.  63. 


THE  EDUCATION  OF    WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE.  4I 

He  proved  trustworthy,  and  the  youthful  aristocrats  would  call,  we 
are  told,  for  Will  Shakspere  to  hold  their  horses.  Then  his  busi- 
ness faculty  came  into  play,  and  he  organized  a  band  of  assistants, 
who  were  known  then,  and  long  afterward,  as  "  Shakspere's  boys." 
Gradually  he  worked  his  way  among  the  actors. 

XIII.     He  Becomes  a  Call-boy,  and  then  an  Actor. 

Betterton  heard  that  "  he  was  received  into  the  company  at  first 
in  a  very  mean  rank;"  and  the  octogenarian  parish  clerk  of  Strat- 
ford told  Dowdall,  in  1693,  that  he  "was  received  into  the  play- 
house as  a  serviture  " — that  is,  as  a  servant,  a  supernumerary,  or 
"supe."  Tradition  says  he  was  the  prompter's  call-boy,  his  duty 
being  to  call  the  actors  when  it  was  time  for  them  to  go  upon  the 
stage.  In  time  he  rose  a  step  higher:  he  became  an  actor.  He 
never  was  a  great  actor,  but  performed,  we  are  told,  insignificant 
parts.  "He  seems,"  says  White,  "never  to  have  risen  high  in  this 
profession.  The  Ghost  in  Hamlet,  and  old  Adam  in  As  You  Like  It, 
were  the  utmost  of  his  achievements  in  this  direction." 

It  must  have  taken  him  some  time,  say  a  year  or  two  at  the  very 
least,  to  work  up  from  being  a  vagabond  horse-holder  to  the  career 
of  a  regular  actor.  We  will  see,  when  we  come  to  discuss  the  chro- 
nology of  the  plays,  that  they  began  to  appear  almost  as  soon  as  he 
reached  London,  if  not  before,  although  Shakspere's  name  was  not 
connected  with  them  for  some  years  thereafter.  And  the  earliest 
plays,  as  we  shall  see,  were  the  most  scholarly,  breathing  the  very 
atmosphere  of  the  academy. 

XIV.     No  Tradition  Refers  to  Him  as  a  Student  or  Scholar. 

There  was  certainly  nothing  in  his  new  surroundings  in  London 
akin  to  Greek,  Latin,  French,  Italian,  Spanish  and  Danish  studies; 
there  was  nothing  akin  to  medical,  musical  and  philosophical 
researches. 

And  assuredly  his  life  in  Stratford,  reckless,  improvident,  dissi- 
pated, degraded,  does  not  represent  the  studious  youth  who,  in 
some  garret,  would  pore  over  the  great  masters,  and  fill  his  mind 
with  information,  and  his  soul  with  high  aspirations.  There  is  not 
a  single  tradition  which  points  to  any  such  element  in  his  character. 

Aubrey  asserts  that,  from  the  time  of  leaving  school  until  his 
departure  for  Warwickshire,  Shakspere  was  a  schoolmaster.      We 


42        WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE  DID   NOT    WRITE    THE   PLAYS. 

have  seen  that  it  did  not  require  a  very  extensive  stock  of  learning 

to  constitute  a  schoolmaster  in  that  age;   but  even  this,  the  only 

tradition  of  his  life  which  points  to  anything  even  akin  to  scholarly 

accomplishments,  must  be  abandoned. 

Lord  Campbell  says: 

Unfortunately,  however,  the  pedagogical  theory  is  not  only  quite  unsupported 
"by  evidence,  but  it  is  not  consistent  with  established  facts.  From  the  registration 
of  the  baptism  of  Shakespeare's  children,  and  other  well  authenticated  circum- 
stances, we  know  that  he  continued  to  dwell  in  Stratford,  or  the  immediate  neigh- 
borhood, till  he  became  a  citizen  of  London:  there  was  no  other  school  in  Stratford 
except  the  endowed  grammar  school,  where  he  had  been  a  pupil;  of  this  he  cer- 
tainly never  was  master,  for  the  unbroken  succession  of  masters  from  the  reign 
of  Edward  VI.  till  the  reign  of  James  I.  is  of  record;  .  .  .  and  there  is  no  trace  of 
there  having  been  any  usher  employed  in  this  school.1 

Only  a  miracle  of  studiousness  could  have  acquired,  in  a  few 
years,  upon  a  basis  of  total  ignorance  and  bad  habits,  the  culture 
and  refinement  manifested  in  the  earliest  plays;  and  but  a  few 
years  elapsed  between  the  time  when  he  fled  scourged  from  Strat- 
ford and  the  time  when  the  plays  began  to  appear,  in  his  name,  in 
London.  Eut  plays,  now  believed  to  have  been  written  by  the 
same  hand  that  wrote  the  Shakespeare  plays,  were  on  the  boards 
before  he  left  Stratford.  The  twins,  Judith  and  Hamnet,  were  born 
in  February,  1585,  Shakspere  being  then  not  yet  twenty-one  years 
of  age,  and  we  will  see  hereafter  that  Hainlet  appeared  for  the  first 
time  in  1585  or  1587.  If  he  had  shown,  anywhere  in  his  career,  such 
a  trait  of  immense  industry  and  scholarly  research,  some  tradition 
would  have  reached  us  concerning  it.  We  have  traditions  that  he 
wras  the  father  of  another  man's  supposed  son  (Sir  William  Dave- 
nant);  and  we  are  told  of  a  licentious  amour  in  which  he  outwitted 
Burbage;  and  we  hear  of  w<?/-combats  in  a  tavern;  but  not  one 
word  comes  down  to  us  of  books,  or  study,  or  industry,  or  art. 

XV.     The  "Venus  and  Adonis." 

"The  first  heir  of  his  invention,"  he  tells  us,  was  "the  Venus  and 
Ado7iis"  published  in  1593;  and  many  think  that  this  means  that  he 
wrote  it  before  any  of  the  plays,  and  even  before  he  left  Stratford. 

Richard  Grant  White  says: 

In  any  case,  we  may  be  sure  that  the  poem  [  Venus  and  Adonis]  was  written 
some  years  before  it  was  printed;  and  it  may  have  been  brought  by  the  young  poet 

1  Shakespeare' s  Legal  Acquirements,  p.  19. 


THE  EDUCATION  OF    WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE.  43 

from  Stratford  in  manuscript,  and  read  by  a  select  circle,  according  to  the  custom 
of  the  time,  before  it  was  published. 

But  here  is  a  difficulty  that  presents  itself:  the  people  of  War- 
wickshire did  not  speak  the  English  of  the  London  court,  but  a 
patois  almost  as  different  from  it  as  the  Lowland  Scotch  of  Burns  is 
to-day  different  from  the  English  of  Westminster. 

To  give  the  reader  some  idea  of  the  kind  of  language  used  by 
Shakspere  during  his  youth,  and  by  all  the  uneducated  people  of 
his  county,  I  select,  at  random,  a  few  words  from  the  Warwick- 
shire dialect: 

Tageous,  troublesome;  Fameled,  starving; 

Kiver,  a  butter  tub;  Brevet,  to  snuff,  to  sniff; 

Grinsard,  the  turf;  Unked,  solitary; 

Slammocks,  untidy;  Roomthy,  spacious; 

He's  teddin,  he's  shaking  up  hay;  Mulled,  sleepy; 

He  do  fash  hisself,  he  troubles  himself;  Glir,  to  slide; 

Cob,  thick;  Work,  a  row,  a  quarrel; 

Gidding,  thoughtless;  Whittaw,  a  saddler; 

jackbonnial,  a  tadpole;  Still,  respectable; 

Cade,  tame;  Her's  childing,  she  is  with  child; 

A'  done  worritin  me,  stop  teasing  me;  A'  form,  properly; 

Let's  gaig  no',  let's  take  a  swing;  Yawrups,  stupid; 
Franzy,  passionate;  etc. 

Let  any  one  read  the  Venus  and  Adonis,  and  he  will  find  it 
written  in  the  purest  and  most  cultured  English  of  the  age,  without 
a  word  in  it  of  this  Warwickshire  patois. 

Halliwell-Phillipps  says: 

It  is  extremely  improbable  that  an  epic  so  highly  finished,  and  so  completely 
devoid  of  patois,  could  have  been  produced  under  the  circumstances  of  his  then 
domestic  surroundings.1 

In  fact,  if  we  except  the  doggerel  libel  on  Sir  Thomas  Lucy,  with 
its  "  volke  "  (and  the  authenticity  of  even  this  is  denied  by  the  com- 
mentators), Shakspere  never  wrote  a  line  impregnated  with  the 
•dialect  of  the  people  among  whom  he  lived  from  childhood  to  man- 
hood. All  attempts  to  show  the  peculiar  phraseology  of  Warwick- 
shire in  his  writings  have  failed.  A  few  words  have  been  found  that 
were  used  in  Warwickshire,  but  investigation  has  shown  that  they 
were  also  used  in  the  dialects  of  other  portions  of  England. 

White  says: 

As  long  as  two  hundred  years  after  that  time  the  county  of  each  member  of 
Parliament  was  betrayed  by  his  tongue;    but    then    the  speech  of   the    cultivated 

1 Outlines  Life  of  Shak.,  p.  71. 


44 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE   DID   NOT    WRITE    THE   PLAYS. 


people  of  Middlesex  and  vicinity  had  become  for  all  England  the  undisputed  stand- 
ard. Northumberland,  or  Cornwall,  or  Lancashire,  might  have  produced  Shake- 
speare's mind;  but  had  he  lived  in  any  one  of  these  counties,  or  in  another,  like 
them  remote  in  speech  as  in  locality  from  London,  and  written  for  his  rural  neigh- 
bors instead  of  the  audiences  of  the  Blackfriars  and  the  Globe,  the  music  of  his 
poetry  would  have  been  lost  in  sounds  uncouth  and  barbarous  to  the  general  ear, 
and  the  edge  of  his  fine  utterance  would  have  been  turned  upon  the  stony  rough- 
ness of  his  rustic  phraseology.1 

White  seems  to  forget  that  the  jargon  of  Warwickshire  was 
well  nigh  as  uncouth  and  barbarous  as  that  of  Northumberland 
or  Cornwall. 

Appleton  Morgan  says: 

Now,  even  if,  in  Stratford,  the  lad  had  mastered  all  the  Latin  and  Greek 
extant,  this  poem,  dedicated  to  Southampton,  coming  from  his  pen,  is  a  mystery,  if 
not  a  miracle.  The  genius  of  Robert  Burns  found  its  expression  in  the  idiom  of 
his  father  and  his  mother,  in  the  dialect  he  heard  around  him,  and  into  which  he 
was  born.  When  he  came  to  London  and  tried  to  warble  in  urban  English,  his 
genius  dwindled  into  formal  commonplace.  But  William  Shakespeare,  a  peasant, 
born  in  the  heart  of  Warwickshire,  without  schooling  or  practice,  pours  forth  the 
purest  and  most  sumptuous  of  English,  unmixed  with  the  faintest  trace  of  that 
Warwickshire  patois  that  his  neighbors  and  coetaneans  spoke  —  the  language  of  his 
own  fireside.2 

And   Shakespeare   prefaced  the  Venus  and  Adonis  with  a  Latin 

quotation  from  the  Amoves  of  Ovid.     Halliwell-Phillipps,  an  earnest 

Shaksperean,  says: 

It  is  hardly  possible  that  the  Amores  of  Ovid,  whence  he  derived  his  earliest 
motto,  could  have  been  one  of  his  school  books.3 

No  man  can  doubt  that  the  Venus  and  Adonis  was  the  work  of  a 

scholar  in  whom    the    intellectual  faculties  vastly  preponderated 

over  the  animal.     Coleridge  notices  — 

The  utter  aloofness  of  the  poet's  own  feelings  from  those  of  which  he  is  at  once 
the  painter  and  the  analyst. 

Says  Dowden: 

The  subjects  of  these  poems  did  not  possess  him  and  compel  him  to  render 
them  into  art.  The  poet  sat  himself  down  before  each  to  accomplish  an  exhaustive 
study  of  it. 

Hazlitt  says: 

These  poems  appear  to  us  like  a  couple  of  ice  houses.  They  are  about  as  hard, 
as  glittering  and  as  cold. 

It  is  not  possible  for  the  human  mind  to  bring  these  beautiful 

poems,  written  in  such  perfect   English,  so  cold,  so  passionless,  so 

1  Life  and  Genius  of  Shah.,  p.  202.  2  The  Shakespeare  Myth,  p.  41. 

3  Outlines  Life  of  Shah.,  p.  63. 


THE  EDUCATION  OF    WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE. 


45 


cultured,  so  philosophical,  so  scholastic,  into  connection  with  the 
first  inventions  of  the  boy  we  have  seen  lying  out  drunk  in  the 
fields,  poaching,  rioting,  whipped,  imprisoned,  and  writing  vulgar 
doggerel,  below  the  standard  of  the  most  ordinary  intellect.  Com- 
pare for  one  instant: 

A  Parliament  member,  a  justice  of  peace, 
At  home  a  poor  scare-crow,  at  London  an  asse. 
He  thinks  himself  great,  yet  an  ass  is  his  state, 
Condemned  for  his  ears  with  asses  to  mate, 
with — 

Oh,  what  a  sight  it  was  wistly  to  view 

How  she  came  stealing  to  the  wayward  boy  ! 
To  note  the  fighting  conflict  of  her  hue  ! 
How  white  and  red  each  other  did  destroy  ! 
But  now  her  cheek  was  pale,  and  by  and  by 
It  flashed  forth  fire,  as  lightning  from  the  sky.1 

Can  any  one  believe  that  these  two  passages  were  born  in  the 
same  soul  and  fashioned  in  the  same  mind  ? 

A  rough  but  strong  genius,  coming  even  out  of  barbarian  train- 
ing, but  thrown  into  daily  contact  with  dramatic  entertainments, 
might  have  begun  to  imitate  the  works  he  was  familiar  with; 
might  gradually  have  drifted  into  play-making.  But  here  we  learn 
that  the  first  heir  of  his  invention  was  an  ambitious  attempt  at  a 
literary  performance  based  on  a  classical  fable,  and  redolent  of  the 
air  of  the  court  and  the  schools.     It  is  incomprehensible. 

Even  Hallam,  years  ago,  was  struck  by  the  incongruity  between 

Shakspere's  life  and  works.     He  says: 

If  we  are  not  yet  come  to  question  his  [Shakespeare's]  unity,  as  we  do  that  of 
"the  blind  old  man  of  Scio's  rocky  isle" — (an  improvement  in  critical  acuteness 
doubtless  reserved  for  a  distant  posterity),  we  as  little  feel  the  power  of  identifying 
the  young  man  who  came  up  from  Stratford,  was  afterwards  an  indifferent  player 
in  a  London  theater,  and  retired  to  his  native  place  in  middle  life,  with  the  author 
of  Macbeth  and  Lear} 

Emerson  says: 

Read  the  antique  documents  extricated,  analyzed  and  compared,  by  the  assidu- 
ous Dyce  and  Collier;  and  now  read  one  of  those  skiey  sentences  —  aerolites  — 
which  seem  to  have  fallen  out  of  heaven,   .   .   .  and  tell  me  if  they  match.3 

.  .  .  The  Egyptian  verdict  of  the  Shakesperean  societies  comes  to  mind,  that 
he  was  a  jovial  actor  and  manager.  I  cannot  marry  this  fact  to  his  verse.  Other 
admirable  men  have  led  lives  in  some  sort  of  keeping  with  their  thought;  but  this 
man  in  wide  contrast.  .  .  .  This  man  of  men,  he  who  gave  the  science  of  mind  a 
new  and  larger  subject  than  had  ever  existed,  and  planted  the  standard  of  humanity 

1  Venus  and  Adonis.  2  Introduction  to  Literature  of  Europe.  3  Rep.  Men,  p.  205. 


46        WILLIAM   SIIAKSPERE'DID   NOT    WRITE    THE   PLAYS. 

ity  some  furlongs  forward  in  chaos  —  it  must  ever  go  into  the  world's  history,  that, 
the  best  poet  led  an  obscure  and  profane  life,  using  his  genius  for  the  public  amuse- 
ment.1 

Such  a  proposition  cannot  be  accepted  by  any  sane  man. 
Francis  Bacon  seems  to  have  had   these  plays  in  his  mind's  eye 
when  he  said: 

If  the  sow  with  her  snout  should  happen  to  imprint  the  letter  A  upon  the 
ground,  wouldst  thou  therefore  imagine  that  she  could  write  out  a  whole  tragedy  as. 
one  letter  ?2 

1  Representative  A/en,  p.  215.  a  Interpretation  of  Nature. 


\BRA 
or  THE 

university 


CHAPTER   III. 

THE  REAL  CHARACTER  OF  WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE. 

What  a  thrice-double  ass 
Was  I,  to  take  this  drunkard  for  a  god, 
And  worship  this  dull  fool. 

Tehtfest,  v,  i. 

WE  have  seen  that  the  Plays  must  have  been  written  by  a 
scholar,  a  man  of  wide  and  various  learning. 

We  have  seen  that  William  Shakspere,  of  Stratford-on-Avon, 
could  not  have  acquired  such  learning  in  his  native  village,  and 
that  his  pursuits  and  associates  in  London  were  not  favorable  to 
its  acquisition  there  ;  and  that  there  is  no  evidence  from  tradition 
or  history,  or  by  the  existence  of  any  books  or  papers,  or  letters, 
that  he  was  of  a  studious  turn  of  mind,  or  in  anywise  scholarly. 
We  have  further  seen  that  the  families  of  his  father  and  mother  were, 
and  had  been  for  generations,  without  exception,  rude  and  bookless. 

Now  let  us  put  together  all  the  facts  in  our  possession,  and  try 
to  get  at  some  estimate  of  the  true  character  of  the  man  himself. 

He  was  doubtless,  as  tradition  says,  "the  best  of  that  family." 
His  career  shows  that  he  was  adventurous,  and  what  we  call  in 
America  "  smart."  His  financial  success  demonstrates  this  fact. 
He  had  probably  a  good  deal  of  mother  wit  and  practical  good 
sense.  It  is  not  impossible  that  he  may  have  been  able  to  string 
together  barbaric  rhymes,  some  of  which  have  come  down  to  us. 
But  conceding  all  this,  and  a  vast  gulf  still  separates  him  from  the 
colossal  intellect  made  manifest  in  the  Plays. 

I.     Shakspere  was  a  Usurer. 

The  probabilities  are  that  he  was  a  usurer. 

Richard  Grant  White  (and  it  is  a  pleasure  to  quote  against 
Shakspere  so  earnest  a  Shaksperean  —  one  who  declares  that 
every  man  who  believes  Bacon  wrote  the  Plays  attributed  to 
Shakspere  should  be  committed  at  once  to  a  mad-house)  —  Rich- 
ard Grant  White  says: 

47 


48        WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE  DID  NOT    WRITE    THE  PLAYS. 

The  following  passage,  in  a  tract  called  RatseVs  Ghost,  ot  the  Second  Part  of 
his  Mad  Prankes  and  Robberies,  of  which  only  one  copy  is  known  to  exist,  plainly 
refers,  first  to  Burbadge  and  next  to  Shakespeare.  This  book  is  without  date,  but  is 
believed  to  have  been  printed  before  1606.  Gamaliel  Ratsei,  who  speaks,  is  a 
highwayman,  who  has  paid  some  strollers  forty  shillings  for  playing  for  him,  and 
afterwards  robbed  them  of  their  fee.1 

The  passage  is  as  follows: 

And  for  you,  sirrah  (says  he  to  the  chiefest  of  them),  thou  hast  a  good  presence 
upon  a  stage,  methinks  thou  darkenest  thy  merit  by  playing  in  the  country;  get  thee 
to  London,  for  if  one  man  were  dead  they  will  have  much  need  of  such  as  thou  art. 
There  would  be  none,  in  my  opinion,  fitter  than  thyself  to  play  his  parts;  my 
conceit  is  such  of  thee  that  I  durst  venture  all  the  money  in  my  purse  on  thy  head 
to  play  Hamlet  with  him  for  a  wager.  There  thou  shalt  learn  to  be  frugal  (for  play- 
ers were  never  so  thrifty  as  they  are  now  about  London),  and  to  feed  upon  all  men; 
to  let  none  feed  upon  thee;  to  make  thy  hand  a  stranger  to  thy  pocket;  thy  heart  slow 
to  perform  thy  tongue's  promise;  and  when  thou  feelest  thy  purse  well  lined,  buy 
thee  some  place  of  lordship  in  the  country;  that  growing  weary  of  playing  thy  money 
may  there  bring  thee  to  dignity  and  reputation;  then  thou  needest  care  for  no  man ; 
no,  not  for  them  that  before  made  thee  proud  with  speaking  THEIR  words  on  the  stage. 

Sir,  I  thank  you  (quoth  the  player)  for  this  good  council.  I  promise  you  I  will 
make  use  of  it,  for  I  have  heard,  indeed,  of  some  that  have  gone  to  London  very 
meanly,  and  have  come  in  time  to  be  exceeding  wealthy. 

This  curious  tract  proves  several  things: 

The  Shakspereans  agree  that  Ratsei,  in  the  latter  part  of  the 
extract  quoted,  referred  unquestionably  to  Shakspere.  Ratsei,  or 
the  writer  of  the  tract,  doubtless  expressed  the  popular  opinion 
when  he  described  Shakspere  as  a  thrifty,  money-making,  unchari- 
table, cold-hearted  man,  "  feeding  upon  all  men,"  to-wit,  by  lend- 
ing money  at  usurious  rates  of  interest,  for  there  is  nothing  else 
to  which  the  words  can  apply.  There  can  be  no  question  that 
he  refers  to  Shakspere.  He  was  an  actor;  he  came  to  London 
"very  meanly; "  /^  was  not  born  there;  he  "  lined  his  purse;"  he 
had  " grown  exceeding  wealthy;  "  he  "  bought  a  place  of  lordship  in 
the  country,"  where  he  lived  "in  dignity  and  reputation."  And 
doubtless  Ratsei  spoke  but  the  popular  report  when  he  said  that 
some  others  "  made  him  proud  with  speaking  their  words  on  the 
stage." 

Let  us  see  if  there  is  anything  that  confirms  Ratsei's  estimate 

of  Shakspere's  character.     Richard  Grant  White  says: 

The  fact  is  somewhat  striking  in  the  life  of  a  great  poet  that  the  only  letter 
directly  addressed  to  Shakespeare,  which  is  known  to  exist,  is  one  which  asks  for 
a  loan  of  ^30. 2 

1  Life  and Genius  of  Shakespeare,  p.  164.  2Ibid.,  p.  123. 


THE   REAL    CHARACTER    OF    WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE. 


49 


There  is  another  letter  extant  from  Master  Abraham  Sturley, 
1595,  to  a  friend  in  London,  in  reference  to  Shakspere  lending 
"  some  monei  on  some  od  yarde  land  or  other  att  Shottri  or  neare 
about  us."  And  there  is  still  another  letter,  dated  November  4, 
1598,  from  Abraham  Sturley  to  Richard  Ouiney,  in  which  we  are 
told  that  our  "countriman  Mr.  Wm.  Shak.  would  procure  us  monei, 
wc.  I  will  like  of."  And  these,  be  it  remembered,  are  all  the  letters 
extant  addressed  to,  or  referring  to,  Shakspere. 

In  1598  he  loaned  Richard  Quiney,  of  Stratford,  ^30  upon 
proper  security.1 

In  1600  he  brought  action  against  John  Clayton,  in  London,  for 
j£jt  and  got  judgment  in  his  favor. 

He  also  sued  Philip  Rogers,  at  Stratford,  for  two  shillings 
loaned. 

In  August,  1608,  he  prosecuted  John  Addenbroke  to  recover  a 
debt  of  £6,  and  then  sued  his  surety,  Horneby. 

His  lawyer,  Thomas  Greene,  lived  in  his  house.2 

Halliwell-Phillips  says: 

The  precepts,  as  appears  from  memoranda  in  the  originals,  were  issued  by 
the  poet's  solicitor,  Thomas  Greene,  who  was  then  residing,  under  some  unknown 
conditions,  at  New  Place.3 

We,  of  course,  only  hear  of  those  transactions  in  which  the 
debtor  did  not  pay,  and  the  loans  became  matters  of  court  record. 
We  hear  nothing  of  the  more  numerous  instances  where  the  money 
was  repaid  without  suit.  But  even  these  scraps  of  fact  show  that, 
he  carried  on  the  business  of  money-lending  both  in  London  and  at 
Stratford.  He  kept  an  attorney  in  his  house,  probably  for  the  better 
facility  of  collecting  the  money  due  him. 

No  wonder  Richard  Grant  White  said,  when  such  facts  as  these 
came  to  light,  voicing  the  disappointment  of  his  heart: 

These  stories  grate  upon  our  feelings.  .  .  .  The  pursuit  of  an  impoverished! 
man,  for  the  sake  of  imprisoning  him  and  depriving  him,  both  of  the  power  of  pay- 
ing his  debt  and  supporting  himself  and  his  family,  is  an  incident  in  Shakespeare's 
life  which  it  requires  the  utmost  allowance  and  consideration  for  the  practice  of  the 
time  and  country  to  enable  us  to  contemplate  with  equanimity  —  satisfaction  is- 
impossible.  The  biographer  of  Shakespeare  must  record  these  facts,  because  the 
literary  antiquaries  have  unearthed  and  brought  them  forward  as  new  particulars 
of  the  life  of  Shakespeare.  We  hunger,  and  we  receive  these  husks;  we  open  our 
mouths  for  food,  and  we  break  our  teeth  against  these  stones."4 

1  Halliwell-Phillipps,  Outlines  Life  of  Shak.,  p.  105.  3  Ibid.,  p.  147. 

2  Ihid.,  p.  149.  4  Life  and  Genius  of  Shak.,  p.  146. 


°'  rM£    ' 


5o       WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE   DID   NOT    WRITE    THE   TLA  VS. 

Is  it  possible  that  the  man  who  described  usurers  as  "bawds 
between  gold  and  want;"  who  drew,  for  all  time,  the  typical  and 
dreadful  character  of  Shylock;  who  wrote:  — 

I  can  compare  our  rich  misers  to  nothing  so  fitly  as  to  a  whale,  that  plays  and 
tumbles,  driving  the  poor  fry  before  him,  and  at  last  devours  them  at  a  mouthful. 
Such  whales  I  have  heard  of  on  land,  who  never  leave  gaping  till  they  have  swal- 
lowed up  a  whole  parish,  church,  steeple,  bells  and  all.1 — 

could,  as  described  by  White,  have  pursued  the  wretched  to  jail, 
and  by  his  purchase  of  the  tithes  of  Stratford  have  threatened  "  the 
whole  parish,  church,  steeple,  bells  and  all "  ? 

II.     He  Carried  on  Brewing  in  New  Place. 

Let  us  pass  to  another  fact. 

It  is  very  probable  that  the  alleged  author  of  Hamlet  carried  on 
the  business  of  brewing  beer  in  his  residence  at  New  Place. 

He  sued  Philip  Rogers  in  1604,  so  the  court   records  tell  us,  for 

several  bushels  of  "  malt  "  sold  him  at  various  times,  between  March 

27th  and  the  end   of  May  of  that  year,   amounting  in  all   to   the 

value  of  £1  i$s.  lod. 

Malt  is  barley  or  other  grain  steeped  in  water  until  it  germinates,  and  then 
dried  in  a  kiln  to  evolve  the  saccharine  principle.     It  is  used  in  brewing.2 

The  business  of  beer-making  was  not  unusual  among  his  towns- 
men. 

George  Perrye,  besides  his  glover's  trade,  useth  buying  and  selling  of  woll 
[wool]  and  yorn  [yarn]  and  making  of  malt. z 

Robert  Butler,  besides  his  glover's  occupation,  usethe  makinge  of 'malt.* 

Rychard  Castell,  Rother  Market,  useth  his  glover's  occupation,  his  wiffe  utter- 

eth  zueeklye  by  bruynge  [brewing]  ij  strikes  of  malte.5 

And  we  read  of  a  Mr.  Persons  who  for  a  "longe  tyme  used 
makinge  of  mallte  and  bruyinge  [brewing]  to  sell  in  his  howse."6 

There  is,  of  course,  nothing  dishonorable  in  this  humble  occu- 
pation; but  it  is  a  little  surprising  that  a  man  whoin  the  Plays  never 
refers  to  tradesmen  without  a  sneer,  or  to  the  common  people 
except  as  "  mechanic  slaves"  "  that  made  the  air  unwholesome" 
throwing  up  "their  stinking  greasy  caps,"  a  "common  cry  of  curs," 
or  "the  clusters,"  "the  mutable,  the  rank-scented  many,"  or  "  the 
beastly  plebeians;"  and  whose  sympathies  seem  to  have  been  always 

1  Pericles,  ii,  i.  3  MS.  dated  1595.  5  Ibid. 

2  Webster's  Dictionary.  *  Ibid.  8Ibid. 


THE  REAL    CHARACTER    OE    WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE. 


5' 


with  the  aristocracy,  should   convert  the  finest  house  in  Stratford, . 
built   by  Sir  Hugh   Clopton,   into  a  brewery,  and   employ   himself 
peddling  out  malt  to  his  neighbors,  and  suing  them  when  they  did 
not  pay  promptly. 

Think  of  the  author  of  Hanilet  and  Lear  brewing  beer  !  Verily, 
"the  dust  of  Alexander  may  come  to  stop  the  bung-hole  of  a  beer- 
barrel." 

III.    Shakspere's  Hospitality. 

And  taken  in  connection  with  this  sale  of  malt  there  is  another 
curious  fact  that  throws  some  light  upon  the  character  of  the  man 
and  the  household. 

In  the  Chamberlain's  accounts  of  Stratford1  we  find  a  charge, 
in  1614,  for  "on  quart  of  sack  and  on  quart  of  clarett  wine  geven  to 
a  preacher  at  the  New  Place,"  Shakspere's  house.  What  manner 
of  man  must  he  have  been  who  would  require  the  town  to  pay  for  the 
wine  he  furnished  his  guests  ?  And  we  may  be  sure  the  town  would 
not  have  paid  for  it  unless  first  asked  to  do  so.  And  the  money 
was  accepted  by  Shakspere,  or  it  would  not  stand  charged  in  the 
accounts  of  the  town.  And  this  was  but  two  years  before  Shak- 
spere's death,  when  he  was  in  possession  of  an  immense  income. 
Did  ever  any  rich  man,  with  the  smallest  instincts  of  a  gentleman, 
do  a  deed  like  this  ?  Would  even  the  poorest  of  the  poor  do  it  ? 
It  was,  in  fact,  a  species  of  "  going  on  the  county  "  for  help,  —  a 
partial  pauperism. 

IV.     He    Attempts    to    Enter   the   Ranks    of   the  Gentry   by 
False  Representations. 

Some  one  has  said:  "To  be  accounted  a  gentleman  was  the 
chief  desire  of  Shakspere's  life." 

Did  he  pursue  this  ambition,  honorable  enough  in  itself,  in  an 
honorable  manner? 

In  October,  1596,  Shakspere,  the  actor,  applied  to  the  College 
of  Arms  for  a  grant  of  coat-armor  to  his  father,  John  Shakspere. 
At  this  time  Shakspere  was  beginning  to  make  money.  He 
bought  New  Place,  Stratford,  in  1597.  His  profession  as  a  "vassal 
actor"    prevented    any    hope    of    having  a   grant    of    arms    made 

1  White,  Life  and  Genius  of  Shak.y  p.  176. 


52         WILLIAM    SHAKSPERE   DID   NOT    WRITE    THE    PLAYS. 

directly  to  himself,  and   so  he  applied   in  the  name  of  his  father, 

who  not  long  before  had  been  in  prison,  or  hiding  from  the  Sheriff. 

White  would  have  us  believe  that  the  coat-of-arms  was  granted; 

but  the  latest  and  most  complete  authority  on  the  subject,  Halliwell- 

Phillipps,  says  it  was  not: 

Toward  the  close  of  the  year  1599,  a  renewed  attempt  was  made  by  the  poet 
to  obtain  a  grant  of  coat-armor  to  his  father.  It  was  now  proposed  to  impale  the 
arms  of  Shakespeare  with  those  of  Arden,  and  on  each  occasion  ridiculous  state- 
ments were  made  respecting  the  claims  of  the  two  families.  Both  were  really  descended 
from  obscure  country  yeomen,  but  the  heralds  made  out  that  the  predecessors  of 
John  Shakespeare  were  rewarded  by  the  Crown  for  distinguished  services,  and 
that  his  wife's  ancestors  were  entitled  to  armorial  bearings.  Although  the  poet's 
relatives,  at  a  later  date,  assumed  his  right  to  the  coat  suggested  for  his  father  in 
1596,  it  does  not  appear  that  either  of  the  proposed  grants  was  ratified  by  the  college, 
and  certainly  nothing  more  is  heard  of  the  Arden  impalement.1 

The  application  was  made  on  the  ground  that  John  Shak- 
spere's  "  parent  and  late  antecessor,  for  his  faithful  and  approved 
service  to  the  late  most  prudent  prince,  King  Henry  VII.,  of 
famous  memory,  was  advanced  and  rewarded  with  lands  and  tene- 
ments given  to  him  in  those  parts  of  Warwickshire,  .  .  .  and 
that  the  said  John  had  married  the  daughter  and  one  of  the  heirs 
of  Robert  Arden,  of  Wilmecote." 

Now,  these  statements,  as  Halliwell-Phillipps  says,  were  plainly 
false. 

John  Shakspere's  ancestors  had  not  been  advanced  by  King 
Henry  VII.;  and  they  had  not  received  lands  in  Warwickshire;  and 
his  mother  was  not  the  daughter  of  one  of  the  heirs  of  Robert 
Arden,  of  Wilmecote,  gentleman.  They  had  been  landless  peasants 
for  generations;  and  John  Shakspere  was  an  illiterate  farm-hand, 
hired  by  Robert  Arden,  a  plain  farmer,  as  illiterate  as  himself,  to 
work  by  the  month  or  year. 

And  William  Shakspere,  who  made  this  application,  knew  per- 
fectly well  that  all  these  representations  were  falsehoods.  He  was 
trying  to  crawl  up  the  battlements  of  respectability  on  a  ladder  of 
lies — plain,  palpable,  notorious,  ridiculous  lies  —  lies  that  involved 
the  title  to  real  property  and  the  records  of  his  county. 

Would  that  grand  and  noble  soul  who  really  wrote  the  Plays 
seek  to  be  made  a  gentle?tian  by  such  means  ? 

But  the  falsifications  did  not  end  here. 

1  Outlines,  p.  87. 


THE   REAL    CHARACTER    OE    WILUAM    SHAKSPERE. 


53 


"The  delay  of  three  years,"  says  Richard  Grant  White,  "in 
granting  these  arms,  must  have  been  caused  by  some  opposition  to 
the  grant;  the  motto  given  with  them,  Non  sans  droict  (not  with- 
out right),  itself  seems  to  assert  a  claim  against  a  denial." 

Doubtless  the  Lucys,  and  other  respectable  families  of  the  neigh- 
borhood, protested  against  the  play-actor  forcing  himself  into  their 
ranks  by  false  pretenses. 

If  the  reader  who  is  curious  in  such  matters  will  turn  to  the  two 
drafts  of  the  application  for  the  coat-of-arms,  that  of  1596,  on  page 
573  of  Halliwell-Phillipps'  Outlines,  and  that  of  1599,  on  page  589 
of  the  same  work,  and  examine  the  interlineations  that  were  made 
from  time  to  time,  and  which  are  indicated  by  italics,  he  will  see 
how  the  applicant  was  driven  from  falsehood  to  falsehood,  to  meet 
the  objections  made  against  his  claim  of  gentility.  In  the  first 
application  it  was  stated  that  it  was  John  Shakspere's  "  parents 
and  late  antecessors"  who  rendered  valiant  service  to  King  Henry 
VII.  and  were  rewarded  by  him.  This  was  not  deemed  sufficiently 
explicit,  and  so  it  was  interlined  that  the  said  John  had  "  married 
Mary,  daughter  and  one  of  the  heirs  of  Robert  Arden,  of  Wilme- 
cote,  in  the  said  county,  gent."  But  in  the  proposed  grant  of  1599 
it  is  stated  that  it  was  John  Shakspere's  ^^/-grandfather  who  ren- 
dered these  invaluable  services  to  King  Henry  VII.,  and,  being 
driven  to  particulars,  we  are  now  told  that  this  grandfather  was 
"  advanced  and  rewarded  with  la /ides  and  tenement es  given  to  him  in 
those  partes  of  Warwickshire,  where  they  have  continued  by  some  descents 
in  good  reputacion  and  credit.'" 

This  is  wholesale  lying.  There  were  no  such  lands,  and  they 
had  not  descended  by  some  descents  in  the  family. 

But  this  is  not  all.  Finding  his  application  opposed,  the  fertile 
Shakspere  falls  back  on  a  new  falsehood,  and  declares  that  a  coat- 
of-arms  had  already  been  given  his  father  twenty  years  before. 

And  he  also  produced  this,  his  auncient  cote-of-arms,  heretofore  assigned  to  him 
whilst  he  was  her  Majestie's  officer  and  baylefe  of  that  town. 

And  White  tells  us  that  upon  the  margin   of  the  draft   of   1596,     1 

John  Shakspere 

Sheweth  a  patent  thereof  under  Clarence  Cook's  hands  in  oaper,  twenty  years 
past.1 

3  Life  and  Genius  of  Shakespeare^  p.  118. 


54 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE  DLL)   NOT    WRITE    THE  PLAYS. 


But  this  patent  can  no  more  be  found  than  the  land  which  Henry  VII. 
granted  to  John  Shakspere*  s  great-grandfather  for  his  approved  and 
faithful  services. 

The  whole  thing  was  a  series  of  lies  and  forgeries,  a  tissue  of 
fraud  from  beginning  to  end  ; — and  William  Shakspere  had  no 
more  title  to  his  coat-of-arms  than  he  has  to  the  great  dramas 
which  bear  his  name. 

And  living  in  New  Place,  brewing  beer,  selling  malt  and  suing 
his  neighbors,  the  Shakspere  family  assumed  to  use  this  coat-of- 
arms,  never  granted  to  them,  and  to  set  up  for  "gentry,"  in  the  midst 
of  the  people  who  knew  the  hollowness  of  their  pretensions. 

And  the  same  man,  we  are  told,  who  was  so  anxious  for  this 
kind  of  a  promotion   to   the  ranks  of  gentlemen,  wrote  as  follows: 

Fool.     Prithee,  nuncle,  tell  me  whether  a  madman  be  a  gentleman  or  a  yeoman. 
Lear.     A  king,  a  king  ! 

Fool.  No,  he's  a  yeoman,  that  has  a  gentleman  to  his  son;  for  he's  a  mad  yeo- 
man that  sees  his  son  a  gentleman  before  him.1 

And  that  the  same  man  mocked  at  new-made  gentility,  in  the 
scene  where  the  clown  and  the  old  shepherd  were  suddenly  ele- 
vated to  rank  by  the  king  of  Bohemia: 

Shepherd.  Come,  boy;  I  am  past  more  children,  but  thy  sons  and  daughters 
will  all  be  gentlemen  born. 

Clown  {to  Autolycus).  You  are  well  met,  sir;  you  denied  to  tight  with  me  this 
other  day  because  I  was  no  gentleman  born.     See  you  these  clothes  ?  .   .   . 

Autolycus.     I  know  you  are  now,  sir,  a  gentleman  bojn. 

Clown.     Ay,  and  have  been  so  any  time  these  four  hours. 

Shepherd.     And  so  have  I,  boy. 

Clown.  So  you  have.  But  I  was  a  gentleman  born  before  my  father;  for  the 
king's  son  took  me  by  the  hand  and  called  me  brother:  .  .  .  and  so  we  wept:  and 
these  were  the  first  gentleman-like  tears  that  ever  we  shed.'2 

And  that  the  same  man  wrote: 

By  the  Lord,  Horatio,  these  three  years  I  have  taken  note  of  it:  the  age  is 
grown  so  picked  that  the  toe  of  the  peasant  comes  so  near  the  heel  of  the  courtier 
that  he  galls  his  kibe.3 

And  this  is  the  man,  we  are  told,  who  also  wrote: 

Let  none  presume 
To  wear  an  undeserved  dignity. 
Oh,  that  estates,  degrees  and  offices 
Were  not  derived  corruptly  !  and  that  clear  honor 
Were  purchased  by  the  merit  of  the  wearer  ! 
How  many  then  should  cover  that  stand  bare; 

1  Lear,  iii,  6.  2  Winter's  Tale,  v,  3.  3  Hamlet,  v,  1. 


THE   REAL    CHARACTER    OE    WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE.  55 

How  many  be  commanded  that  command; 

How  much  low  peasantry  would  then  be  gleaned 

From  the  true  seed  of  honor;    and  how  much  honor 

Picked  from  the  chaff  and  ruin  of  the  times 

To  be  new-varnish'd.1 

Is  there  any  man  who  loves  the  memory  of  the  real  Shake- 
speare—  gentle,  thoughtful,  learned,  humane,  benevolent,  with  a 
mind  loftier  and  wider  than  was  ever  before  conferred  on  a  child 
of  earth  —  who  can  believe  that  he  would  be  guilty  of  such  prac- 
tices, even  to  obtain  a  shabby  gentility  in  the  dirty  little  village  of 
Stratford  ? 

All  this  may  not  perhaps  strike  an  American  with  its  full  force. 

In  this  country  every  well-dressed,  well-behaved  man  is  a  gentle- 
man. But  in  England  in  the  sixteenth  century  it  meant  a  great 
deal  more.  It  signified  a  man  of  gentle  blood.  A  great  and  impass- 
able gulf  lay  between  "the  quality,"  "the  gentry,"  the  hereditary 
upper  ciass,  and  the  common  herd  who  toiled  for  a  living.  It 
required  all  the  power  of  Christianity  to  faintly  enforce  the  idea 
that  they  were  made  by  the  same  God  and  were  of  one  flesh. 
The  distinction,  in  the  England  of  1596,  between  the  yeoman  and 
the  gentleman,  was  almost  as  wide  as  the  difference  to-day  in 
America  between  the  white  man  and  the  black  man;  and  the 
mulatto  who  would  try  to  pass  himself  off  as  a  white  man,  and 
would  support  his  claim  by  lies  and  forgeries,  will  give  us  some 
conception  of  the  nature  of  this  attempt  made  by  William  Shak- 
spere  in  1596. 

V.     The  House  ix  Which  he  Was  Borx. 

As  to  this  I  will  simply  quote  what  Richard  Grant  White  says 
of  it: 

My  heart  sank  within  me  as  I  looked  around  upon  the  rude,  mean  dwelling- 
place  of  him  who  had  filled  the  world  with  the  splendor  of  his  imaginings.  It  is 
called  a  house,  and  any  building  intended  for  a  dwelling-place  is  a  house;  but  the 
interior  of  this  one  is  hardly  that  of  a  rustic  cottage;  it  is  almost  that  of  a  hovel  — 
poverty-stricken,  squalid,  kennel-like.  A  house  so  cheerless  and  comfortless  I  had 
not  seen  in  rural  England.  The  poorest,  meanest  farm-house  that  I  had  ever  1 
entered  in  New  England  or  on  Long  Island  was  a  more  cheerful  habitation.  And 
amid  these  sordid  surroundings  William  Shakespeare  grew  to  early  manhood  !  I 
thought  of  stately  Charlecote,  the  home  of  the  Lucys,  who  were  but  simple  country 
gentlemen;  and  then  for  the  first  time  I  knew  and  felt  from  how  low  a  condition  of 

1  Merchant  of  Venice,  ii,  9. 


56        WILLIAM    SHAKSPERE   DID   NOT    WRITE    THE   PLAYS. 

life  Shakespeare  had  arisen.  For  his  family  were  not  reduced  to  this;  they  had 
risen  to  it.  This  was  John  Shakespeare's  home  in  the  days  of  his  brief  prosperity, 
and,  when  I  compared  it  with  my  memory  of  Charlecote,  I  knew  that  Shakespeare 
himself  must  have  felt  what  a  sham  was  the  pretension  of  gentry  set  up  for  his 
father,  when  the  coat-of-arms  was  asked  and  obtained  by  the  actor's  money  from 
the  Heralds'  College  —  that  coat-of-arms  which  Shakespeare  prized  because  it 
made  him  "a  gentleman"  by  birth!  This  it  was,  even  more  than  the  squalid 
appearance  of  the  place,  that  saddened  me.  For  I  felt  that  Shakespeare  himself 
must  have  known  how  well  founded  was  the  protest  of  the  gentlemen  who  com- 
plained that  Clarencieux  had  made  the  man  who  lived  in  that  house  a  gentleman 
of  coat-armor.1 

VI.     His  Name. 

The  very  name,  Shakspere,  was  in  that  day  considered  the  quin- 
tessence of  vulgarity.  My  friend  William  D.  O'Connor,  the  author 
of  Hamlefs  Note  Book,  calls  my  attention  to  a  recent  number  of 
The  London  Academy,  in  which  a  Mr.  Lupton  proves  that  in  Eliza- 
beth's time  the  name  Shakspere  was  considered  vile,  just  as  Rams- 
bottom,  or  Snooks,  or  Hogs  flesh  would  be  with  us;  and  men  who  had 
it  got  it  changed  by  legislation.  Mr.  Lupton  gives  one  case  where 
a  man  called  Shakspere  had  his  name  altered  by  law  to  Saunders. 

VII.      He  Combines  with   Others   to   Oppress   and   Impoverish 

the   People. 

But  there  is  one  other  feature  of  Shakspere's  biography  which 

throws  light  upon  his  character. 

•  From  remote  antiquity  in   England  the  lower  classes  possessed 

certain  rights  of  common  in  tracts  of  land.     Prof.  Thorold  Rogers 

says: 

The  arable  land  of  the  manor  was  generally  communal,  i.e.,  each  of  the  ten- 
ants possessed  a  certain  number  of  furrows  in  a  common  field,  the  several  divis- 
ions being  separated  by  balks  of  unplowed  ground,  on  which  the  grass  was  suf- 
fered to  grow.  The  system,  which  was  almost  universal  in  the  thirteenth  century, 
has  survived  in  certain  districts  up  to  living  memory.2 

This  able  writer  shows  that  the  condition  of  labor  steadily 
improved  in  England  up  to  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII.,  and  from  that 
period  it  steadily  declined  to  recent  times.  He  makes  this  remark- 
able statement  in  the  preface  to  his  work: 

I  have  attempted  to  show  that  the  pauperism  and  the  degradation  of  the 
English  laborer  were  the  result  of  a  series  of  acts  of  Parliament  and  acts  of  gov- 
ernment, which  were  designed  or  adopted  with  the  express  purpose  of  compelling  the 

1  England  Without  and  Within,  p.  526.  -  Work  and  Wages,  p.  88. 


THE   REAL    CHARACTER    OF    WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE. 


57 


laborer  to  ivork  at  the  lowest  rate  of  wages  possible,  and  which  succeeded  al  last  in 
effecting  their  purpose.1 

Among  these  acts  were  those  giving  the  Courts  of  Quarter 
Sessions  the  right  to  fix  the  wages  of  laborers;  and,  hence,  as  Prof. 
Rogers  shows,  while  the  inflowing  gold  and  silver  of  Mexico  and 
Peru  were  swelling  the  value  of  all  forms  of  property  in  England, 
the  value  of  labor  did  not  rise  in  proportion;  and  the  common 
people  fell  into  that  awful  era  of  poverty,  wretchedness,  degrada- 
tion, crime,  and  Newgate-hanging  by  wholesale,  which  mark  the 
reigns  of  Henry  VIII.  and  his  children. 

As  part  of  the  same  scheme  of  oppression  of  the  humble  citi- 
zens by  those  who  wielded  the  power  of  government,  a  system  of 
inclosures  of  common  lands  by  the  landlords,  without  any  com- 
pensation to  the  tenants,  was  inaugurated,  and  aided  greatly  to 
swell  the  general  misery. 

The  benevolent  soul  of  Francis  Bacon  took  part  against  this 
oppression.     In  his  History  of  Henry  VII.  he  said: 

Another  statute  was  made  of  singular  policy  for  the  population  apparently, 
and  (if  it  be  thoroughly  considered)  for  the  soldiery  and  military  forces  of  the 
realm.  Inclosures  at  that  time  began  to  be  more  frequent,  whereby  arable  land 
(which  could  not  be  manured  without  people  and  families)  was  turned  into  pas- 
ture, which  was  easily  rid  by  a  few  herdsmen;  and  tenancies  for  years,  lives  and 
at  will  (whereupon  much  of  the  yeomanry  lived)  were  turned  into  demesnes.  .  .  . 
The  ordinance  was  that,  That  all  houses  of  husbandry  that  were  used  with  twenty 
acres  of  ground  and  upward  should  be  maintained  and  kept  up  forever,  together 
with  a  competent  proportion  of  land  to  be  used  and  occupied  with  them,  and  in  no 
wise  to  be  severed  from  them.  .  .  .  This  did  wonderfully  concern  the  might  and 
mannerhood  of  the  kingdom,  to  have  farms  as  it  were  of  a  standard  sufficient  to 
maintain  an  able  body  out  of  penury. 

In  1597  Francis  Bacon,  then  a  member  of  Parliament,  made  a 
speech,  of  which  we  have  a  very  meager  report: 

Mr.  Bacon  made  a  motion  against  depopulation  of  towns  and  houses  of  hus- 
bandry, and  for  the  maintenance  of  husbandry  and  tillage.  And  to  this  purpose 
he  brought  in  two  bills,  as  he  termed  it,  not  drawn  with  a  polished  pen,  but  with  a 
polished  heart.  .  .  .  And  though  it  may  be  thought  ill  and  very  prejudicial  to 
lords  that  have  enclosed  great  grounds,  and  pulled  down  even  whole  towns,  and 
converted  them  to  sheep  pastures,  yet,  considering  the  increase  of  the  people,  and 
the  benefit  of  the  commonwealth,  I  doubt  not  but  every  man  will  deem  the  revivali 
of  former  moth-eaten  laws  in  this  point  a  praiseworthy  thing.  For  in  matters  of 
policy  ill  is  not  to  be  thought  ill,  which  bringeth  forth  good.  For  enclosure  of 
grounds  brings  depopulation,  which  brings  forth  first,  idleness;  secondly,  decay  of 
tillage;   thirdly,  subversion  of  homes,  and  decrease  of  charity  and  charge  to  th? 

1  Work  and  Wages,  Preface,  p.  6. 


58 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE   DID   NOT    WRITE    THE   PLAYS. 


poor's  maintenance;  fourthly,  the  impoverishing  the  state  of  the  realm.  .  .  .  And 
I  should  be  sorry  to  see  within  this  kingdom  that  piece  of  Ovid's  verse  prove  true, 
Jam  seges  est  ubi  Troja  fait;  so  in  England,  instead  of  a  whole  town  full  of  people, 
none  but  green  fields,  but  a  shepherd  and  a  dog.  The  eye  of  experience  is  the 
sure  eye,  but  the  eye  of  wisdom  is  the  quick-sighted  eye;  and  by  experience  we 
daily  see,  Nemo putat  Mud  videri  tvrpe  quod  sibi  sit  qucestuosum.  And  therefore 
almost  there  is  no  conscience  made  in  destroying  the  savour  of  our  life,  bread  I 
mean,  for  Pauls  sapor  vita;.  And  therefore  a  sharp  and  vigorous  law  had  need  be 
made  against  these  viperous  natures  who  fulfill  the  proverb,  Si  non  posse  quod  vult, 
velle  tarn  en  quod  potest.1 

Hepworth  Dixon  says: 

The  decay  of  tillage,  the  increase  of  sheep  and  deer  are  for  the  yeoman  class, 
and  for  the  country  of  which  they  are  the  thew  and  sinew,  dark  events.  ...  He 
[Bacon]  makes  a  wide  and  sweeping  study  of  this  question  of  Pasturage  versus  Till- 
age, of  Deer  versus  Men,  which  convinces  him  of  the  cruelty  and  peril  of  depopu- 
lating hamlets  for  the  benefit  of  a  few  great  lords.  This  study  will  produce,  when 
Parliament  meets  again,  a  memorable  debate  and  an  extraordinary  change  of  law.-i 

Bacon's  bills  became  laws,  after  a  fierce  and  bitter  contest  with 
the  peers;  they  are  in  the  statute  book  of  England,  39  Elizabeth,  1 
and  2.  They  saved  the  English  yeomanry  from  being  reduced  to 
the  present  condition  of  the  Irish  peasantry. 

They  provide  that  no  more  land  shall  be  cleared  without  special  license;  and 
that  all  land  turned  into  pasture  since  the  Queen's  accession,  no  less  a  period  than 
forty  years,  shall  be  taken  from  the  deer  and  sheep  within  eighteen  months,  and 
restored  to  the  yeoman  and  the  plow.3 

These  great,  radical  and  sweeping  measures  should  endear 
Bacon's  memory  to  every  Englishman,  and  to  every  lover  of  his 
kind,  the  world  over.  They  saved  England  from  depopulation. 
They  laid  the  foundation  for  the  greatness  of  the  nation.  They 
furnished  the  great  middle  class  who  fought  and  won  at  Waterloo. 
And  what  a  broad,  noble,  far-sighted  philanthropy  do  they  evi- 
dence !  Here,  indeed,  "distribution  did  undo  excess"  that  " each 
man"  might  "have  enough."  Here,  indeed,  was  the  greed  of  the 
few  arrested  for  the  benefit  of  the  many. 

While  broad-minded  and  humane  men  took  this  view  of  the 
policy  of  enclosures,  let  us  see  how  William  Shakspere  regarded 
it.     I  quote  from  Halliwell-Phillipps'  Outlines: 

In  the  autumn  of  the  year  1614  there  was  great  excitement  at  Stratford-on-Avon 
respecting  an  attempted  enclosure  of  a  large  portion  of  the  neighboring  common- 
field — -not  commons,    as   so   many  biographers    have   inadvertently   stated.     The 

1  Life  and  Works  of  Francis  Bacon,  Spedding,  Ellis  and  Heath,  vol.  iii,  p.  81. 
a  Personal  History  of  Lord  Bacon,  p.  87.  3  Ibid.,  p.  105. 


THE    REAL    CHARACTER    OF    ll'ILL/AM    SHAKSPERE. 


59 


design  was  resisted  by  the  corporation  under  the  natural  impression  that,  if  it  were 
realized,  both  the  number  of  agricultural  employes  and  the  value  of  the  tithes  would 
be  seriously  diminished.  There  is  no  doubt  that  this  would  have  been  the  case, 
and,  as  might  be  expected,  William  Combe,  the  squire  of  Welcombe,  who  origi- 
nated the  movement,  encountered  a  determined,  and,  in  the  end,  a  successful 
opposition.  He  spared,  however,  no  exertions  to  accomplish  the  object,  and,  in 
many  instances,  if  we  may  believe  contemporary  allegations,  tormented  the  poor 
and  coaxed  the  rich  into  an  acquiescence  with  his  views.1 

Here  was  an  opportunity  for  the  pretended  author  of  the  Plays 
to  show  the  stuff  that  was  in  him.     Did  he  stand  forward  as  — 

The  village  Hampden  who,  with  dauntless  breast, 
The  little  tyrant  of  his  fields  withstood  ? 

Did  he  pour  forth  an  impassioned  defense  of  popular  rights, 
whose  eloquence  would  have  forever  ended  all  question  as  to  the 
authorship  of  the  Plays  ?     It  is  claimed  that  he  had  written: 

Take  physic,  pomp; 
Expose  thyself  to  feel  what  wretches  feel; 
That  thou  mayst  shake  the  superfiux  to  them, 
And  show  the  heavens  more  just.-' 


And  again: 


I  love  not  to  see  wretchedness  o'ercharged, 
And  duty  in  his  service  perishing.3 


This  is  in  the  very  spirit  of  Bacon's  defense  of  the  common 
people  against  those  "viperous  natures"  that  had  "pulled  down 
whole  towns,"  or,  as  he  expresses  it  in  Pericles,  had  "swallowed  up 
a  whole  parish,  church,  steeple,  bells  and  all." 

See  how  touchingly  the  writer  of  the  Plays  makes  the  insubstan- 
tial spirit,  Ariel,  non-human  in  its  nature,  sympathetic  with  the 
sufferings  of  man;  and  Prospero  (the  image  of  the  author)  saysr 
even  in  the  midst  of  the  remembrance  of  his  wrongs: 

Hast  thou,  which  art  but  air,  a  touch,  a  feeling 

Of  their  afflictions,  and  shall  not  I,  myself, 

One  of  their  kind,  that  relish  all  as  sharply, 

Fashioned  as  they,  be  kindlier  moved  than  thou  art? 

Though  with  their  high  wrongs  I  am  struck  to  the  quick, 

Yet  with  my  nobler  reason  'gainst  my  fury 

Do  I  take  part.4 

Was  William  Shakspere  of  Stratford-on-Avon, —  himself  one  of 
the  common  people,  "fashioned  as  they," — kindly  "moved  by  their 

1  Outlines  Life  of  Shale.,  p.  197.  3  A  Midsummer  Nighfs  Dream,  v,  1. 

2  Lear,  Hi,  4.  *  Tempest,  v,  1. 


6o        WILLIAM    SHAKSPERE   DID  NOT    WRITE    THE   PLAYS. 

afflictions;"  and   did   he  throw  his  wealth   and  influence  into   the 

scale  in  their  defense  ?     Not  at  all. 

Knight  says : 

The  enclosure  would  probably  have  improved  his  property,  and  especially 
have  increased  the  value  of  the  tithes,  of  the  moiety  of  which  he  held  a  lease. 
The  corporation  of  Stratford  were  opposed  to  the  inclosure.  They  held  that  it 
would  be  injurious  to  the  poorer  inhabitants,  zvho  were  then  deeply  suffering  from 
the  desolation  of  the  fire. ' 

Let  us  resume  Halliwell-Phillipps   narrative  of  the  transaction: 

It  appears  most  probable  that  Shakespeare  was  one  of  the  latter  who  were 
so  influenced,  and  that,  amongst  perhaps  other  inducements ,  he  was  allured  to  the 
unpopular  side  by  Combe's  agent,  one  Replingham,  guaranteeing  him  from  pros- 
pective loss.  However  that  may  be,  it  is  certain  that  the  poet  was  in  favor  of  the 
enclosures,  for,  on  December  23d,  the  corporation  addressed  a  letter  of  remon- 
strance to  him  on  the  subject,  and  another  on  the  same  day  to  a  Mr.  Mainwaring. 
The  latter,  who  had  been  practically  bribed  by  some  land  arrangements  at  Welcombe, 
undertook  to  protect  the  interests  of  Shakespeare,  so  there  can  be  no  doubt  that 
the  three  parties  were  acting  in  unison.2 

Observe  how  tenderly  the  Shakspereans  touch  the  wretched 
record  of  their  hero.  Mr.  Mainwaring  "  was  practically  bribed  by 
some  land  arrangements,"  but  Mr.  Shakspere,  acting  in  concert 
with  Mainwaring  and  Combe,  under  agreements  of  indemnifica- 
tion, was  not  bribed  at  all. 

And  that  this  agreement  contemplated  driving  the  people  off 
the  land  and  pauperizing  them,  is  plain  from  the  terms  of  the 
instrument,  for  Replingham  contracts  to  indemnify  Shackespeare 
for  any  loss  he  may  sustain  in  his  tithes  "  by  reason  of  any  inclos- 
ure or  decay  of  tillage  there  mcnt  and  intended  by  the  said  William  Rep- 
lingham." 

Three   greedy  cormorants   combine   to  rob  the  people  of  their 

ancient  rights,  and  cause  a  decay  of  tillage,  and  one  of  the  three  is 

the  man  who  is  supposed  to  have  possessed  the  greatest  mind  and 

most  benevolent  heart  of  his  age;  a  heart  so  benevolent  toward  the 

poor  and   suffering  that   he   anticipated   the   broadest   claims    put 

forth  by  the  communists  of  to-day: 

Here,  take  this  purse,  you  whom  the  heaven's  plagues 
Have  humbled  to  all  strokes:  that  I  am  wretched 
Makes  thee  the  happier:  —  Heavens,  deal  so  still! 
Let  the  superfluous  and  lust-dieted  man, 
That  slaves  your  ordinance,  that  will  not  see 
Because  he  does  not  feel,  feel  your  power  quickly; 

3  Knight's  Shak.  Biography,  p.  528.  2  Outlines y  p.  168. 


THE  REAL    CHARACTER   OF    WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE.  61 

So  distribution  should  undo  excess, 
And  each  man  have  enough* 

Do  we  not  see  in  this  attempt  of  Shakspere  to  rob  the  poor  of 
their  rights,  at  the  very  time  they  had  been  impoverished  by  a 
great  fire,  the  same  man  described  by  Ratsei  —  the  thrifty  play- 
actor, that  fed  on  all  men  and  permitted  none  to  feed  on  him;  who 
made  his  hand  a  stranger  to  his  pocket,  and  his  heart  slow  to  per- 
form his  tongue's  promise  ? 

And  all  for  what?  To  add  a  few  acres  more  to  his  estate;  a  few 
pounds  more  to  his  fortune,  on  which,  as  he  fondly  hoped, 
through  the  heirs  of  his  eldest  daughter,  he  was  to  found  a  family 
which  should  wear  that  fictitious  coat-of-arms,  based  on  those  lands 
which  the  King  never  conferred,  for  services  which  were  never 
rendered,  and  glorified  by  the  immortal  plays  which  he  never  wrote. 

Was  this  the  spirit  of  the  real  author  of  the  plays?     No,  no; 

listen  to  him: 

Tell  her  my  love,  more  noble  than  the  world, 
Prizes  not  quantity  of  dirty  lands.2 

And  again  he  says: 

Dost  know  this  water-fly  ?  .  .  .  'tis  a  vice  to  know  him.  He  hath  much  land 
and  fertile;  let  a  beast  be  lord  of  beasts,  and  his  crib  shall  stand  at  the  king's 
mess.     Tis  a  chough;  but,  as  I  say,  spacious  in  the  possession  of  dirt.3 

This  fellow  might  be  in  's  time  a  great  buyer  of  land,  with  his  statutes,  his 
recognizances,  his  fines,  his  double  vouchers,  his  recoveries;  is  this  the  fine  of  his 
fines,  and  the  recovery  of  his  recoveries,  to  have  his  fine  pate  full  of  fine  dirt?4 

And  again: 

Hamlet.     Is  not  parchment  made  of  sheep-skins  ? 

Horatio.     Ay,  my  lord,  and  of  calf-skins,  too. 

Hamlet.     They  are  sheep  and  calves  which  seek  out  assurances  in  that. 

The  real  Shakespeare  —  Francis  Bacon  —  said,  "My  mind  turns 
on  other  wheels  than  profit."  He  regarded  money  as  valuable  only 
for  the  uses  to  which  he  put  it,  "  the  betterment  of  the  state  of 
man;"  he  had  no  faculty  to  grasp  money,  especially  from  the 
poor  and  oppressed;  and  as  a  consequence  he  died,  leaving  behind 
him  a  bankrupt  estate  and  the  greatest  memory  in  human  history. 

Is  it  possible  that  the  true  Shakespeare  could  have  taken  such 
pains,  as  the  Stratford  man  did,  to  entail  his  real-estate  upon  one 

1  Lear,  iv,  i.  2  Twelfth  Night,  ii,  4.  s  Hamlet,  v,  2.  *  Hamlet,  v,  1. 


6  2        WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE   DID   NOT    WRITE    THE   PLAYS. 

of  his  children  and  her  heirs,  and  forget  totally  to  mention  in  his 
will  that  grander,  that  immortal  estate  of  the  mind  which  his 
genius  had  created,  inconceivably  more  valuable  than  his  "spa- 
cious possessions  of  dirt"? 

VIII.     His   Treatment   of   his   Father's   Memory. 

Let  us  pass  to  one  other  incident  in  the  career  of  the  Shakspere 
of  Stratford. 

We  have  seen  that  he  strove  to  have  his  father  made  a  gentle- 
man. It  will  therefore  scarcely  be  believed  that,  with  an  income 
equal  to  $25,000  per  year  of  our  money,  he  left  that  same  father, 
and  his  mother,  and  his  son  Hamnet —  his  only  son  —  without  even 
the  humblest  monument  to  mark  their  last  resting-place. 

Richard  Grant  White  says: 

Shakespeare  seems  to  have  set  up  no  stone  to  tell  us  where  his  mother  or 
father  lay,  and  the  same  is  true  as  to  his  son  Hamnet.' 

It  appears  that  he  inherited  some  property  from  his  father,  cer- 
tainly enough  to  pay  for  a  headstone  to  mark  the  everlasting 
resting-place  of  the  father  of  the  richest  man  in  Stratford  —  the 
father  of  the  man  who  was  "in  judgment  a  Nestor,  in  genius  a 
Socrates,  in  art  a  Maro!  " 

And  they  would  have  us  believe  that  he  was  the  same  man  who 

wrote: 

I'll  sweeten  thy  sad  grave.     Thou  shalt  not  lack 
The  flower  that's  like  thy  face,  pale  primrose;  nor 
The  azured  hare-bell,  like  thy  veins;  no,  nor 
The  leaf  of  eglantine,  whom  not  to  slander, 
Out-sweetened  not  thy  breath:  the  robin  would 
With  charitable  bill  (O  bill,  sore-shaming 
Those  rich-left  heirs  that  let  their  fathers  lie 
Without  a  monument !)  bring  thee  all  this.2 

IX.     His  Daughter  Judith. 

But  let  us  go  a  step  farther,  and  ask  ourselves,  what  kind  of  a 
family  was  it  that  inhabited  New  Place  during  the  latter  years  of 
Shakspere's  life  ? 

We  have  seen  that  the  poet's  father,  mother  and  relatives 
generally  were  grossly  ignorant;  that  they  could  not  even  write 
their    own    names,   or    read    the    Lord's    Prayer    in    their    native 

1  Life  and  Genius  of '  Shak.,  p.  144.  2  Cywbeline,  iv,  2. 


THE  REAL   CHARACTER   OF    WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE.  63 

tongue;    and    that    they    did    not    possess    even    a    Bible    in    their 
households. 

But  we  now  come  face  to  face  with  a  most  astounding  fact. 

Shakspere  had  but  two  children  who  lived  to  maturity,  his 
daughters  Susanna  and  Judith,  and  Judith  could  not  read  or  write  ! 

Here  is  a  copy  of  the  mark  with  which  the  daugh- 
ter of  Shakspere  signed  her  name.  It  appears  as  that 
of  an  attesting  witness  to  a  conveyance  in  161 1,  she 
being  then  twenty-seven  years  of  age. 

Think  of  it !  The  daughter  of  William  Shakspere,  the  daughter 
of  the  greatest  intellect  of  his  age,  or  of  all  ages,  the  profound 
scholar,  the  master  of  Latin,  Greek,  Italian,  French,  Spanish, 
Danish,  the  philosopher,  the  scientist,  the  politician,  the  statesman, 
the  physician,  the  musician,  signs  her  name  with  a  curley-queue 
like  a  Pottawatomie  Indian.  And  this  girl  was  twenty-seven  years 
old,  and  no  idiot;  she  was  subsequently  married  to  one  of  the  lead- 
ing citizens  of  the  town,  Thomas  Quiney,  vintner.  She  was  raised 
in  the  same  town  wherein  was  the  same  free-school  in  which,  we 
are  assured,  Shakspere  received  that  magnificent  education  which 
is  manifested  in  the  Plays. 

Imagine  William  E.  Gladstone,  or  Herbert  Spencer,  dwelling  in 
the  same  house  with  a  daughter,  in  the  full  possession  of  all  her 
faculties,  who  signed  her  name  with  a  pot-hook.  Imagine  the 
father  and  daughter  meeting  every  day  and  looking  at  each  other  ! 
And  yet  neither  of  these  really  great  men  is  to  be  mentioned  in 
the  same  breath  with  the  immortal  genius  who  produced  the  Plays. 

With  what  divine  anathemas  did  the  real  Shakespeare  scourge 
ignorance  ! 

He  says: 

Ignorance  is  the  curse  of  God} 
And  again: 

The  common  curse  of  mankind,  folly  and  ignorance,  be  thine  in  great  revenue! 
Heaven  bless  thee  from  a  tutor  and  discipline  come  not  near  thee.2 

And  again: 

There  is  no  darkness  but  ignorance.3 

He  pelts  it  with  adjectives: 

Barbarous  ignorance.4 

1 2d  Henry  VI.,  iv,  7.  3  Twelfth  Night,  iv,  2. 

2  Troihts  and  Cressida,  ii,  3.  4  King  John,  iv,  2. 


64        WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE    DID  NOT    WRITE    THE  J' J. AYS. 

Dull,  unfeeling  ignorance.1 

Gross  andSrriiserable  ignorance.'2 

Thou  monster,  ignorance. :! 

Short-armed  ignorance.1 

Again,  we  read: 

I  held  it  ever, 
Virtue  and  cunning  [knowledge]  were  endowments  greater 
Than  nobleness  and  riches;  careless  heirs 
May  the  two  latter  darken  and  expend; 
Kut  immortality  attends  the  former, 
Making  a  man  a  god.5 

And  he  found — 

More  content  in  course  of  true  delight 
Than  to  be  thirsty  after  tottering  honor, 
Or  tie  my  treasure  up  in  silken  bags, 
To  please  the  fool  and  death.6 

Can  it  be  conceived  that  the  man  who  wrote  these  things  would 
try,  by  false  representations,  to  secure  a  coat-of-arms  for  his  family, 
and  seek  by  every  means  in  his  power  to  grasp  the  shillings  and 
pence  of  his  poorer  neighbors,  and  at  the  same  time  leave  one  of 
his  children  in  "barbarous,  barren,  gross  and  miserable  ignorance  "  ? 

With  an  income,  as  we  have  shown,  equal  to  $25,000  yearly  of 
our  money;  with  the  country  swarming  with  graduates  of  Oxford 
and  Cambridge,  begging  for  bread  and  ready  to  act  as  tutors;  living 
in  a  quiet,  rural  neighborhood,  where  there  were  few  things  to 
distract  attention,  William  Shakspere  permitted  his  daughter  to 
attain  the  ripe  age  of  twenty-seven  years,  unable  to  read  the 
immortal  quartos  which  had  made  her  father  famous  and  wealthy. 
We  will  not  —  we  cannot  —  believe  it.  / 

X.     Some  of  the  Educated  Women  of  that  Age. 

But  it  may  be  said  that  it  was  the  fault  of  the  age. 

It  must  be  remembered,  however,  that  the  writer  of  the  Plays 
was  an  exceptional  man.  He  possessed  a  mind  of  vast  and  endless 
activity,  which  ranged  into  every  department  of  human  thought; 
he  eagerly  absorbed  all  learning. 

Such  another  natural  scholar  we  find  in  Sir  Anthony  Cook,  tutor 
to  King  Edward  IV.,  grandfather  of  Francis  Bacon  and  Robert  CeciL 

1  Richard  II.,  i,  3.  3  Love's  Labor  Lost,  iv,  2.  5  Pericles,  iii,  2. 

2  2d  Henry  17.,  iv,  2.  *  Troilus  and  Cressida,  ii,  3.  6  Ibid. 


I 


•     .     WILLIAM    SHAKSPERE. 

FRANCIS  BACON'S  MASK. 

Facsimile  of  the  Frontispiece  in  the  Folio  of  1623. 

Facing  this  portrait  In  the  Folio  are  presented  Ben  Jonson's  famous  lines: 

This  Figure,  that  thou  here  seest  put  O,  could  he  but  have  drawn  his  wit 

It  was  for  gentle  Shakespeare  cut;  As  well  in  brasse,  as  he  hath  hit 

Wherein  the  Graver  had  a  strife  His  face,  the  Print  would  then  surpasse 

With  nature,  to  out-doo  the  life:  All  that  was  ever  writ  in  brasse. 

But  since  he  cannot,  Reader,  looke 

Not  on  his  Picture,  but  his  Booke. 


or  the    r 
VWIVERS/TY 


THE   REAL    CHARACTER    OE    WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE.  65 

Like  Shakspere  of  Stratford,  his  family  consisted  of  girls,  and 
he  was  not  by  any  means  as  wealthy  as  Shakspere.  Did  he  leave 
his  daughters  to  sign  their  names  with  hieroglyphics  ?     No. 

Macaulay  says: 

Katherine,  who  became  Lady  Killigrew,  wrote  Latin  hexameters  and  pentam- 
eters which  would  appear  with  credit  in  the  Musa  Etonenses.  Mildred,  the  wife 
of  Lord  Burleigh,  was  described  by  Roger  Ascham  as  the  best  Greek  scholar 
among  the  young  women  of  England,  Lady  Jane  Grey  always  excepted.  Anne, 
the  mother  of  Francis  Bacon,  was  distinguished  both  as  a  linguist  and  a  theologian. 
She  corresponded  in  Greek  with  Bishop  Jewell,  and  translated  his  Apologia  from 
the  Latin  so  correctly  that  neither  he  nor  Archbishop  Parker  could  suggest  a  single 
alteration.  She  also  translated  a  series  of  sermons  on  fate  and  free  will  from  the 
Tuscan  of  Bernardo  Ochino.1 

They  were  not  alone.  There  were  learned  and  scholarly  women 
in  England  in  those  days,  and  many  of  them,  as  there  have  been  in 
all  ages  since. 

Macaulay  says: 

The  fair  pupils  of  Ascham  and  Aylmer  who  compared,  over  their  embroidery, 
the  styles  of  Isocrates  and  Lysias,  and  who,  while  the  horns  were  sounding  and 
the  dogs  in  full  cry,  sat  in  the  lonely  oriel  with  eyes  riveted  to  that  immortal  page 
which  tells  how  meekly  and  bravely  the  first  great  martyr  of  intellectual  liberty 
took  the  cup  from  his  weeping  jailer.2 

It  is  not  surprising  that  William  Shakspere,  poacher,  fugitive, 
vagabond,  actor,  manager,  brewer,  money-lender,  land-grabber, 
should  permit  one  of  his  two  children  to  grow  up  in  gross  ignor- 
ance, but  it  is  beyond  the  compass  of  the  human  mind  to  believe 
that  the  author  of  Haynlet  and  Lear  could  have  done  so.  He  indi- 
cates in  one  of  his  plays  how  a  child  should  be  trained.  Speaking 
of  King  Leonatus,  in  Cymbeline,  he  says: 

Put  him  to  all  the  learnings  that  his  time 
Could  make  him  receiver  of ;  which  he  took 
As  we  do  air,  fast  as  'twas  ministered,  and 
In  his  spring  became  a  harvest.3 

If  Judith  had  been  the  child  of  the  author  of  the  Plays,  and  had 
"  something  of  Shakespeare  in  her,"  she  would  have  resented  and 
struggled  out  of  her  shameful  condition  ;  her  mind  would  have 
sought  the  light  as  the  young  oak  forces  its  way  upward  through 
the  brush-wood  of  the  forest.  She  would  have  replied  to  her  neg- 
lectful father  as  Portia  did: 

1  Macaulay's  Essays,  Bacon,  p.  246.  2  Ibid.,  p.  247.  3  Cymbeline,  i,  1. 


\J 


66        WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE   DID   NOT    WRITE    THE   FLAYS. 

But  the  full  sum  of  me 
Is  sum  of  nothing,  which  to  term  in  gross 
Is  an  unlessoned  girl,  unschooled,  unpracticed  ; 
Happy  in  this,  she  is  not  yet  so  old 
But  she  may  learn  ;  happier  than  this, 
She  is  not  bred  so  dull  but  she  can  learn  ; 
Happiest  of  all,  is,  that  her  gentle  spirit 
Commits  itself  to  yours  to  be  directed, 
As  from  her  lord,  her  governor,  her  king.1 

But  if  she  was  the  natural  outcome  of  ages  of  ignorance, 
developed  in  a  coarse  and  rude  state  of  society,  and  the  daughter 
of  a  cold-blooded  man,  who  had  no  instinct  but  to  make  money, 
we  can  readily  understand  how,  in  the  midst  of  wealth,  and  under 
the  shadow  of  the  school-house,  she  grew  up  so  grossly  ignorant. 

XI.     Shakspere's  Family. 

There  seems  to  have  been  something  wrong  about  the  whole 
breed. 

In  1613,  Shakspere  being  yet  alive,  Dr.  Hall,  his  son-in-law, 
husband  of  his  daughter  Susanna,  brought  suit  in  the  ecclesiastical 
court  against  one  John  Lane,  for  reporting  that  his  wife  "  had  the 
runninge  of  the  raynes,  and  had  bin  naught  with  Rafe  Smith  and 
John  Palmer."       Halliwell-Phillipps  says: 

The  case  was  heard  at  Worcester  on  July  the  15th,  1613,  and  appears  to  have 
been  conducted  somewhat  mysteriously,  the  deposition  of  Robert  Whatcot,  the  poet's 
intimate  friend,  being  the  only  evidence  recorded,  and  throwing  no  substantial  light 
on  the  merits  of  the  dispute} 

Nevertheless,  the  defendant  was  excommunicated. 

This  being  the  case  of  the  oldest  daughter,  the  other,  the  pot- 
hook heiress,  does  not  seem  to  have  been  above  suspicion.  Judith's 
marriage  with  Thomas  Quiney  was  a  mysterious  and  hurried  one. 
Phillipps  says: 

There  appears  to  have  been  some  reason  for  accelerating  this  event,  for  they 
were  married  without  a  license,  and  were  summoned  a  few  weeks  afterward  to  the 
ecclesiastical  court  at  Worcester  to  atone  for  the  offense.3 

Ignorance,  viciousness,  vulgarity  and  false  pretenses  seem  to 
have  taken  possession  of  New  Place. 

Not  a  glimpse  of  anything  that  might  tell  a  different  story 
escapes  the  ravages  of  time. 

1  Merchant  of  Venice,  Hi,  2.  2  Outlines  Life  of  Shak.,  p.  166. 

3  Halliwell-Phillipps,  Outlines  Life  ofShak.,  p.  182. 


THE   REAL    CHARACTER    OR    WILLIAM   SIIAKSPERE.  67 

Appleton  Morgan  says: 

It  is  simply  impossible  to  turn  one's  researches  into  any  channel  that  leads 
into  the  vicinity  of  Stratford  without  noticing  the  fact  that  the  Shakspere  family 
left  in  the  neighborhood  where  it  flourished  one  unmistakable  trace,  familiar  in  all 
cases  of  vulgar  and  illiterate  families,  namely,  the  fact  that  they  never  knew  or 
cared,  or  made  an  effort  to  know,  of  what  vowels  or  consonants  their  own  name 
was  composed,  or  even  to  prepare  the  skeleton  of  its  pronunciation.  They 
answered  —  and  made  their  marks  —  indifferently  to  Saxpir,  or  Chaksper,  or 
to  any  other  of  the  thirty  forms  given  by  Mr.  Grant  White,  or  the  fifty-five  forms 
which  another  gentleman  has  been  able  to  collect.1 

Even  the  very  tombs  of  the  different  members  of  the  family  pre- 
sent different  renderings  of  the  name.  Under  the  bust  it  is  Shak- 
speare,  while  he  signed  the  will  as  Shakspere;  over  the  grave  of 
Susanna  it  is  Shakspere;  over  the  other  members  of  the  family 
it  is  Shakespeare. 

In  short,  the  name  was  nothing.     They 

Answered  to  "Hi!" 
Or  any  loud  cry. 

XII.     The  Origin  of  the  Name. 

We  have  been  taught  to  believe  that  the  name  was  Shakespeare, 
and  it  has  been  suggested  that  this  was  a  reminiscence  of  that 
"  late  antecessor  "  who  rendered  such  valuable  services  to  the  late 
King  Henry  VII.;  that  he  shook  a  speare  in  defense  of  the  King  so 
potently  that  he  was  ever  after  known  as  Shakespeare.  It  is  in  this 
way  the  name  is  printed  in  all  the  publications  put  forth  in  Shak- 
spere's  lifetime.  But  it  is  no  less  certain  that  this  name  is  another 
imposture.  There  never  was  a  "  shake  "  to  it;  and  possibly  never 
a  "  speare."  The  name  was  Shakspeare,  or  speer,  or  spur,  or p/erre, 
the  first  syllable  rhyming  to  back  and  not  to  bake.  Shakespeare  was 
doubtless  an  invention  of  the  man  who  assumed  the  name  at  a 
later  date  as  a  mask,  and  he  wanted  something  that  would 
"  heroically  sound."  The  fictitious  speare  passed  to  the  fraud- 
ulent coat-of-arms. 

In  the  bond  given  to  enable  William  to  marry,  he  is  called 
''William  Shagspere."  In  the  bill  of  complaint  of  1589  of  John 
Shakspere  in  connection  with  the  Wilmecote  property,  his  son  is 
alluded  to  as  "  William  Shackespere."  The  father  signs  his  cross 
to  a  deed  to  Robert  Webb,  in  which  he  is  described  as  "  John  Shax- 

1  The  Shakespeare  Myth,  p.  160. 


68         WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE   DID   NOT    WRITE    TILE  PLAYS. 

pere;"  and  his  mother  makes  her  mark  as  "  Marye  Shaksper." 
His  father  is  mentioned  in  the  will  of  John  Webbe,  in  1573, 
as  "John  Schackspere."  In  1567  he  is  alluded  to  in  the  town 
records  as  "Mr.  Shakspyr,"  and  when  elected  high  bailiff,  in  1568^ 
he  is  referred  to  as  "Mr.  John  Shakysper."  The  only  letter 
extant  addressed  to  Shakspere  was  written  October  25,  1598,  by 
Richard  Quiney,  his  townsman,  and  it  is  addressed  to  "Mr.  Wm.. 
Shackespere."  In  1594-5  he  is  referred  to  in  the  court  record 
as  "Shaxberd."  In  1598  he  is  referred  to  in  the  corporation 
records  of  Stratford  as  selling  them  a  load  of  stone:  "Paid  to 
Mr.  Shaxpere  for  on  lod  of  ston  x  d."  In  his  will  the  attorney 
writes  it  "Schackspeare,"  and  the  man  himself  signed  his  name 
Shakspere. 

Hallam  says: 

The  poet  and  his  family-  spelt  their  name  Shakspere,  and  to  this  spelling  there 
are  no  exceptions  in  his  own  autographs. 

The  name  is  spelled  by  his  townsman,  Master  Abraham  Sturley, 
in  1599,  S/iakspere,  and  in  1598  he  alludes  to  him  as  "Mr.  William 
Shak."  And  when  he  himself  petitioned  the  court  in  chancery  in 
161 2,  in  reference  to  his  tithes,  he  described  himself  as  "William 
Schackspeare." 

White  says: 

In  the  irregular,  phonographic  spelling  of  antiquity,  the  name  appears  some- 
times as  Chacksper  and  Shaxpur.  It  is  possible  that  Shakespeare  is  a  corruption 
of  some  name  of  a  more  peaceful  meaning,  and  therefore  perhaps  of  humbler 
derivation.1 

It  has  been  suggested,  and  with  a  good  deal  of  probability, 
that  the  original  name  was  Jacques-Pierre,  pronounced  Chacks- 
pere,  or  Shaks-pere. 

The  French  Jacques  (James)  seems,  by  some  mutation,  to  have 
been  transformed  in  England  into  "  a  nickname  or  diminutive  for 
John."2 

Thus  it  may  be  that  the  original  progenitor  of  this  grandilo- 
quent, martial  cognomen,  which  "  doth  like  himself  heroically 
sound,"  may  have  been,  in  the  first  instance,  a  peasant  without  a 
family  name,  and  known  as  plain  Jack-Peter. 

1  White,  Life  and  Genius  of  Shak.,  p.  5. 

2  See  Webster's  Unabridged  Dictionary,  p.  722,  the  word  J-ack. 


THE   REAL    CHARACTER    OF    WILLIAM   SHAKSTERE.  69 

XIII.  His  Humiliation. 

Despite  his  wealth,  his  position  in  his  native  town  could  not  have 
been  a  very  pleasant  one.  In  1602,  and  again  in  16 12,  the  very  year 
in  which  we  are  told  Shakspere  returned  to  Stratford  to  spend  the 
rest  of  his  life,  the  most  stringent  measures  were  taken  by  the  corpo- 
ration to  prevent  the  performance  of  plays.  The  pursuit  in  which  he 
had  made  his  money  was  thus  stamped  by  his  fellow  townsmen  as 
something  shameful  and  degrading.  Even  this  dirty  little  village 
repudiated  it.  The  neighboring  aristocracy  must  have  turned  up 
their  noses  and  laughed  long  and  loudat  the  plebeian's  son  setting  up 
a  coat-of-arms.  By  profession  he  was,  by  the  statutes  of  his  country, 
a  ''vagabond,"  and  had,  in  the  past,  only  escaped  arrest  as  such  by 
entering  himself  as  a  servitor,  or  servant,  to  some  nobleman. 

The  vagabond,  according  to  the  statutes,  was  to  "be  stripped 
naked,  from  the  middle  upwards,  and  to  be  whipped  until  his 
body  was  bloody,  and  to  be  sent  from  parish  to  parish,  the  next 
straight  way,  to  the  place  of  his  birth."  ' 

He  was  buried  in  the  chancel  of  the  church,  not  as  recogni- 
tion of  his  greatness,  but  because  that  locality  was  "  the  legal  and 
customary  burial-place  for  the  owners  of  the  tithes."  2 

XIV.  His  Handwriting. 

The  very  signature  of  Shakspere  has  provoked  discussion. 
The  fact  that  the  will  as  originally  drawn  read,  "witness  my  seal,"  y 
and  that  the  "seal"  was  erased  and  "hand"  written  in,  has  been 
cited  to  prove  that  the  lawyer  who  drew  the  will  believed  that  the 
testator  could  not  read  or  write.  In  an  article  in  The  Quarterly 
Review  in  187 1,  we  read: 

If  Shakspere's  handwriting  was  at  all  like  his  signature,  it  was  by  no  means  easy 
to  decipher.  If  we  may  speak  dogmatically  upon  such  slender  proofs  as  we  now  pos- 
sess, he  learnt  to  write  after  the  old  German  text-hand  then  in  use  at  the  grammar 
school  of  Stratford.  It  was  in  this  respect  fifty  years  behindhand,  as  any  one  may  see 
by  comparing  Shakspere's  signature  with  that  of  Sir  Thomas  Lucy,  Lord  Bacon, 
or  John  Lilly.      The  wonder  is  how  with  such  a  hand  he  could  have  written  so  much. 

1 

Mr.  William    Henry  Burr,  of  Washington,  D.  C,  has  written  an 

interesting  pamphlet,  to  prove   that   Shakspere  could  not   read  or 
write,  but  simply  traced  his  name  from  a  copy  set  him;  and  that, 

1  Knight's  Illust.  Shaks.,  Trag.,  i,  p.  442.  2  Outlines  Life  of  Stiak.,  p.  171. 


7o        WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE   DID   NOT    WRITE    THE  PLAYS. 

as  the  copy  furnished  him  at  different  times  was  written  by  differ- 
ent hands,  there  is  a  great  difference  in  the  shape  of  the  letters 
composing  his  name. 

Certain  it  is  his  autographs  do  not  look  like  the  work  of  a  schol- 
arly man.  The  following  cut  is  a  representation  of  all  the  signatures 
known,  beyond  question,  to  have  been  written  by  Shakspere: 


&fy*S'rf 


The  first  is  from  Malone's  facsimile  of  a  mortgage  deed  which 
has  been  lost;  the  second  is  from  a  conveyance  in  the  possession  of 
the  corporation  of  London;  the  other  thsee  are  from  the  three 
sheets  of  paper  constituting  his  will. 

Compare  the  foregoing  scrawls  with  the  clear  and  scholarly 
writing  of  Ben  Jonson,  affixed  in  1604-5  to  a  copy  of  his  Mask  of 
Blackness,  and  now  preserved  in  the  British  Museum: 

Or  compare  them  with  the  handwriting  of  the  famous  and 
popular  John  Lyly,  the  author  of  Euphues,  written  about  1580: 


THE   REAL    CHARACTER    OF    WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE. 


7* 


Or   compare    them    with    the    following    signature    of    Francis 
Bacon: 


J-  L^2  il^vv^  -f^s^j^ 


y 


Or  compare  them  with  the  signature  of  the  famous  Inigo  Jones, 
who  assisted  in  getting  up  the  scenery  and  contrivances  for  masks 
at  court: 


XV.     His  Death. 

Let  us  pass  to  another  point. 

We  saw  that  the  first  recorded  fact  in  reference  to  the  Stratford 
boy  was  a  drunken  bout  in  which  he  lost  consciousness,  and  layout 
in  the  fields  all  night.  The  history  of  his  life  terminates  with  a  sim- 
ilar event. 

Halliwell-Phillipps  thus  gives  the  tradition: 

It  is  recorded  that  the  party  was  a  jovial  one,  and,  according  to  a  somewhat 
late  but  apparently  reliable  tradition,  when  the  great  dramatist  was  returning  to 
New  Place  in  the  evening,  he  had  taken  more  wine  than  was.  conducive  to  pedestrian 
accuracy.  Shortly  or  immediately  afterwards,  he  was  seized  by  the  lamentable 
fever  which  terminated  fatally  on  Friday,  April  23.  The  cause  of  the  malady,  then 
attributed  to  undue  festivity,  would  now  be  readily  discernible  in  the  wretched  san- 
itary conditions  surrounding  his  residence.  If  truth,  and  not  romance,  is  to  be 
invoked,  were  there  the  woodbine  and  the  sweet  honeysuckle  within  reach  of  the 
poet's  death-bed,  their  fragrance  would  have  been  neutralized  by  their  vicinity  to 
middens,  fetid  water-courses,  mud-walls  and  piggeries.1 


'Halliwell-Phillipps,  Outlines  Life  of  Shak.,  p.  170. 


J 


72        WILLIAM   SUA  A" SEE  RE  DID  NOT    WRITE    THE   PLAYS. 

And  from  such  a  cause,  and  in  the  midst  of  such  surroundings, 
we  are  told,  died  the  greatest  man  of  his  race;  leaving  behind  him 
not  a  single  tradition  or  memorial  that  points  to  learning,  culture, 
refinement,  generosity,  elevation  of  soul  or  love  of  humanity. 

If  he  be  in  truth  the  author  of  the  Plays,  then  indeed  is  it  one 
of  the  most  inexplicable  marvels  in  the  history  of  mankind.  As 
Emerson  says,  "  I  cannot  marry  the  facts  to  his  verse." 


T 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  LOST  LIBRARY  AND  MANUSCRIPTS. 

Come,  and  take  choice  of  all  my  library, 
And  so  beguile  thy  sorrow. 

Titus  A  ndronicus,  iv,  r. 

HE  whole  life  of  Shakspere  is  shrouded  in  mystery. 
Richard  Grant  White  says: 


We  do  not  know  positively  the  date  of  Shakespeare's  birth,  or  the  house  in 
-which  he  first  saw  the  light,  or  a  single  act  of  his  life  from  the  day  of  his  baptism  to 
the  month  of  his  obscure  and  suspicious  marriage.  We  are  equally  ignorant  of  the 
date  of  that  event,  and  of  all  else  that  befell  him  from  its  occurrence  until  we  find 
him  in  London;  and  when  he  went  there  we  are  not  sure,  or  when  he  finally 
returned  to  Stratford.  .  .  .  Hardly  a  word  that  he  spoke  has  reached  us,  and  not 
a  familiar  line  from  his  hand,  or  the  record  of  one  interview  at  which  he  was 
present.1 

And,  again,  the  same  writer  says: 

From  early  manhood  to  maturity  he  lived  and  labored  and  throve  in  the  chief 
■city  of  a  prosperous  and  peaceful  country,  at  a  period  of  high  intellectual  and 
moral  development.  His  life  was  passed  before  the  public  in  days  when  the  pen 
recorded  scandal  in  the  diary,  and  when  the  press,  though  the  daily  newspaper  did 
not  yet  exist,  teemed  with  personality.  Yet  of  Dante,  driven  in  haughty  wretched- 
ness from  city  to  city,  and  singing  his  immortal  hate  of  his  pursuers  as  he  fled,  we 
know  more  than  we  do  of  Shakespeare,  the  paucity  of  whose  personal  memorials 
is  so  extreme  that  he  has  shared  with  the  almost  mythical  Homer  the  fortune  of 
having  the  works  which  made  his  name  immortal  pronounced  medleys,  in  the  com- 
position of  which  he  was  but  indirectly  and  partially  concerned.'2 

Hallam  says: 

Of  William  Shakespeare  it  may  be  truly  said  we  know  scarcely  anything.  .  .  . 
While  I  laud  the  labors  of  Mr.  Collier,  Mr.  Hunter  and  other  collectors  of  such 
crumbs,  I  am  not  sure  that  we  should  not  venerate  Shakespeare  as  much  if  they 
had  left  him  undisturbed  in  his  obscurity.  To  be  told  that  he  played  a  trick  on  a 
brother  player  in  a  licentious  amour,  or  that  he  died  of  a  drunken  frolic,  does  not 
exactly  inform  us  of  the  man  who  wrote  Lear.  If  there  was  a  Shakespeare  of 
earth  there  was  also  one  of  heaven,  and  it  is  of  him  that  we  desire  to  know  some- 
thing.3 

This  is  certainly  extraordinary. 
It  was  an  age  of  great  men. 

1  White,  Life  and  Genius  of  Shak.,  p.  4.     2  Ibid.,  p.  1.     3  Introduction  to  Literature  of  Europe. 

73 


74       WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE  DID  NOT    WRITE    THE  PLAYS. 

Richard  Grant  White  says: 

Unlike  Dante,  unlike  Milton,  unlike  Goethe,  unlike  the  great  poets  and  trage- 
dians of  Greece  and  Rome,  Shakespeare  left  no  trace  upon  the  political,  or  even 
the  social  life  of  his  era.  Of  his  eminent  countrymen,  Raleigh,  Sidney,  Spenser, 
Bacon,  Cecil,  Walsingham,  Coke,  Camden,  Hooker,  Drake,  Hobbes,  Inigo  Jones, 
Herbert  of  Cherbury,  Laud,  Pym,  Hampden,  Selden,  Walton,  Wotton  and  Donne 
may  be  properly  reckoned  as  his  contemporaries;  and  yet  there  is  no  proof  what- 
ever that  he  was  personally  known  to  either  of  these  men,  or  to  any  others  of  less 
note  among  the  statesmen,  scholars,  soldiers  and  artists  of  his  day,  except  the  few 
of  his  fellow  craftsmen  whose  acquaintance  with  him  has  been  heretofore  men- 
tioned.1 

It  was  an  age  of  pamphlets.  Priests,  politicians  and  players  all 
vented  their  grievances,  or  set  forth  their  views,  in  pamphlets,  but 
in  none  of  these  is  there  one  word  from  or  about  Shakspere. 

I,     Where  are  his  Letters  ? 

It  was  an  age  of  correspondence.  The  letters  which  have  come 
down  to  us  from  that  period  would  fill  a  large  library,  but  in  no 
one  of  them  is  there  any  reference  to  Shakspere. 

The  man  of  Stratford  passed  through  the  world  without  leaving 
the  slightest  mark  upon  the  politics  or  the  society  of  his  teeming 
and  active  age. 

Emerson  says: 

If  it  need  wit  to  know  wit,  according  to  the  proverb,  Shakespeare's  time  should 
be  capable  of  recognizing  it.  Sir  Henry  Wotton  was  born  four  years  after  Shake- 
speare, and  died  twenty-three  years  after  him,  and  I  find  among  his  correspondents 
and  acquaintances  the  following  persons:  Theodore  Beza,  Isaac  Casaubon,  Sir 
Philip  Sidney,  the  Earl  of  Essex,  Lord  Bacon,  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  John  Milton,  Sir 
Henry  Vane,  Isaac  Walton,  Dr.  Donne,  Abraham  Cowley,  Bellarmine,  Charles 
Cotton,  John  Pym,  John  Hales,  Kepler,  Vieta,  Albericus  Gentilis,  Paul  Sarpi, 
Arminius  —  with  all  of  whom  exists  some  token  of  his  having  communicated,  with- 
out enumerating  many  others  whom  doubtless  he  (Wotton)  saw  —  Shakspeare, 
Spenser,  Jonson,  Beaumont,  Massinger,  two  Herberts,  Marlowe,  Chapman  and 
the  rest.  Since  the  constellation  of  great  men  who  appeared  in  Greece  in  the  time 
of  Pericles,  there  was  never  any  such  society;  yet  their  genius  failed  them  to  find 
out  the  best  head  in  the  universe.     Our  poet's  mask  was  impenetrable.2 

We  read  in  a  sonnet  attributed  to  his  pen  that  he  highly  valued 
Spenser;  and  we  find  Spenser,  it  is  claimed,  alluding  to  the  author 
of  the  Plays;  the  dedications  of  the  Venus  and  Adonis  and  the  Rafe 
of  Lucrece  are  supposed  to  imply  close  social  relationship  with  the 
Earl  of  Southampton;  we  are  told  Elizabeth  conversed  with  him 
and    King  James  wrote  him  a  letter;  we  have  pictures  of  him  sur- 

1  Lift  and  Genius  o/Skak.,  p.  185.  -  Representative  Men,  p.  200. 


THE  LOST  LIBRARY  AXD   MANUSCRIPTS,  75 

rounded  by  a  circle  of  friends,  consisting  of  the  wisest  and  wittiest 
of  the  age;  and  yet  there  has  been  found  no  scrap  of  writing  from 
him  or  to  him;  no  record  of  any  dinner  or  festival  at  which  he  met 
any  of  his  associates.  In  the  greatest  age  of  English  literature  the 
greatest  man  of  his  species  lives  in  London  for  nearly  thirty  years, 
and  no  man  takes  any  note  of  his  presence. 

Contrast  the  little  we  know  of  Shakspere  with  the  great  deal  we 
know  of  his  contemporary  Ben  Jonson.  We  are  acquainted  some- 
what with  the  career  even  of  Ben's  father;  we  know  that  Ben 
attended  school  in  London,  and  was  afterward  at  Cambridge;  — 
there  is  no  evidence  that  Shakspere  ever  was  a  day  at  school  in  his 
life.  We  know  that  Jonson  enlisted  and  served  as  a  young  man  in 
the  wars  in  the  Low  Countries.  Shakspere's  biography,  from  the 
time  he  left  Stratford,  in  1585-7,  until  he  appears  in  London  as  a 
writer  of  plays,  is  an  utter  blank,  except  the  legend  that  he  held 
horses  at  the  door  of  the  theater.  We  know  all  about  Jonson's 
return  home;  his  marriage;  his  duel  with  Gabriel  Spencer.  We 
are  certain  of  the  date  of  the  first  representation  of  each  of  his  plays; 
there  is  a  whole  volume  of  matter  touching  the  quarrels  between 
himself  and  other  writers.  He  published  his  own  works  in  16 16. 
and  received  a  pension  from  James  I.  We  have  letters  extant 
describing  the  suppers  he  gave,  his  manners,  weaknesses,  appear- 
ance, etc. 

But  with  Shakspere  all  this  is  different.  Where  are  the  letters 
he  must  have  received  during  the  thirty  years  he  was  in  London, 
if  he  was  the  man  of  active  mind  given  out  by  the  Plays  ?  If  he  had 
received  but  ten  a  year,  they  would  make  a  considerable  volume, 
and  what!  a  world  of  light  they  would  throw  upon  his  pursuits  and 
character. 

But  two  letters  are  extant  —  those  to  which  I  have  already 
referred  :  one  addressed  to  him  soliciting  a  loan  of  money;  an- 
other addressed  to  a  third  party,  in  which  he  is  referred  to  in  the 
same  connection;  but  there  is  not  one  word  as  to  studies,  or  art, 
or  literature,  or  politics,  or  science,  or  religion;  and  yet  the  mind 
that  wrote  the  Plays  embraced  all  these  subjects,  and  had  thought 
profoundly  on  all  of  them.  He  loved  the  art  of  poetry  passionately: 
he  speaks  of  "  the  elegance,  facility  and  golden  cadence  of  poetry;  "  * 

1  Lace's  Labor  Lost,  iv,  2.  ___—■____ 

CTTrT 

or  TMC    ' 


7 6       WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE   DID   NOT    WRITE    THE   PLAYS. 

he  aspired  to  a  "  muse  of  fire  that  would  ascend  the  highest  heaven 
•of  invention;  "  he  struggled  for  perfection.  Had  he  no  intercourse 
with  the  poets  of  his  time  ?  Was  there  no  mutual  coming-together 
of  men  of  kindred  tastes  and  pursuits? 

Is  it  not  most  extraordinary  that  he  should  leave  behind  him 
this  vast  body  of  plays,  the  glory  and  the  wonder  of  which  fills  the 
world,  and  not  a  scrap  of  paper  except  five  signatures,  three  of 
which  were  affixed  to  his  will,  and  the  others  to  some  legal  docu- 
ments ? 

On  the  one  side  we  have  the  Plays  —  vast,  voluminous,  immortal, 
covering  and  ranging  through  every  department  of  human  thought. 
These  are  the  works  of  Shakespeare. 

On  the  other  hand,  these  five  signatures  are  the  sum  total  of  the 
life-labors  of  Shakspere  which  have  come  down  to  us. 

In  these  rude,  illiterate  scrawls  we  stand  face  to  face  with  the 
man  of  Stratford.  What  an  abyss  separates  them  from  the  majestic, 
the  god-like  Plays  ? 

It  is  a  curious  fact  that  all  the  writings  were  put  forth  in  the 
name  of  Shakespeare,  very  often  printed  with  a  hyphen,  as  I  have 
given  it  above,  Shakespeare ;  while  in  every  one  of  the  five  cases 
where  the  man's  signature  has  come  down  to  us,  he  spells  his  name 
Shakspere. 

In  this  work,  wherever  I  allude  to  the  mythical  writer,  I  designate 
him  as  Shakespeare;  whenever  I  refer  to  the  man  of  Stratford,  I  give 
him  the  name  he  gave  himself — Shakspere. 

The  history  of  mankind  will  be  searched  in  vain  for  another 
instance  where  a  great  man  uniformly  spelled  his  name  one  way  on 
the  title-pages  of  his  works,  and  another  way  in  the  important 
legal  documents  which  he  was  called  upon  to  sign.  Can  such  a 
fact  be  explained  ? 

But  passing  from  this  theme  we  come  to  another  question: 

II.     Where  are  his  Books? 

We  have  seen  that  the  author  of  the  Plays  was  a  man  of  large 
learning;  that  he  had  read  and  studied  Homer,  Plato,  Heliodorus, 
Sophocles,  Euripides,  Dares  Phrygius,  Horace,  Virgil,  Lucretius, 
Statius,  Catullus,  Seneca,  Ovid,  Plautus,  Plutarch,  Boccaccio,  Berni 
and   an    innumerable   array  of   French  novelists  and   Spanish   and 


THE  LOST  LIBRARY  AND   MANUSCRIPTS.  77 

Danish  writers.    The  books  which  have  left  their  traces  in  the  Plays 
wTould  of  themselves  have  constituted  a  large  library. 

What  became  of  them  ? 

There  were  no  public  libraries  in  that  day  to  which  the  student 
could  resort.  The  man  who  wrote  the  Plays  must  have  gathered 
around  him  a  vast  literary  store,  commensurate  with  his  own  intel- 
lectual activity. 

Did  William   Shakspere,   of   Stratford-on-Avon,  possess   such  a 
library  ? 
J  If  he  did,  there  is  not  the  slightest  reference  to  it  in  his  will. 

The  man  who  wrote  the  Plays  would  have  loved  his  library;  he 
would  have  remembered  it  in  his  last  hours.  He  could  not  have 
forgotten  Montaigne,  Holinshed,  Plutarch,  Ovid,  Plato,  Horace,  the 
French  and  Italian  romances,  to  remember  his  "brod  silver  and 
gilt  bole,"  his  "sword,"  his  "wearing  apparel,"  and  his  "second 
best  bed  with  the  furniture." 

The  man  of  Stratford  forgot  Homer  and  Plato,  but  his  mind 
dwelt  lovingly,  at  the  edge  of  the  grave,  on  his  old  breeches  and 
the  second-hand  bed-clothes. 

Compare  his  will  with  that  of  one  who  was  his  contemporary, 
Robert  Burton,  the  author  of  The  Anatomy  of  Melancholy.  I  quote  a 
few  items  from  it. 

After  leaving  certain  sums  of  money  to  Christ  Church,  Oxford, 
to  buy  books  w/th,  and  to  Brasennose  Library,  he  says: 

If  I  have  any  books  the  University  Library  hath  not,  let  them  take  them.  If  I 
have  any  books  our  own  library  hath  not,  let  them  take  them.  I  give  to  Mrs.  Fell 
all  my  English  Books  of  Husbandry  one  excepted.  ...  To  Mrs.  lies  my  Gerard's 
Herbal.  To  Mrs.  Morris  my  Country  Farm,  translated  out  of  French,  4,  and  all 
my  English  Physick  Books  to  Mr.  Whistler,  the  Recorder  of  Oxford.  ...  To 
all  my  fellow  students,  Mrs.  of  Arts,  a  book  in  Folio  or  two  apiece.  .  .  .  To 
Master  Morris  my  Atlas  Geografer  and  Ortelius  Theatrum  Mond.  .  .  .  To  Doctor 
lies,  his  son,  Student  Salauntch  on  Paurrhelia  and  Lucian's  Works  in  4  tomes. 
If  any  books  be  left  let  my  executors  dispose  of  them  with  all  such  Books 
as  are  written  with  my  own  hands,  and  half  my  Melancholy  copy,  for  Crips  hath 
the  other  half. 

This  will  was  made  in  1639,  twenty-three  years  after  Shakspere's 
death,  and  shows  how  a  scholar  tenderly  remembers  his  library 
when  he  comes  to  bid  farewell  to  the  earth.  , 

The  inventory  of  Shakspere's  personal  property  has  never  been^ 
found.     Halliwell-Phillipps  says: 


7 8        WILLIAM   SIIAKSPERE   DID  NOT    WRITE    THE  PLAYS. 

If  the  inventory  ever  comes  to  light,  it  can  hardly  fail  to  be  of  surpassing 
interest,  especially  if  it  contains  a  list  of  the  books  preserved  at  New  Place.  These 
must  have  been  very  limited  in  number,  for  there  is  no  allusion  to  such  luxuries  in  the 
-mill.  Anything  like  a  private  library,  even  of  the  smallest  dimensions,  was  then 
of  the  rarest  occurrence,  and  that  Shakespeare  ever  owned  one,  at  any  time  of  his 
life,  is  exceedingly  improbable} 

But  surely  the  man  who  could  write  as  follows  could  not  have 

lived  without  his  books: 

Sir,  he  hath  never  fed  of  the  dainties  that  are  bred  in  a  book;  .  .  .  his  intellect 
is  not  replenished;  he  is  only  an  animal;  only  sensible  in  the  duller  parts.2 

There  is  no  evidence  that  Shakspere  possessed  a  single  book. 
It  was  supposed  for  some  time  that  the  world  had  a  copy  of  a  work 
from  his  library,  the  Essays  of  Montaigne,  but  it  is  now  conceded 
that  the  signature  on  the  title-leaf  is  a  forgery.  The  very  forgery 
showed  the  instinctive  feeling  which  possessed  intelligent  men  that 
the  author  of  Hamlet  must  have  owned  a  library,  and  would  have  lov- 
ingly inscribed  his  name  in  his  favorite  books. 

III.     Where  is  the  Debris  of  his  Work-shop. 

It  was  an  age  of  commonplace-books. 

Halliwell-Phillipps  calls  the  era  of  Shakspere  "those  days  of 
commonplace-books." 

Shakespeare  himself  presented  a  commonplace-book  to  some 
friend,  and  wrote  this  sonnet,  probably  on  the  fly-leaf: 

Thy  glass  will  show  thee  how  thy  beauties  wear, 

Thy  dial  how  thy  precious  moments  waste; 
The  vacant  leaves  thy  mind's  imprint  will  bear, 

And  of  this  book  this  learning  mayst  thou  taste. 
The  wrinkles  which  thy  glass  will  truly  show 

Of  mouthed  graves  will  give  thee  memory; 
Thou  by  the  dial's  shady  stealth  mayst  know 

Time's  thievish  progress  to  eternity. 
Look,  what  thy  memory  cannot  contain, 

Commit  to  these  waste  blanks,  and  thou  shalt  find 
These  children  nursed,  delivered  from  thy  brain 

To  take  a  nezo  acquaintance  of  thy  mind. 
These  offices,  so  oft  as  thou  wilt  look, 
Shall  profit  thee,  and  much  enrich  thy  book.3 

That  distinguished  scholar,  Prof.  Thomas  Davidson,  expresses 
the  opinion  that  this  word  offices  may  be  identical  with  the  Promus 
of  Bacon,  some  leaves  of  which  are  now  in  the  British  Museum. 

1  Halliwell-Phillipps,  Outlines  Life  of  Shak.,  p.  186.  *  Love1  s  L^abor  Lost,  iv,  2. 

3  Sonnet  lxxvii. 


THE  LOST  LIBRARY  AND   MANUSCRIPTS. 


79 


The  sonnet  describes  just  such  a  commonplace-book  as  Bacon's 
Promus  is;  and  Prof.  Davidson  adds: 

Promus  is  the  Latin  for  offices,  that  is,  larder.  Offices  here  has  always  seemed 
a  strange  word.  Its  significance  appears  to  have  been  overlooked.  The  German 
translations  omit  it. 

The  real  author  of  the  Plays  was  a  laborious  student;  we  will 
see  hereafter  how  he  wrote  and  re-wrote  his  works.  This  sonnet 
shows  that  he  must  have  kept  commonplace-books,  in  which  he 
noted  down  the  thoughts  and  facts  which  he  feared  his  memory 
could  not  contain,  to  subsequently  " enrich  his  book"  with  them. 
With  such  habits  he  must  have  accumulated  during  his  life-time  a 
vast  mass  of  material,  the  debris,  the  chips  of  the  work-shop,  hewn 
off  in  shaping  the  stately  statues  of  his  thought. 

What  became  of  them  ? 

IV.     Where  are  the  Original  Copies  of  the  Plays? 

Let  the  reader  write  off  one  page  of  any  one  of  the  Shakespeare 

Plays,  and  he  can  then  form  some  conception  of  the  huge  mass  of 

manuscripts  which   must  have  been  in  the  hands  of  the  author. 

But  as  there  is  evidence  that  some  of  the  Plays  were  re-written  more 

than  once,  and  "enlarged  to  as  much  again,"  there  must  have  been, 

in  the  hands  of  the  author,  not  only  these  original  or  imperfect 

manuscript  copies,  but  the  final  ones  as  well.     Moreover,  there  had 

been    seventy-two   quarto  editions  of   the   Plays.     These,   even    if 

imperfect  and  pirated,  as  it  is  claimed,  were 

His  children,  nursed,  delivered  of  his  brain; 

and   if  the  Stratford  man  was  really  the  father  of  the  Plays,  and 

believed  that 

Not  marble, 
Nor  the  gilded  monuments  of  princes, 
Should  outlive  this  powerful  rhyme, 

what  would  be  more  natural  than  that  he  should  take  with  him  to 
Stratford  copies  of  these  quarto  editions?  Can  we  conceive  of  a 
great  writer  withdrawing  to  his  country  residence,  to  live  out  the 
remainder  of  his  life,  without  a  single  copy  of  the  works  which  had 
given  him  wealth,  fame  and  standing  as  a  gentleman  ? 

And  if  he  possessed  such  books,  commonplace-books  and  man- 
uscripts, why  did  he  not, 

Dying,  mention  them  within  his  will, 


8o        WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE   DID  NOT    WRITE    THE   PLAYS. 

as  the  real  author  says  the  Roman  citizen  would  a  hair  from  the 
head  of  the  dead  Caesar?  For  all  the  dust  of  all  the  Caesars  would 
not  compare  in  interest  for  mankind  with  these  original  manu- 
scripts and  note-books;  and  the  man  who  wrote  the  Plays  knew  it, 
and  announced  it  with  sublime  audacity: 

But  thy  eternal  summer  shall  not  fade, 

Nor  lose  possession  of  that  fair  thou  owest; 
Nor  shall  Death  brag  thou  wanderest  in  his  shade, 
When  in  eternal  lines  to  time  thou  goest. 
So  long  as  men  can  breathe  or  eyes  can  see, 
So  long  lives  this,  and  this  gives  life  to  thee. 

Appleton  Morgan  says: 

More  than  a  century  and  a  half  of  vigorous  and  exhaustive  research,  bounded 
only  by  the  limits  of  Great  Britain,  have  failed  to  unearth  a  single  scrap  of  memo- 
randa or  manuscript  notes  in  William  Shakespeare's  handwriting,  as  preparation 
for  any  one  or  any  portion  of  these  plays  or  poems. 

But  it  will  be  said  that  this  utter  disappearance  of  the  original 
copies,  note-books,  memoranda,  letters,  quarto  editions  and  library 
is  due  to  the  destruction  and  waste  of  years. 

Time  hath,  my  lord,  a  wallet  at  his  back, 
Wherein  he  puts  alms  for  oblivion. 

But  certain  things  are  to  be  remembered. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  Shakspere  was  the  one  great  man 

of  his  race  and   blood.     He   had   lifted  his  family  from  obscurity 

to  fame,  from  poverty  to  wealth,  from  the  condition  of  yeomanry 

to  that  of  pretended  gentry;  all  their  claims  to  consideration  rested 

upon  him;    and  this  greatness  he  had  achieved  for  them  not  by 

the    sword,  or   in    trade,  but   by    his  intellectual  genius.     Hence, 

they    represented    him,  in    his    monument,  with    pen    in   hand,  in 

the    act   of   writing;    hence,  they  placed   below   the   monument   a 

declaration    in    Latin   that  he   was,  'In  judgment,  a   Nestor — in 

genius,  a  Socrates  —  in  art,  a  Maro,"  and  an  English  inscription 

which  says  that 

All  that  he  hath  writ 
Leaves  living  art  but  page  to  serve  his  wit. 

His  daughter  Susanna  was  buried  with  these  lines  upon  her 

tomb: 

Witty  above  her  sex,  but  that's  not  all, 
Wise  to  salvation  was  good  Mistress  Hall; 
Something  of  Shakespeare  was  in  that,  but  this 
Wholly  of  him  with  whom  she's  now  in  bliss. 


■■  -HI  .  ^ 

'VER8fTy  J 


THE  LOST  LIBRARY  AND   MANUSCRIPTS.  81 


His  genius  was  more  or  less  the  subject  of  comment  even  while 
he  lived  and  soon  after  his  death. 

We  are  told,  in  the  preface  to  the  quarto  edition  of  Troilus 
and  Cressida,  published  in  1609,  that  Shakespeare's  Plays  are  equal 
to  the  best  comedy  in  Terence  or  Plautus. 

And,  believe  this,  that  when  he  is  gone  and  his  Comedies  out  of  sale,  you  will 
scramble  for  them,  and  set  up  a  new  English  Inquisition. 

In  1662,  forty-six  years  after  his  death,  and  eight  years  before 
the  death  of  his  grand-daughter  Elizabeth,  wife  of  Sir  John  Bar- 
nard, the  vicar  of  Stratford  proceeded  to  note  down  the  traditions 
about  him. 

How  comes  it,  then,  that  this  family  —  thus  made  great  by  the 
genius  of  one  man,  by  his  literary  genius;  conscious  of  his  great- 
ness; aware  that  the  world  was  interested  in  the  details  of  his 
character  and  history  —  should  have  preserved  no  scrap  of  his 
writing;  no  manuscript  copy  of  any  of  his  works;  no  quarto  edition 
of  the  Plays;  no  copy  of  the  great  Folio  of  1623;  no  book  that  had 
formed  part  of  his  library;  no  communication  addressed  to  him  by 
any  one  on  any  subject;  no  incident  or  anecdote  that  would  have 
illustrated  his  character  and  genius  ?  They  had  become  people  of 
some  note;  they  lived  in  the  great  house  of  the  town.  One  son-in- 
law  was  a  physician,  who  had  preserved  a  written  record  of  the 
diseases  that  came  under  his  observation;  his  grand-daughter 
Elizabeth,  in  1643,  entertained  Queen  Henrietta  Maria,  wife  of 
King  Charles,  the  reigning  monarch,  and  daughter  of  the  great 
King  Henry  IV.  of  France.  The  Queen  remained  in  Shakspere's 
house,  New  Place,  for  three  weeks,  on  her  progress  to  join  King 
Charles  at  Oxford.  The  Plays  of  Shakespeare  were  the  delight  of 
King  Charles'  court.  We  are  assured  by  Dryden  that  Shakespeare 
was  greatly  popular  with  "the  last  King's  court"  —  that  of  King 
James  —  and  that  Sir  John  Suckling,  and  the  greater  part  of  the 
courtiers,  rated  him  "our  Shakespeare,"  far  above  Ben  Jonson, 
"  even  when  his  (Jonson's)  reputation  was  at  the  highest." 

Could  it  be  possible  that  the  Queen  and  courtiers  would  find 
themselves  in  the  house  of  the  author  of  Hamlet  and  The  Merry 
Wives  of  Windsor,  and  yet  ask  no  questions  about  him  ?  And  if 
they  did,  what  more  natural  than  for  his  grand-daughter  to  produce 
the  relics  she  possessed  of  the  great  man  —  the  letter  of  compliment 


82        WILLIAM  SFIAKSPERE  DID  NOT    WRITE    THE   PLAYS. 

which  King  James,. the  King's  father,  had  written  him,  as  tradition 

affirms.     Kings'  letters  were  not  found  on  every  bush  in  Stratford. 

And  such  memorials,  once  presented  to  the  inspection  of  the  curious, 

would  never  again  be  forgotten. 

Would  not  a  sweet  and  gentle  and  cultured  nature  have  left 

behind   him,  in  the  bosom  of  his  family,  a  multitude  of  pleasant 

anecdotes,  redolent  of  the  wit  and  humor  that  sparkle  in  the  Plays? 

And,  once  uttered,  the  world  would  never  permit  them  to  die. 

No  accent  of  the  Holy  Ghost 
The  heedless  world  has  ever  lost. 

We  are  told,  by  Oldys,  that  when  his  brother,  in  his  latter  years, 
visited  London,  he  was  beset  with  questions  by  the  actors  touching 
his  illustrious  relative,  held  by  them  in  the  highest  veneration;  but 
he  could  tell  them  nothing.  Would  not  similar  questions  be  pro- 
pounded to  his  family?  His  nephew,  the  son  of  his  sister,  was  an 
actor  in  London  for  years,  but  he,  too,  seems  to  have  had  nothing 
to  tell.  We  know  that  Leonard  Digges,  seven  years  after  his  death, 
refers  to  the  "Stratford  monument."     Interest  in  him  was  active. 

Dr.  Hall's  diary  of  the  patients  he  visited,  and  the  diary  of  law- 
yer Green,  Shakspere's  cousin,  concerning  his  petty  law  business, 
are  both  extant,  and  are  pored  over  by  rapturous  students;  but 
where  are  Shakspere's  diary  and  note-books? 

Neither  is  there  any  reason  why  his  personal  effects  should  dis- 
appear through  carelessness.  Dr.  Hall  was  a  man  of  education. 
He  must  have  known  the  value  of  Shakspere's  papers.  His  own 
and  his  father-in-law's  personal  property  continued  in  the  hands  of 
Shakspere's  heirs  down  to  the  beginning  of  the  present  century,  having 
passed  by  will  from  Lady  Barnard  in  1670  to  the  heirs  of  Joan 
Hart,  Shakspere's  sister.  This  was  long  after  the  great  Garrick 
Jubilee  had  been  held  at  Stratford,  and  long  after  the  world  had 
grown  intensely  curious  about  everything  that  concerned  its  most 
famous  man.  Surely  the  memorials  of  one  who  was  believed  by  his 
heirs  to  be  the  rival  of  Socrates  in  genius  and  of  Maro  in  art  would 
not  be  permitted  to  be  destroyed  by  a  family  of  even  ordinary  intel- 
ligence. See  how  the  papers  of  Bacon  —  of  Bacon  who  left  no  chil- 
dren, and  probably  an  unfaithful  wife  —  have  come  down  to  us: 
the  MSS.  of  his  books;  great  piles  of  letters,  written,  most  of  them, 
not  when  he  was  Lord  Chancellor,  but  when  he  was  plain  Master 


THE  LOST  LIBRARY  AND  MANUSCRIPTS.  83 

Francis  Bacon.  Even  his  commonplace-books  have  found  their 
way  into  the  British  Museum,  and  the  very  scraps  of  paper  upon 
which  his  amanuensis  tried  his  pen.  Remember  how  Spedding 
found  the  origina*  packages  of  the  private  letters  of  Lord  Bur- 
leigh, just  as  they  were  tied  up  by  the  great  Lord  Treasurer's  own 
hand,  never  opened  or  disturbed  for  nigh  three  hundred  years  ! 

In  the  British  Museum  they  have  the  original  manuscript  copies 
of  religious  plays  written  in  the  reign  of  Henry  VI.,  two  hundred 
years  before  the  time  of  Shakspere;  but  that  marvelous  collection 
has  not  a  line  of  any  of  the  plays  written  by  the  author  of  Lear  and 
Ha??ilet. 

V.     The  Money  Value  of  the  Plays. 

Nothing  is  clearer  than  that  Shakspere  was  a  money-getting 
man.  He  achieved  a  very  large  fortune  in  a  pursuit  in  which  most 
men  died  paupers.  He  had  a  keen  eye  to  profit.  He  was  ready  to 
sue  his  neighbor  for  a  few  shillings  loaned.  I  have  shown  that  he 
must  have  carried  on  the  business  of  brewing  in  New  Place.  He 
entered  into  a  conspiracy  to  wrest  the  right  of  common  from  the 
poor  people  of  the  town,  for  his  own  profit. 

Now,  the  Plays  represented  certain  values;  not  alone  their 
value  on  the  stage,  but  the  profits  which  came  from  their  publica- 
tion.    They  were  popular. 

Appleton  Morgan  says: 

Although  constantly  pirated  during  his  lifetime,  it  is  impossible  to  discover 
that  anybody,  or  any  legal  representative  of  anybody,  named  Shakespeare,  ever  set 
up  any  claim  to  proprietorship  in  any  of  these  works  —  works  which  beyond  any 
literary  production  of  that  age  were  (as  their  repeatedly  being  subjects  of  piracy 
and  of  registration  on  the  Stationers'  books  proves  them  to  have  been)  of  the  largest 
market  value. 

Why  should  the  man  who  sued  his  neighbors  for  petty  sums 
like  two  shillings  pass  by,  in  his  will,  these  sources  of  emolument? 

Butrit  may  be  said  he  had  already  sold  the  plays  and  poems  to 
others.  This  answer  might  suffice  as  to  those  already  printed,  but 
there  were  seventeen  plays  that  never  saw  the  light  until  they 
appeared  in  the  Folio  edition  of  1623,  published  seven  years  after 
his  death.  He  must  have  owned  these.  Why  did  he  make  no  pro- 
vision in  his  will  for  their  publication  —  if  not  for  glory,  for  gain?  It 
may  be  said  that  John  Heminge  and  Henry  Cundell,  who  appear  to 
have  put  forth  the  Folio  of  1623,  are  mentioned  in  his  will,  and  that 


84        WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE  DID  NOT    WRITE    THE  PLAYS. 

they  acted  therein  as  his  literary  executors.  But  they  are  not 
named  as  executors.  His  sole  executors  are  Dr.  John  Hall,  his  son- 
in-law,  and  Susanna,  his  daughter,  with  Thomas  Russell,  Esq.,  and 
Francis  Collins,  gent,  as  overseers.  None  of  these  parties  appear 
to  have  had  any  connection  with  the  great  Folio.  It  was  a  large 
and  costly  work,  and,  even  though  eventually  profitable,  must  have 
required  the  advance  of  a  large  sum  to  print  it.  Where  did  this 
money  come  from  ?  Is  it  probable  that  a  couple  of  poor  actors, 
like  Heminge  and  Condell,  would  have  undertaken  such  an  outlay 
and  risk  while  the  children  of  Shakspere  were  alive  and  exceed- 
ingly wealthy  ?  I  do  not  suppose  that  a  work  of  the  magnitude  of 
the  Folio  of  1623  could  have  been  printed  for  a  less  sum  than  the 
equivalent  of  $5,000  of  our  money.  But  at  the  back  of  the  Folio 
we  find  this  entry: 

Printed  at  the  charges  of  W.  Jaggard,  Ed.  Blount,  I.  Smithweeke  and  W. 
Aspley,  1623. 

On  the  title-page  we  read: 

Printed  by  Isaac  Jaggard  and  Ed.  Blount,  1623. 

So  that  it  appears  that  three  men,  W.  Jaggard,  I.  Smithweeke 
and  W.  Aspley,  paid  the  expenses  of  the  publication,  while  only  one 
man,  Ed.  Blount,  was  concerned  in  printing  and  expense  both. 

So  that  it  appears  that  neither  Heminge  and  Condell,  nor 
Dr.  John  Hall,  nor  Shakspere's  daughter  Susanna,  nor  Thomas 
Russell,  nor  Francis  Collins,  nor  anybody  else  who  represented 
Shakspere's  blood  or  estate,  had  anything  to  do  with  the  expense 
of  publishing  the  complete  edition  of  Shakespeare's  Plays,  including 
seventeen  that  had  never  before  been  printed, 

VI.     A  Mysterious  Matter. 

But   there   is   still   another   curious   feature   of  this   mysterious 

business. 

I  quote  again  from  Appleton  Morgan: 

It  is  not  remarkable,  perhaps,  that  we  find  no  copyright  entries  on  the  Station- 
ers' books  in  the  name  of  Jonson,  Marlowe,  or  other  of  the  contemporary  poets 
and  dramatists,  for  these  were  continually  in  straitened  circumstances.  But, 
William  Shakespeare  being  an  exceedingly  wealthy  and  independent  gentleman 
(if,  besides,  one  of  the  largest  owners  of  literary  property  of  his  time),  it  is  remark- 
able that  the  only  legal  method  of  securing  literary  matter,  and  putting  it  in  shape 
to  alienate,  was  never  taken  by  him,  or  in  his  name.     The  silence  of  his  will  as  to 


THE  LOST  LIBRARY    AND  MANUSCRIPTS.  85 

any  literary  property  whatever  is  explained  by  the  commentators  by  supposing 
that  Shakespeare  sold  all  his  plays  to  the  Globe  or  other  theaters  on  retiring,  and 
that  the  Globe  Theater  was  destroyed  by  fire.  If  so,  let  it  be  shown  from  the  only 
place  where  the  legal  transfer  could  have  been  made — the  books  of  the  Stationers' 
Company,  which  were  not  destroyed  by  fire,  but  are  still  extant. 

Other  commentators  —  equally  oblivious  of  such  trifling  obstacles  as  the  laws 
of  England  —  urge  that,  being  unmentioned  in  the  will,  the  Plays  went  by  course  of 
probate  to  Dr.  Hall,  the  executor. 

But  even  more,  in  that  case,  certain  entries  and  transfers  at  Stationers'  Hall  would 
have  been  necessary.  Moreover,  the  copyright,  being  not  by  statute,  was  perpetual, 
.and  could  not  have  lapsed.  In  the  preface  to  their  first  folio  Heminge  and  Con- 
dell  announced  that  all  other  copies  of  Shakespeare's  plays  are  "  stolen  and  surrep- 
titious." But  on  consulting  the  Stationers'  books  it  appears  that  the  quarto  edi- 
tions were  mostly  regularly  copyrighted  according  to  law,  whereas  the  first  folio 
was  not.  Nor  were  the  plays  already  copyrighted  ever  transferred  to  Heminge  and 
Condell  or  to  their  publishers. 

What  legal  rights  in  England  ever  centered  in  this  great  first  folio,  except  as  to 
the  plays  which  appeared  therein  for  the  first  time  (which  Blount  and  Jaggard  did 
copyright),  must  always  remain  a  mystery.  If  "stolen  and  surreptitious  copies"  ex- 
isted, therefore,  they  were  the  folio,  not  the  quarto  copies. 

And  again,  in  another  publication,  Mr.  Morgan  says: 

Heminge  and  Condell  asserted,  in  1623,  that  all  the  editions  of  the  plays  called 
Shakespeare,  except  their  own,  were  "stolen  and  surreptitious  copies."  If  the  laws 
of  England  in  those  days  are  of  the  slightest  consequence  in  this  investigation,  it 
must  appear  that  it  was  actually  these  very  men,  Heminge  and  Condell,  and  not 
the  other  publishers,  who  were  utterers  of  "stolen  and  surreptitious  copies."  For, 
whereas  all  other  printers  of  Shakespeare's  plays  observed  the  laws  and  entered 
them  for  copyright,  Heminge  and  Condell  appear  never  to  have  heard  of  any  legal 
obligations  of  the  sort.  Unless  they  stole  them,  it  certainly  passes  man's  under- 
standing to  conceive  how  they  got  hold  of  them.  For,  whatever  property  could  be 
legally  alienated  in  those  days  without  a  record,  literary  property  certainly  could 
not  be  so  alienated.  The  record  of  alienation  could  have  been  made  in  but  one  place, 
and  it  tvas  never  made  there. 

It  may  be  said  that  Heminge  and  Condell,  being  merely  play- 
actors, were  unfamiliar  with  the  copyright  system  and  law,  and, 
hence,  failed  to  properly  enter  the  work.  But  Heminge  and  Con- 
dell, it  appears  by  the  first  Folio  itself,  were  not  the  men  who  put 
their  money  into  the  venture,  but  Messrs.  "W.  Jaggard,  Ed.  Blount, 
I.  Smithweeke  and  W.  Aspley."  Why  did  they  not  secure  a  title  to 
the  work  in  which  they  were  venturing  $5,000  ?  They  were  busi- 
ness men,  not  actors. 

As  the  Folio  of  1623  declares  that  the  previous  quarto  editions 
were  "stolen  and  surreptitious  copies  "  of  the  Plays,  "maimed  and 
deformed  by  the  frauds  and  stealths  of  injurious  impostors  that 
exposed  them,"  and  that  they  now  present  them  "cured  and  perfect 
of  their  limbs,  and  all  the  rest,  absolute  in  their  numbers  as  he  con- 


86       WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE  DID  NOT    WRITE    THE  PLAYS. 

ceived  them,"  etc.,   it  follows  that  in  1623  Heminge  and  Condell 

must  have  had  the  original  manuscripts  in  the  handwriting  of  "the 

poet."     And  they  assert  this: 

And  what  he  thought  he  uttered  with  that  easiness  that  we  have  scarce 
received  a  blot  in  his  papers. 

Now,  as  Heminge  and  Condell  possessed  Shakspere's  original 
copies  in  1623,  they  could  not  have  been  burned  in  the  Globe 
Theater  in  1613. 

A  very  large  box  would  be  required  to  contain  them.  What 
became  of  these  fairly  written,  unblotted  manuscripts  ?  Did  his 
"  pious  fellowes,"  who  so  loved  the  memory  of  their  associate  that 
they  compiled  and  published  in  huge  and  costly  folio  his  com- 
pleted works,  care  nothing  for  these  memorials,  in  the  very  hand- 
writing of  him  whom  Ben  Jonson  pronounced,  in  the  same  volume 

and  edition,  the 

Soul  of  the  age, 
The  applause,  delight,  the  wonder  of  our  stage; 

who  "was  not  for  an  age,  but  for  all  time,"  and  in  comparison  with 
whom  "  all  that  insolent  Greece  or  haughty  Rome  "  had  produced 
was  as  nothing  ? 

Those  manuscripts  have  never  been  found,  never  been  heard  of; 
no  tradition  refers  to  them;  no  scrap,  rag,  remnant  or  fragment  of 
them  survives. 

Why  did  not  the  men  who  so  eagerly  questioned  his  brother, 
and  who,  we  are  told,  so  carefully  preserved  the  Chandos  portrait, 
secure  some  part  of  these  invaluable  documents,  which  would  to-day 
be  worth  many  times  their  weight  in  gold  ? 

VII.     Another  Mystery. 

But  another  mystery  attaches  to  these  manuscripts. 

The  first  appearance  of  Troilus  and  Cressida  was  in  quarto  form 
in  1609,  and  the  book  contains  a  very  curious  preface,  in  which  we 
are  told  that  the  play  had  never  been  played,  "  never  clapper-clawed 
with  the  palms  of  the  vulgar/'  "  never  sullied  with  the  smoky  breath 
of  the  multitude,"  and  we  find  also  this  remarkable  statement: 

And  believe  this,  that  when  he  is  gone  and  his  comedies  out  of  sale,  you  will 
scramble  for  them  and  set  up  a  new  English  Inquisition.  Take  this  for  a  warning 
and  at  the  peril  of  your  pleasures'  loss  and  judgments  refuse  not,  nor  like  this  the 
less  for  not  being  sullied  with  the  smoky  breath  of  the  multitude;  but  thank  for- 


THE  LOST  LIBRARY  AND  MANUSCRIPTS.  87 

tune  for  the  'scape  it  hath  made  among  you,  since  by  the  grand  possessors'  wills  I 
believe  vote  should  have  prayed  for  them  rather  than  been  prayed. 

Here  two  remarkable  facts  present  themselves: 

1.  That  Shakspere,  who  was  supposed  to  have  written  his 
plays  for  the  stage,  for  the  profit  to  be  drawn  from  their  represent- 
ation to  the  swarming  multitudes,  writes  a  play  which  never  is 
acted,  but  printed,  so  that  any  other  company  of  players  may  pre- 
sent it.  And  this  play  is  one  of  the  profoundest  productions  of  his 
great  genius,  full  of  utterances  upon  statecraft  that  are  a  million 
miles  above  the  heads  of  the  rag-tag-and-bobtail  who  "  thunder  at 
the  play-house  and  fight  for  bitten  apples." ' 

2.  That  the  original  copies  of  this  play  and  his  other  come- 
dies—  some  or  all  of  them  —  have  passed  out  of  his  hands,  and  are 
now  possessed  by  some  grand  persons  not  named.  For,  note  the 
language:  The  writer  of  the  preface  speaks  of  Shakespeare's  "  com- 
edies" in  the  plural;  then  of  the  particular  comedy  of  Troilus  and 
Cressida;  then  of  the  "  'scape  it  hath  made  amongst  you,"  that  is, 
its  escape  out  of  the  "grand  possessors'"  hands,  who  were  unwill- 
ing to  have  it  "'scape."  In  other  words,  we  are  told  that  these 
"grand  possessors'  wills  "  were  opposed  to  letting  them  —  the  com- 
edies—  be  published. 

Charles  Knight  says: 

It  is  difficult  to  understand  this  clearly,  but  we  learn  that  the  copy  had  an 
escape  from  some  powerful  possessors.  It  appears  to  us  that  these  possessors  were 
powerful  enough  to  prevent  a  single  copy  of  any  one  of  the  plays  which  Shakspere 
produced  in  his  "noon  of  fame,"  with  the  exception  of  the  Troilus  and  Cressida 
and  Lear,  being  printed  till  after  his  death;  and  that  between  his  death,  in  1616, 
and  the  publication  of  the  Folio,  in  1623,  they  continued  the  exercise  of  their  power, 
so  as  to  allow  only  one  edition  of  one  play  which  had  not  been  printed  in  his  life- 
time (Othello)  to  appear.  The  clear  deduction  from  this  statement  of  facts  is,  that 
the  original  publication  of  the  fourteen  plays  published  in  Shakspere's  lifetime 
was,  with  the  exceptions  we  have  pointed  out,  authorized  by  some  power  having  the 
right  to  prevent  the  publication  ;  that,  after  1603,  till  the  publication  of  the  Folio, 
that  right  was  not  infringed  or  contested,  except  in  three  instances.2 

Knight  thinks  that  these  "grand  possessors  "  were  Shakspere's 
fellow  actors,  to  whom  he  had  assigned  the  Plays;  but  this  diffi- 
culty presents  itself:  Would  the  man  who  wrote  the  preface  to  the 
Troilus  and  Cressida  of  1609,  and  who  evidently  looked  with  con- 
tempt upon   the  players  and  the  play-house,  and  who  boasts  that 

»  Henry  VIII.,  v,  3.  2  Shak.,  History,  vol.  i,  p.  314. 


88        WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE  DID  NOT    WRITE    THE   PLAYS. 

the  play  in  question  had  never  been  "clapper-clawed  with  the 
palms  of  the  vulgar,"  or  "sullied  with  the  smoky  breath  of  the 
multitude  " — would  he  speak  of  the  actors  who  made  their  humble 
living  before  this  vulgar  multitude,  the  "vassal  actors,"  the  "legal 
vagabonds,"  as  "grand  possessors"?  Do  not  the  words  imply 
some  persons  of  higher  social  standing? 

And  then  comes  this  further  difficulty:  If  the  actors  owned 
Troilus  and  Cressida,  why  would  they  not  have  played  it,  and  gotten 
all  the  pennies  and  shillings  out  of  it  possible  ?  Or  why,  if  written 
by  an  actor  for  actors,  should  it  have  been  written  so  transcend- 
ently  above  the  heads  of  the  multitude  that  it  could  not  be  acted  ? 
And  why,  if  it  was  worth  anything  as  a  play,  would  the  actors 
have  allowed  it  to  "  'scape  "  into  the  hands  of  a  publisher  who  sends 
it  forth  with  a  sneer  at  the  audiences  who  frequent  their  places  of 
amusement.  And  why,  if  they  owned  all  the  Plays,  does  not  their 
ownership  appear  somewhere  on  the  books  of  copyright?  And 
why,  if  they  owned  them,  would  they  destroy  their  own  monopoly 
by  publishing  them  in  folio  in  1623,  thus  throwing  open  the  doors 
to  all  the  players  of  the  world  to  act  them  ?  And  why  would  they 
not  even  copyright  the  book  when  they  did  so  publish  it?  And 
why,  if  they  did  so  publish  it,  does  it  appear,  by  the  book  itself, 
that  they  were  not  at  the  charge  of  publishing  it,  but  that  it  was 
sent  forth  at  the  cost  of  four  men,  not  actors,  therein  named  ? 

Thus,  in  whatever  direction  we  penetrate  into  this  subject,  inex- 
plicable mysteries  meet  us  face  to  face. 

VIII.     Pregnant  Questions. 

Why  should  the  wealthy  Shakspere  permit  the  Plays,  written 
while  he  was  wealthy,  to  pass  into  the  hands  of  certain  "grand 
possessors "  ?  And  if  these  men  were  not  actors,  but  bought  the 
Plays  of  Shakspere,  why  should  they  make  no  attempt,  during 
twenty  years,  to  get  their  money  back  by  publishing  them  ?  And 
could  they  have  procured  them  of  the  money-making  Shakspere,  if 
he  wrote  them,  without  paying  for  them  ?  And  what  business 
would  "grand"  men,  not  actors,  not  publishers,  not  speculators  for 
profit,  have  with  the  Plays  anyway?  And  why  should  they  stand 
guard  over  them  and  keep  them  from  the  public  for  twenty  years, 
and  then  put  them  all  out  at  once,  and  not  copyright  them,  thus 


THE   LOST  LIBRARY  AND   MANUSCRIPTS.  89 

making  them  a  present  to  the  public?  And  when  they  did  publish 
them,  why  should  they  place  the  papers  in  the  hands  of  two  play- 
actors, Heminge  and  Condell,  who  pretend  that  they  are  putting 
them  forth  out  of  love  for  the  memory  of  that  good  fellow,  Will 
Shakspere?  Were  not  Heminge  and  Condell  a  mere  mask  and 
cover  for  the  "grand  possessors"  of  the  unblotted  manuscripts? 

And  if  the  man  who  sued  Philip  Rogers  for  jQi  19s.  lod.  for 
malt  sold,  and  for  two  shillings  money  loaned,  had  any  ownership 
in  any  of  these  plays,  can  we  believe  he  would  not  have  enforced  it 
to  the  uttermost  farthing  ?  Would  not  he  and  his  (for  they  were 
all  litigious)  have  chased  the  stray  shillings  that  came  from  their 
publication,  through  court  after  court,  and  thus  placed  the  question 
of  authorship  forever  beyond  question  ? 

We  are  forced  to  conclude: 

1.  Shakspere  did  not  own  the  Plays  and  never  had  owned 
them. 

2.  They  were  in  the  hands  of  and  owned  by  some  " grand" 
person  or  persons. 

3.  This  "  grand "  person  or  persons  cared  nothing  for  the 
interests  of  the  players  and  made  them  public  property;  therefore, 
Heminge  and  Condell  did  not  represent  the  players. 

4.  This  "  grand "  person  or  persons  cared  nothing  for  the 
money  to  be  derived  from  their  sale,  and  took  out  no  copyright, 
but  presented  them  freely  to  the  world;  and  this  was  not  in  the 
interest  of  Shakspere's  heirs,  if  he  had  any  claim  to  them. 

5.  And  this  "grand"  person  or  persons  cared  nothing  for 
the  money  to  be  made  out  of  them,  or  he  or  they  would,  in 
the  period  of  twenty  years,  between  1603  and  1623,  have  printed 
and  reprinted  them  in  quarto  form,  and  made  a  profit  out  of 
them. 

But  there  is  another  striking  fact  in  connection  with  the  ques- 
tion of  the  manuscripts. 

IX.     Another  Mystery. 

The  whole  publication  of  the  Folio  of  1623  is  based  on  a  fraudulent 
statement. 

Heminge  and  Condell,  in  their  preface,  addressed  "  to  the  great 
variety  of  readers,"  say: 


9o        WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE  DID  NOT    WRITE    THE  PLAYS. 

It  had  bene  a  thing,  we  confesse,  worthy  to  have  been  wished  that  the 
author  himself  had  lived  to  have  set  forth,  and  overseen  his  own  writings. 
But  since  it  hath  bin  ordained  otherwise,  and  he  by  death  departed  from  that 
right,  we  pray  you  do  not  envy  his  friends  the  office  of  their  care  and  paine. 
to  have  collected  and  publish'd  them;  and  so  to  have  publish'd  them  as  where 
(before)  you  were  abus'd  with  diverse  stolne  and  surreptitious  copies,  maimed 
and  deformed  by  the  frauds  and  steal thes  of  injurious  impostors,  that  exposed 
them,  even  those  are  now  offered  to  your  view  cur'd  and  perfect  of  their 
limbs,  and  all  the  rest,  absolute  in  their  numbers,  as  he  conceived  them.  Who, 
as  he  was  a  happie  imitator  of  nature,  was  a  most  gentle  expresser  of  it. 
His  mind  and  his  hand  went  together.  And  what  he  thought  he  uttered 
with  that  easiness  that  we  have  scarce  received  from  him  a  blot  in  his 
papers. 

And  on  the  title-page  of  the  Folio  we  read:  "Mr.  William  Shake- 
speare's Comedies,  Histories  and  Tragedies.  Published  according 
to  the  true  originall  copies."  We  have  also  a  list  of  "the  principal 
actors  in  all  these  plays,"  prefaced  by  these  words: 

The  works  of  William  Shakespeare,  containing  all  his  Comedies,  Histories  and 
Tragedies:    Truely  set  forth  according  to  their  first  originall. 

Here  we  find  four  things  asserted: 

i.     That  the  Folio  was  printed  from  the  original  copies. 

2.  That  Heminge  and  Condell  had  "collected"  these  copies 
and  published  them  in  the  Folio. 

3.  That  the  quarto  editions  were  "  stolne  and  surreptitious 
copies,  maimed  and  deformed." 

4.  That  what  Shakespeare  wrote  was  poured  from  him,  as  if 
by  inspiration,  so  that  he  made  no  corrections,  and  "  never  blotted 
a  line,"  as  Ben  Jonson  said. 

These  statements  are  met  by  the  following  facts: 
I.     Some  of  the  finest  thoughts  and  expressions,   distinctively 
Shakespearean,  and  preeminently  so,  are  found  in  the  quarto  edi- 
tions, and  not  in  the  Folio. 

For  instance,  in  the  play  of  Hamlet,  nearly  all  of  scene  iv,  act  4, 
is  found  in  the  quarto  and  not  in  the  Folio.  In  the  quarto  copy 
we  find  the  following  passages: 

What  is  a  man, 
If  his  chief  good  and  market  of  his  time 
Be  but  to  sleep  and  feed  ?     A  beast,  no  more. 
Sure  he  that  made  us  with  such  large  discourse, 
Looking  before  and  after,  gave  us  not 
That  capability  and  god-like  reason 
To  fust  in  us  unused. 


THE  LOST  LIBRARY  AND   MANUSCRIPTS.  91 

And  again: 

Rightly  to  be  great 
Is,  not  to  stir  without  great  argument, 
But  greatly  to  find  quarrel  in  a  straw, 
When  honor's  at  the  stake. 

No  one  can  doubt  that  these  passages  came  from  the  mind 
we  are  accustomed  to  call  Shakespeare.  Hundreds  of  other 
admirable  sentences  can  be  quoted  which  appear  in  the  quartos, 
but  not  in  the  Folio.  It  follows,  then,  that  Heminge  and  Condell 
did  not  have  "the  true  original  copies,"  or  they  would  have  con- 
tained these  passages.  It  follows,  also,  that  there  must  have  been 
some  reason  why  portions  of  the  quarto  text  were  omitted  from  the 
Folio.  It  follows,  also,  that,  in  some  respects,  the  "stolne  and 
surreptitious  "  copies  of  the  quarto  are  more  correct  than  the  Folio, 
and  that  but  for  the  quartos  we  would  have  lost  some  of  the  finest 
gems  of  thought  and  expression  which  go  by  the  name  of 
Shakespeare. 

II.  The  statement  that  Shakespeare  worked  without  art,  that 
he  improvised  his  great  productions,  that  there  was  scarce  "a  blot 
in  his  papers,"  in  the  sense  that  he  made  no  corrections,  is  not 
only  incompatible  with  what  we  know  of  all  great  works  of 
art,  but  is  contradicted  on  the  next  page  but  one  of  the  Folio, 
by  Ben  Jonson,  in  his  introductory  verses.      « 

He  says: 

Yet  must  I  not  give  Nature  all.     Thy  Art, 

My  gentle  Shakespeare,  must  enjoy  a  part. 

For  though  the  Poet's  matter  Nature  be, 

His  Art  doth  give  the  fashion.     And  that  he 

Who  casts  to  write  a  living  line  must  sweat 

(Such  as  thine  are)  and  strike  the  second  heat 

Upon  the  Muse's  an  vile,  turn  the  same 

(And  himself  with  it)  that  he  thinks  to  frame, 

Or  for  the  laurel  he  may  gain  a  scorne; 

For  a  good  Poet's  made,  as  well  as  borne. 

And  such  ivcrt  thou.     Look  how  the  father's  face 

Lives  in  his  issue;  even  so  the  race 

Of  Shakespeare's^mind  and  manners  brightly  shines 

In  his  well-torned  and  true-filed  lines. 

Here,  then,  we  have  the  two  play-actors,  and  friends  of  Shake- 
speare, Heminge  and  Condell,  squarely  contradicted  by  another 
friend  and  play-actor,  Ben  Jonson.  One  asserts  that  Shakespeare 
wrote    without    art;    the    other,    that    he    sweat    over    his    "true- 


1 1  a  r7>s 

Of  rOJ*  ) 


y~/VERs 


try 


WILLIAM    SHAKSPERE   DLD   NOT    WRITE    TILE   FLA  VS. 


filed  lines"  and  turned  them  time  and  again  on  the  "Muse's 
anvile." 

Several  of  the  plays  exist  in  two  forms:  —  first,  a  brief  form, 
suitable  for  acting;  secondly,  an  enlarged  form,  double  the  size  of 
the  former.  This  is  true  of  Romeo  and  Juliet,  Henry  V.y  The  Merry- 
Wives  of  Windsor  and  Hamlet. 

For  instance,  the  first  edition  of  Henry  V.  contains  1,800  lines; 
the  enlarged  edition  has  3,500  lines.     Knight  says: 

In  this  elaboration  the  old  materials  are  very  carefully  used  up;  but  they 
are  so  thoroughly  refitted  and  dovetailed  with  what  is  new,  that  the  operation 
can  only  be  compared  to  the  work  of  a  skillful  architect,  who,  having  an 
ancient  mansion  to  enlarge  and  beautify,  with  a  strict  regard  to  its  original 
character,  preserves  every  feature  of  the  structure,  under  other  combinations, 
with  such  marvelous  skill,  that  no  unity  of  principle  is  violated,  and  the  whole 
has  the  effect  of  a  restoration  in  which  the  new  and  the  old  are  undistinguish- 
able.1 

Knight  gives  a  specimen  of  this  work,  taken  from  the  quarto 
Henry  V.  of  1608  and  the  Folio  of  1623.  We  print  in  the  second 
column,  in  italics,  those  parts  of  the  text  derived  from  the  quarto, 
and  which  reappear  in  the  Folio: 


Quarto  1608. 
King.     Sure  we  thank  you;  and,  good 

my  lord,  proceed 
Why  the  law  Salique,  which  they  have 

in  France, 
Or  should  or  should  not  stop  us  in  our 

claim: 
And  God  forbid,  my  wise  and  learned 

lord, 
That  you  should  fashion,  frame  or  wrest 

the  same. 
For  God  doth  know  how  many  now  in 

health 
Shall  drop  their  blood,  in  approbation 
Of  what  your  reverence  shall  incite  us  to. 
Therefore,  take  heed  how  you  impawn 

our  person; 
How  you  awake  the  sleeping  sword  of 

war: 
We  charge  you  in  the  name  of  God  take 

heed. 
After  this  conjuration  speak,  my  lord; 
A*.nd  we  will  judge,  note  and  believe  in 

heart 


Folio  1623. 
King.  Sure,  we  thank  you. 

My  learned  lord,  I  pray  you  to  proceed 
And  justly  and  religiously  unfold 
Why  the  lazv  Salique,  that  they  have  in 

France, 
Or  should  or  should  not  bar  us  in  our 

claim. 
And  God  forbid,  my  dear  and  faithful 

lord, 
That  you  should  fashion,   wrest  or  bow 

your  reading, 
Or  nicely    charge    your   understanding 

soul 
With   opening   titles   miscreate,   whose 

right 
Suits  not  in  native  colors  with  the  truth 
For  God  doth   know  hozv  many  now  in 

health 
Shall  drop  their  blood,  in  approbation 
Of  what  your  i-everence  shall  incite  us  to  : 
Therefore,  take  heed  how  you  impawn  our 

person  ; 
L low  you' awake  the  sleeping  sword  of  war; 


Charles  Knight,  Ptct.  Shak.,  Histories,  vol.  i,  p.  ^10. 


THE  LOST  LIBRARY  AND   MANUSCRIPTS.  93 

That  what  you  speak  is  washed  as  pure  We  charge  you  in  the  name  of  God  take 
As  sin  in  baptism.  heed. 

For  never  two  such  kingdoms  did  con- 
tend 

Without  much  fall  of  blood,  whose  guilt- 
less drops 

Are  every  one  a  woe,  a  sore  complaint, 

'Gainst  him  whose  wrongs  give  edge 
unto  the  swords 

That  make  such  waste  in  brief  mortality. 

Under  this  conjuration  speak,  my  lord  ; 

And  7ve  will  hear,  note  and  believe  in 
heart,  ■ 

That  what  you  speak  is,  in  your  con- 
science, washed 

As  pure  as  sin  with  baptism. 

Now  Heminge  and  Condell  claim,  in  the  Folio,  that  the  play  of 
Henry  V.  was  printed  from  the  "true  original  "  copy,  and  that  it 
came  from  the  mind  of  Shakspere  without  a  blot;  while  here  is 
proof  conclusive  that  it  was  not  printed  from  the  first  original 
copy;  and  that  it  did  not  come,  heaven-born,  from  the  soul  of  the 
creator;  but  that  the  writer,  whoever  he  might  be,  was  certainly 
a  man  of  vast  industry  and  immense  adroitness,  nimbleness  and 
subtlety  of  mind. 

False  in  one  thing,  false  in  all.  Heminge  and  Condell  did  not 
have  the  author's  original  manuscripts,  with  all  the  interlineations; 
and  corrections,  before  them  to  print  from,  but  a  fair  copy  from 
some  other  pen.  They  do  not  seem  to  have  known  that  there  was 
that  1608  edition  of  the  play.  In  fact,  they  do  not  even  seem  to  know 
how  to  spell  their  own  names.  At  the  end  of  the  introduction,, 
from  which  I  have  quoted,  they  sign  themselves,  "  John  Heminge  "' 
and  "  Henrie  Condell,"  while  in  the  list  of  actors,  published  by 
themselves,  they  appear  as  "John  Hemmings  "  and  "  Henry  Con- 
dell;" and  Shakspere  calls  them,  in  his  will,  "John  Hemynge"  and 
"  Henry  Cundell." 

If  the  play-actor  editors  thus  falsified  the  truth,  or  were  them- 
selves the  victims  of  an  imposition,  what  confidence  is  to  be  placed 
in  any  other  statement  they  make  ?  What  assurance  have  we  that 
they  had  collected  the  original  manuscript  copies;  that  they  ever 
saw  them;  in  short,  that  they  were  the  work  of  Shakspere  or  in  his 
handwriting  ?  What  assurance  have  we  that  the  whole  introduction 
and  dedication  to  which  their  names  are  appended  were  not  written 


94 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE   DID   NOT    WRITE    THE   PLAYS. 


by  some  one  else,  and  that  they  were  but  a  mask  for  those  "grand 
possessors"  who,  seven  years  before  Shakspere's  death,  owned  the 
play  of  Troihis  and  Cressida  ? 

In  fact,  a  skeptical  mind  can  see,  even  in  the  verses  which  face 
the  portrait  of  Shakspere  in  the  Folio  of  1623,  the  undercurrent  of 
a  double  meaning.     They  commence: 

The  figure  that  thou  here  seest  put, 
It  was  for  gentle  Shakespeare  cut. 

Is  the  -\Yord  gentle  here,  a  covert  allusion  to  Shakspere's 
ridiculous  and  fraudulent  pretensions  to  "gentle"  blood,  and  to 
that  bogus  coat-of-arms  which  we  are  told  he  had  engraved  in 
stone  over  the  door  of  New  Place  in  Stratford  ? 

Wherein  the  graver  had  a  strife  ' 
With  Nature  to  out-doo  the  life. 

No  one  can  look  at  that  picture  and  suppose  that  B.  I.  (Ben 
Jonson)  was  serious  in  this  compliment  to  the  artist. 
Appleton  Morgan  says: 

In  this  picture  the  head  of  the  subject  is  represented  as  rising  out  of  an 
horizontal  plane  of  collar  appalling  to  behold.  The  hair  is  straight,  combed  down 
the  sides  of  the  face  and  bunched  over  the  ears;  the  forehead  is  disproportionately 
high;  the  top  of  the  head  bald;  the  face  has  the  wooden  expression  familiar  in  the 
Scotchmen  and  Indians  used  as  signs  for  tobacconists'  shops,  accompanied  by  an 
idiotic  stare  that  would  be  but  a  sorry  advertisement  for  the  humblest  establish- 
ment in  that  trade. 

If  this  picture  "out-does  the  life,"  what  sort  of  a  creature  must 
the  original  have  been  ? 

O,  could  he  but  have  drawn  his  wit 
As  well  in  brass  as  he  hath  hit 
His  face,  the  print  would  then  surpass 
All  that  was  ever  writ  in  brass. 

This  thought  of  "drawing  his  wit"  is  singularly  enough  taken 
from  an  inscription  around  another  portrait  —  not  that  of  Shak- 
spere, but  of  Francis  Bacon.  On  the  margin  of  a  miniature 
of  Bacon,  painted  by  Hilliard  in  1578,  when  he  was  in  his 
eighteenth  year,  are  found  these  words,  "the  natural  ejaculation, 
probably,"  says  Spedding,  "of  the  artist's  own  emotion":  Si 
tabula  daretur  digna,  animum  mallem  —  if  one  could  but  paint  his 
mind!2 

•  The  Shak.  Myth,  p.  95.  2 Life  and  Works  0/ Bacon,  Spedding,  Ellis,  etc.,  vol.  i,  p.  7. 


THE  LOST  LIBRARY  AND  MANUSCRIPTS. 


95 


Let  us  read  again  those  lines: 


O,  could  he  but  have  drawn  his  wit 
As  well  in  brass  as  he  hath  hit 
His  face,  the  print  would  then  surpass 
All  that  was  ever  writ  —  in  brass  ! 

That  is  to  say,  his  wit  drawn  in  brass  would  surpass,  in  brass,  all 
that  was  ever  written.  Is  not  this  another  way  of  intimating  that 
only  a  brazen-faced  man,  like  Shakspere,  would  have  had  the  impu- 
dence to  claim  the  authorship  of  plays  which  were  not  written  by 
him  ? 

And  that  this  is  not  a  forced  construction  we  can  see  by  turning 
to  the  Plays,  where  we  will  find  the  words  brass  and  brazen  used  in 
the  same  sense  as  equivalents  for  impudence. 

Can  any  face  of  brass  hold  longer  out?1 
Well  said,  brazen-ia.ce.' 
A  brazen-faced  valet.3 

It  seems  to  me  there  is  even  a  double  meaning  to  some  of  the 
introductory  verses  of  the  Folio  of  1623,  signed  Ben  Jonson.  The 
verses  are  inscribed — 

To  the  memory  of  my  beloved  —  the  Author — Mr.  William  Shakespeare  — 
and  —  what  he  hath  left  us. 

What  does  this  mean:  "what  he  hath  left  us"?  Does  it  mean 
his  works  ?  How  could  Ben  Jonson  inscribe  verses  to  the  memory 
of  works  —  plays?  We  speak  of  the  memory  of  persons,  not  of 
productions;  of  that  which  has  passed  away  and  perished,  not  of 
that  which  is  but  beginning  to  live;    not  of  the 

Soul  of  the  age  ! 
The  applause  !  delight !  the  wonder  of  our  stage  ! 

In  the  same  volume,  on  the  next  page,  we  are  told, 

For  though  his  line  of  life  went  soon  about, 
The  life  yet  of  his  lines  will  never  out. 

Could  Ben  Jonson  inscribe  his  verses  to  the  memory  of  works 
which,  he  assures  us  in  the  same  breath,  were  not  "for  an  age,  but 
for  all  time  "  ?  Can  you  erect  a  memorial  monument  over  immortal 
life? 

What  did  William  Shakspere  leave  behind  him  that  held  any 
:onnection  with  the  Plays  ?   Was  it  the  real  author —  Francis  Bacon  ? 

1  Love's  Labor  Lost,  v,  2.  2  Merry  Wives  0/  Windsor,  iv,  2.  3  Lear,  ii,  2. 


96        WILLIAM   SIIAKSPERE   DID   NOT  WRITE    THE   PLAYS. 

And  this  thought  seems  to  pervade  the  verses.     Jonson  says: 
Thou  art  alive  still — while  thy  book  doth  live. 
And  again: 

Sweet  Swan  of  Avon!  what  a  sight  it  were 

To  see  thee  in  our  waters  yet  appear, 

And  make  those  flights  upon  the  banks  of  Thames, 

That  so  did  take  Eliza  and  our  James. 

That  is   to  say,   Ben  Jonson  expresses  to  the   dead  Shakspere 

the  hope  that  he  would  reappear  and  make  some  more  dramatic 

"  flights"  —  that  is,  write  some  more  plays.     Such  a  wish   would  be 

absurd,  if  applied  to  the  dead  man,  but  would  be  very  significant,  if 

the  writer  knew  that  the  real  author  was  still  alive  and  capable  of 

new  flights.     And  the  closing  words  of  the  verses  sound  like  an 

adjuration  to  Bacon  to  resume  his  pen: 

Shine  forth,  thou  Starre  of  Poets,  and  with  rage 

Or  influence  chide  or  cheer  the  drooping  stage, 

Which,  since  thy  flight  from  thence,  hath  mourned  like  night, 

And  despaires  day,  but  for  thy  volumes'  light. 

The  play-houses  had  the  manuscript  copies  of  the  Plays,  and 
had  been  regularly  acting  them;  it  needed  not,  therefore,  the  pub- 
lication of  the  Folio  in  1623  to  enable  the  poet  to  shine  forth. 

If  the  "drooping  stage"  "mourned  like  night,"  it  was  not  for 

the  Plays  which  appear  in  the  Folio,  for  it  possessed  them;  it  had 

been  acting  them  for  twenty  years;  but  it  was  because  the  supply 

of  new  plays  had  given  out.     Hugh  Holland  says  on  the  next  page: 

Dry'd  is  that  vein,  dry'd  is  the  Thespian  spring. 

How  comes  it,  then,  that  Ben  Jonson  expresses  the  hope  that 
the  author  would  reappear,  and  write  new  plays,  and  cheer  the 
drooping  stage,  and  shine  forth  again,  if  he  referred  to  the  man 
whose  mouldering  relics  had  been  lying  in  the  Stratford  church  for 
seven  years? 

X.     Ben  Jonson's  Testimony. 

It  must  not  be  forgotten  that  Ben  Jonson  was  in  the  employ- 
ment of  Francis  Bacon;  he  was  one  of  his  "good  pens  ;"  he  helped 
him  to  translate  his  philosophical  works  into  Latin.  If  there  was  a 
secret  in  connection  with  the  authorship  of  the  Plays,  Ben  Jonson, 
as  Bacon's  friend,  as  play-actor  and  play-writer,  doubtless  knew  it. 
And  it  is  very  significant  that  at  different  periods,  far  apart,  he 
employed   precisely  the  same  words  in  describing  the  genius  of 


fa 


:0, 


THE   LOST  LIBRARY  AXD   MANUSCRIPTS.  97 

William  Shakspere  and  the  genius  of  Francis  Bacon.  In  these 
verses,  from  which  I  have  been  quoting,  he  says,  speaking  ostensi- 
bly of  Shakspere: 

Or  when  thy  socks  were  on, 
Leave  thee  alone,  for  the  comparison 
Of  all  that  insolent  Greece  or  haughty  Rome 
Sent  forth,  or  since  did  from  their  ashes  come. 

Jonson  died  in  1637.  His  memoranda,  entitled  Ben  Jonsoris 
Discoveries,  were  printed  in  1640.  One  of  these  refers  to  the  emi- 
nent men  of  his  own  and  the  preceding  era.  After  speaking  of  Sir 
Thomas  More,  the  Earl  of  Surrey,  Challoner,  the  elder  Wyatt,  Sir 
Nicholas  Bacon,  Sir  Philip  Sydney,  the  Earl  of  Essex  and  Sir  Wal- 
ter Raleigh,  he  says: 

Lord  Egerton,  a  grave  and  great  orator,  and  best  when  he  was  provoked;  but 
his  learned   and  able  but  unfortunate  successor  (Sir  Francis  Bacon)  is  he  that  hath 
filled  up  all  numbers,  and  performed  that  in  our  tongue  which  may  be  compared  or, 
preferred  either  to  insolent  Greece  or  haughty  Rome. 

What  a  significant  statement  is  this  ! 

Francis  Bacon  had  "  filled  up  all  numbers."     That  is  to  say,  he 

had  compassed  all  forms  of  poetical  composition.     Webster  defines 

"  numbers  "  thus: 

That  which  is  regulated  by  count;    poetic  measure,   as  divisions   of  time  or 
number  of  syllables;  hence,  poetry,  verse  —  chiefly  used  in  the  plural. 
I  lisped  in  numbers,  for  the  numbers  came. — Pope. 
Yet  should  the  muses  bid  my  numbers  roll. — Pope. 

In  Love's  Labor  Lost,  Longaville   says,  speaking   of   some  love 

verses  he  had  written: 

I  fear  these  stubborn  lines  lack  power  to  move; 

O  sweet  Maria,  empress  of  my  love, 

These  numbers  will  I  tear,  and  write   in  prose. x 

But    when    Ben    Jonson,    who    had    helped    translate    some    of 

Bacon's  prose  works,  comes  to  sum  up  the  elements  of  his  patron's 

greatness,  he   passes   by  his   claims  as   a   philosopher,  a  scholar,  a 

lawyer,  an  orator  and  a  statesman;  and  the  one  thing  that  stands 

out  vividly  before  his  mind's   eye,  that  looms  up  above  all  other 

considerations,  is  that   Francis  Bacon  is  3.  poet  —  a  great  poet  —  a 

poet  who  has  written  in  all  measures,  "  has  filled  up  all  numbers  " 

—  the  sonnet,  the  madrigal,  rhyming  verse,  blank  verse.     And  what 

had  he  written  ?     Was  it  the  translation  of  a  few  psalms  in  his  old 

1  Act  iv,  scene  3. 


98        WILLIAM   SIIAKSPERE   DID   NOT    WRITE    THE   PLAYS. 

age,  the  only  specimens  of  his  poetry  that  have  come  down  to  us, 
in  his  acknowledged  works  ?  No;  it  was  something  great,  some- 
thing overwhelming;  something  that  is  to  be  "compared  or  pre- 
ferred either  to  insolent  Greece  or  haughty  Rome." 

And  what  was  it  that  "insolent  Greece  and  haughty  Rome" 
had  accomplished  to  which  these  "numbers"  of  Bacon  could 
be  preferred  ?  We  turn  to  Jonson's  verses  in  the  Shakespeare 
Folio  and  we  read: 

And  though  thou  hadst  small  Latine  and  less  Greek, 

From  thence  to  honor  thee  I  would  not  seeke 

For  names,  but  call  forth  thundering  ^Eschilus, 

Euripides  and  Sophocles  to  us, 

Paccuvius,  Accius,  him  of  Cordova  dead, 

To  life  again,  to  hear  thy  buskin  tread, 

And  shake  a  stage;  or,  when  thy  socks  were  on, 

Leave  thee  alone,  for  the  comparison 

Of  all  that  insolent  Greece  or  haughty  Rome 

Sent  forth,  or  since  did  from  their  ashes  come. 

The  "numbers"  of  Bacon  are  to  be  compared  or  preferred  either 
to  insolent  Greece  or  haughty  Rome  —  that  is  to  say,  to  the  best 
poetical  compositions  of  those  nations.  And  when  Ben  Jonson 
uses  this  expression  we  learn,  from  the  verses  in  the  Folio,  what 
kind  of  Greek  and  Roman  literary  work  he  had  in  his  mind;  it  was 
not  the  writings  of  Homer  or  Virgil,  but  of  iEschylus,  Euripides, 
Sophocles,  etc. —  that  is  to  say,  the  dramatic  writers.  Is  it  not  extraor- 
dinary that  Jonson  should  'not  only  assert  that  Bacon  had  pro- 
duced poetical  compositions  that  would  challenge  comparison  with 
the  best  works  of  Greece  and  Rome,  but  that  he  should  use  the 
same  adjectives,  and  in  the  same  order,  that  he  had  used  in  the  Folio 
verses,  viz.:  insolent  Greece  and  haughty  Rome?  It  was  not  haughty 
Greece  and  insolent  Rome,  or  powerful  Rome  and  able  Greece, 
or  any  other  concatenation  of  words;  but  he  employs  precisely 
the  same  phrases  in  precisely  the  same  order.  How  comes  it 
that  when  his  mind  was  dwelling  on  the  great  poetical  and 
secret  works  of  Bacon  —  for  they  must  have  been  secret  —  he 
reverted  to  the  very  expressions  he  had  used  years  before  in 
reference  to  the  Shakespeare  Plays  ? 

And  it  is  upon  Ben  Jonson's  testimony  that  the  claims  of  Will- 
iam Shakspere,  of  Stratford,  to  the  authorship  of  the  Plays,  princi- 
pally rest. 


THE   LOST  LIBRARY  AND   MANUSCRIPTS.  99 

If  the  Plays  are  not  Shakspere's  then  the  whole  make-up  of  the 
Folio  of  1623  is  a  fraud,  and  the  dedication  and  the  introduction 
are  probably  both  from  the  pen  of  Bacon. 

Mr.  J.  T.  Cobb  calls  attention  to  a  striking  parallelism  between 
a  passage  in  the  dedication  of  the  Folio  and  an  expression  of  Bacon: 
Country  hands  reach  forthe  milk,  cream  and  fruits,  or  what  they  have.1 

Bacon  writes  to  Villiers: 

And  now,  because  I  am  in  the  country,  I  will  send  you  some  of  my  country 
fruits,  which  with  me  are  goocl  meditations,  which  when  I  am  in  the  city  are  choked 
with  business.*2 

And  in  the  "  discourse  touching  the  plantation  in  Ireland,"  he 
asks  his  majesty  to  accept  "the  like  poor  field-fruits." 

We  can  even  imagine  that  in  the  line, 

And  though  thou  hadst  small  Latine  and  less  Greek, 
Ben  Jonson  has  his  jest  at  the  man  who  had  employed  him  to 
write  these  verses.  For  Jonson,  it  will  be  remembered,  was  an 
accurate  classical  scholar,  while  Bacon  was  not.  The  latter  was 
like  Montaigne,  who  declared  he  could  never  thoroughly  acquire  any 
language  but  his  own.  Dr.  Abbott,  head  master  of  the  City  of 
London  school,  in  his  introduction  to  Mrs.  Pott's  great  work,3  refers 
to  "several  errors  which  will  make  Latin  and  Greek  scholars  feel 
uneasy.  For  these  in  part  Bacon  himself,  or  Bacon's  amanuensis,  is 
responsible  ;  and  many  of  the  apparent  Latin  solecisms  or  mis- 
spellings arise  .  .  .  from  the  manuscripts  of  the  Promus"  He  adds 
in  a  foot-note: 

I  understand  that  it  is  the  opinion  of  Mr.  Maude  Thompson,  of  the  British 
Museum  manuscript  department,  that  all  entries,  except  some  of  the  French  prov- 
erbs, are  in  Bacon's  handwriting  ;  so  that  no  amanuensis  can  bear  the  blame  of 
the  numerous  errors  in  the  Latin  quotations. 

How  "rare  old  Ben"  must  have  enjoyed  whacking  Bacon  over 

Shakespeare's  shoulders,  in  verses  written  at  the  request  of  Bacon  ! 

XI.     A  Greater  Question. 

When  the  crushing  blow  of  shame  and  humiliation  fell  upon 
Francis  Bacon  in  162 1,  and  he  expected  to  die  under  it,  he  hurriedly 
drew  a  short  will.  It  does  not  much  exceed  in  length  one  page  of 
Spedding's  book,  and  yet  in  this  brief  document  he  found  time  to  say: 

x  Dedication,  Folio  1623.  2  Montagu,  iii,  p.  20.  3  Promus,  p.  13. 


ioo      WILLIAM    SHAKSPERE   DID   NOT    WRITE    THE   PLAYS. 

My  compositions  unpublished,  or  the  fragments  of  them,  I  require  my  servant 
Harris  to  deliver  to  my  brother  Constable,  to  the  end  that  if  any  of  these  be  fit,  in 
his  judgment,  to  be  published,  he  may  accordingly  dispose  of  them.  And  in  partic- 
ular I  wish  the  Elogium  I  wrote,  In  felicem  memoriam  Regince  Elizabethce,  may  be 
published.  And  to  my  brother  Constable  I  give  all  my  books;  and  to  my  servant 
Harris  for  this  his  service  and  care  fifty  pieces  in  gold,  pursed  up. 

He  disposed  of  all  his  real  property  in  five  lines,  for  the  pay- 
ment of  his  debts. 

And  when  Bacon  came  to  draw  his  last   will  and  testament,1  he 

devoted  a  large  part  of  it  to  the  preservation  of  his  writings.     He 

says: 

For  my  name  and  memory,  I  leave  it  to  men's  charitable  speeches,  and  to  for- 
eign nations,  and  the  next  ages.  But  as  to  the  durable  part  of  my  memory,  which 
consisteth  ef  my  works  and  writings,  I  desire  my  executors,  and  especially  Sir  John 
Constable,  and  my  very  good  friend  Mr.  Bosvile,  to  take  care  that  of  all  my  writings, 
both  of  English  and  of  Latin,  there  may  be  books  fair  bound  and  placed  in  the 
King's  library,  and  in  the  library  of  the  University  of  Cambridge,  and  in  the 
library  of  Trinity  College,  where  myself  was  bred,  and  in  the  library  of  the 
University  of  Oxonford,  and  in  the  library  of  my  lord  of  Canterbury,  and  in 
the  library  of  Eaton. 

Then  he  bequeaths  his  register  books  of  orations  and  letters  to 
the  Bishop  of  Lincoln;  and  he  further  directs  his  executors  to 
"  take  into  their  hands  all  my  papers  whatsoever,  which  are  either 
in  cabinets,  boxes  or  presses,  and  them  to  seal  up  until  they  may  at 
their  leisure  peruse  them." 

We  are  asked  to  believe  that  William  Shakspere  was,  neces- 
sarily, as  the  author  of  the  Plays,  a  man  of  vast  learning,  the  owner 
of  many  books,  and  that  he  left  behind  him,  unpublished  at  the 
time  of  his  death,  such  marvelous  and  mighty  works  as  The 
Tempest,  Macbeth,  Julius  Ccesar,  Timon  of  Athens,  Coriolanus,  Henry 
VII T.  and  many  more;  and  that,  while  he  carefully  bequeathed 
his  old  clothes  and  disposed  of  his  second-best  bed,  he  made 
no  provision  for  the  publication  of  his  works,  "  the  durable  part 
of  his  memory." 

Is  it  reasonable?  Is  it  probable  ?  Is  it  not  grossly  improbable  ? 
What  man  capable  of  writing  Macbeth  and  Julius  Ccesar,  and  know- 
ing their  value  to  mankind  —  knowing  that  they  lay  in  his  house,  in 
some  "cabinet,  box  or  press,"  probably  in  but  one  manuscript  copy 
each,  and  that  they  might  perish  in  the  hands  of  his  illiterate  family 
and  "bookless"   neighbors  —  would,  while  carefully  remembering 

1  Life  and  Works,  vol.  vii,  p.  539. 


THE   LOST  LIBRARY  AND   MANUSCRIPTS.  101 

so  much  of  the  litter  and  refuse  of  the  world,  have  died  and  made 
no  provision  for  their  publication  ? 

But  it  may  be  said  he  did  not  own  them;  he  may  have  sold 
them.  It  seems  not,  for  Heminge  and  Condell,  in  their  intro- 
duction to  the  first  Folio,  say  that  they  received  the  original  copies 
which  they  published  from  Shakespeare  himself: 

And  what  he  thought  he  uttered  with  that  easiness  that  we  have  scarce  received 
from  him  a  blot  in  his  papers. 

And  again: 

It  has  been  a  thing,  we  confess,  worthy  to  have  been  wished,  that  the  author 
himself  had  lived  to  have  set  forth  and  overseen  his  own  writings. 

What  right  would  he  have  had  to  set  them  forth  if  they 
belonged  to  some  one  else  ? 

But  since  it  hath  been  ordained  otherwise,  and  he  by  death  departed  from  that 
right,  we  pray  you  do  not  envy  his  friends  the  office  of  their  care. 

If  this  introduction  means  anything,  it  means  that  Shakspere 
owned  these  Plays;  that  he  would  have  had  the  right  to  publish 
them  if  death  had  not  interfered;  that  his  friends  and  fellow-actors, 
Heminge  and  Condell,  had,  "  to  keep  the  memory  of  so  worthy  a 
friend  and  fellow  alive  as  was  our  Shakespeare,"  assumed  the  task 
of  publishing  them;  that  they  had  received  the  original  manu- 
scripts from  him  —  that  is,  from  his  family  —  free  from  blot,  and  that 
they  published  from  them,  as  all  the  quarto  copies  were  "stolne 
and  surreptitious,  maimed  and  deformed  by  the  frauds  and 
stealthes  of  injurious  impostors." 

And  yet  these  Plays,  which  belonged  to  Shakspere's  wealthy 
family,  as  the  heirs  of  the  author,  which  were  printed  by  his  "  fel- 
lows" to  sell  to  make  money  —  for  they  say  in  their  introduction: 

The  fate  of  all  books  depends  upon  your  capacities:  and  not  of  your  heads 
alone  but  of  your  purses.   .   .   .   Read  and  censure.     Do  so,  but  buy  first. 

—  these   Plays   were    not    published    or    paid    for   by    Shakspere's 

family,  but,  as  the  Folio  itself  tells  us,  were 

Printed  at  the  charges  of  W.  Jaggard,  Ed.  Blount,  I.  Smithweeke,  and  W. 
Aspley,  1623. 


CHAPTER    V. 
THE    WRITER  OF  THE   PLAYS  A   LAWYER. 

Why  may  that  not  be  the  skull  of  a  lawyer  ? 

Hamlet,  v,  /. 

NOTHING    is    more    conclusively    established    than    that   the 
author  of  the  Plays  was  a  lawyer. 
Several   works  have  been  written  in  England  and  America  to 
demonstrate  this.     I  quote  a  few  extracts: 
Franklin  Fiske  Heard  says: 

The  Comedy  of  Errors  shows  that  Shakespeare  was  very  familiar  with  some  of 
the  most  refined  of  the  principles  of  the  science  of  special  pleading,  a  science 
which  contains  the  quintessence  of  the  law.  .  .  .  In  the  second  part  of  Henry  IV., 
act  v,  scene  5,  Pistol  uses  the  term  absque  hoc,  which  is  technical  in  the  last  degree. 
This  was  a  species  of  traverse,  used  by  special  pleaders  when  the  record  was  in 
Latin,  known  by  the  denomination  of  a  special  traverse.  The  subtlety  of  its  texture, 
and  the  total  dearth  of  explanation  in  all  the  reports  and  treatises  extant  in  the 
time  of  Shakespeare  with  respect  to  its  principle,  seem  to  justify  the  conclusion 
that  he  must  have  attained  a  knozvledge  of  it  from  actual  practice} 

Senator  Davis  says: 

We  seem  to  have  here  something  more  than  a  sciolist's  temerity  of  indulgence 
in  the  terms  of  an  unfamiliar  art.  No  legal  solecisms  will  he  found.  The  abstrusest 
elements  of  the  common  law  are  impressed  into  a  disciplined  service  with  every 
evidence  of  the  right  and  knowledge  of  commanding.  Over  and  over  again, 
where  such  knowledge  is  unexampled  in  writers  unlearned  in  the  law,  Shakespeare 
appears  in  perfect  possession  of  it.  In  the  law  of  real  property,  its  rules  of  tenure 
and  descents,  its  entails,  its  fines  and  recoveries,  and  their  vouchers  and  double 
vouchers;  in  the  procedure  of  the  courts,  the  method  of  bringing  suits  and  of  arrests; 
the  nature  of  actions,  the  rules  of  pleading,  the  law  of  escapes  and  of  contempt  of 
court;  in  the  principles  of  evidence,  both  technical  and  philosophical;  in  the  dis- 
tinction between  the  temporal  and  spiritual  tribunals;  in  the  law  of  attainder  and 
forfeiture;  in  the  requisites  of  a  valid  marriage;  in  the  presumption  of  legitimacy; 
in  the  learning  of  the  law  of  prerogative;  in  the  inalienable  character  of  the  crown, 
this  mastership  appears  with  surprising  authority.'2 

And  again  the  same  writer  says: 

I  know  of  no  writer  who  has  so  impressed  into  his  service  the  terms  of  any 
science  or  art.  They  come  from  the  mouth  of  every  personage:  from  the  Queen; 
from  the  child;  from  the  merry  wives  of  Windsor;  from  the  Egyptian  fervor  of 
Cleopatra;  from  the  lovesick  Paphian  goddess;  from  violated  Lucrece;  from  Lear; 

1  Shakespeare  as  a  Lawyer,  pp.  43,  48.  2  The  Law  in  Shakespeare,  p.  4. 

102 


THE    WRITER   OF    THE   PLAYS  A    LAWYER. 


°3 


Hamlet  and  Othello;  from  Shakespeare  himself,  soliloquizing  in  his  sonnets;  from 
Dogberry  and  Prospero;  from  riotous  'Falstaff  and  melancholy  Jacques.  Shake- 
speare utters  them  at  all  times  as  standard  coin,  no  matter  when  or  in  what  mint 
stamped.  These  emblems  of  his  industry  are  woven  into  his  style  like  the  bees 
into  the  imperial  purple  of  Napoleon's  coronation  robes.1 

Lord  Chief  Justice  Campbell  sees  the  clearest  evidences  in  the 
Plays  that  the  writer  was  learned  in  the  law.  I  quote  a  few  of  his 
expressions: 

These  jests  cannot  be  supposed  to  arise  from  anything  in  the  laws  or  customs 
of  Syracuse;  but  they  show  the  author  to  be  very  familiar  with  some  of  the  most 
abstruse  proceedings  in  English  jurisprudence.'1 

Quoting  the  description  of  the  arrest  of  Dromio  in  The  Comedy 
of  Errors,  he  says: 

Here  we  have  a  most  circumstantial  and  graphic  account  of  an  English  arrest 
on  mesne  process  ["  before  judgment  "]  in  an  action  on  the  case.3 

In  act  iii,  scene  1  (of  As  You  Like  It)  a  deep  technical  knowledge  of  the  law  is 
displayed.* 

It  is  likewise  remarkable  that  Cleomenes  and  Dion  ( The  Winter's  Tale,  Act  iii, 
scene  2),  the  messenger  who  brought  back  the  response  from  the  oracle  of  Delphi, 
to  be  given  in  evidence,  are  sworn  to  the  genuineness  of  the  document  they  pro- 
duce almost  m  the  very  words  now  used  by  the  Lord  Chancellor  when  an  officer 
presents  at  the  bar  of  the  House  of  Lords  the  copy  of  a  record  of  a  court  of  justice: 

You  here  shall  swear.   .  .  . 

That  you,  Cleomenes  and  Dion,  have 

Been  both  at  Delphos;  and  from  thence  have  brought 

The  sealed-up  oracle,  by  the  hand  delivered 

Of  great  Apollo's  priest;  and  that  since  then 

You  have  not  dared  to  break  the  holy  seal 

Nor  read  the  secrets  in't. 5 

And  again,  Lord  Chief  Justice  Campbell  says: 

We  find  in  several  of  the  Histories  Shakespeare's  fondness  for  law  terms; 
and  it  is  still  more  remarkable  that  whenever  lie  indulges  this  propensity  he  uniformly 
lays  down  good  la70.6 

While  novelists  and  dramatists  are  constantly  making  mistakes  as  to  the  law 
of  marriage,  of  wills  and  of  inheritance,  to  Shakespeare's  law,  lavishly  as  he  pro- 
pounds it,  there  can  neither  be  demurrer,  nor  bill  of  exception,  nor  writ  of  error.7 

If  Lord  Eldon  could  be  supposed  to  have  written  the  play,  I  do  not  see  how  he 
would  be  chargeable  with  having  forgotten  any  of  his  law  while  writing  it.8 

The  indictment  in  which  Lord  Say  was  arraigned,  in  act  iv,  scene  7  (2d  Henry 
VI.),  seems  drawn  by  no  inexperienced  hand.  .  .  .  How  acquired  I  know  not,  but 
it  is  quite  certain  that  the  drawer  of  this  indictment  must  have  had  some  acquaint- 
ance with  The  Crown   Circuit  Companion,  and  must  have  had  a  full  and  accurate 

1  The  Law  in  Shak.,  p.  51.  3  Ibid.,  p.  39.  5  Ibid.,  p.  60.  "  Ibid.,  p.  108. 

tShak.  Legal  Acquirements,  p.  38.  4  Ibid.,  p.  42.  6  Ibid.,  p.  61.  8  Ibid.,  p.  73. 


104      WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE   DID   NOT    WRITE    THE   PLAYS. 

knowledge  of  that  rather  obscure  and  intricate  subject — "  Felony  and  Benefit  of 
Clergy."  ■ 

Speaking  of  Gloster's  language  in  Lear?  Lord  Campbell  says: 

In  forensic  discussions  respecting  legitimacy  the  question  is  put,  whether  the 
individual  whose  status  is  to  be  determined  is  "capable,"  i.e.,  capable  of  inheriting; 
but  it  is  only  a  lawyer  who  could  express  the  idea  of  legitimizing  a  natural  son  by 
simply  saying: 

I'll  work  the  means 
To  make  him  capable. 

Speaking  of  Ifa?nlet,  his  Lordship  says: 

Earlier  in  the  play3  Marcellus  inquires  what  was  the  cause  of  the  warlike 
preparations  in  Denmark: 

And  why  such  daily  cast  of  brazen  cannon, 
And  foreign  mart  for  implements  of  war? 
Why  such  impress  of  shipwrights,  whose  sore  task 
Doth  not  divide  the  Sunday  from  the  week  ? 

Such  confidence  has  there  been  in  Shakespeare's  accuracy  that  this  passage 
has  been  quoted,  both  by  text-writers  and  by  judges  on  the  bench,  as  an  authority 
upon  the  legality  of  the  press-gang,  and  upon  the  debated  question  whether 
shipwrights  as  well  as  common  seamen  are  liable  to  be  pressed  into  the  service 
of  the  royal  navy.4 

Lord  Campbell  quotes  sonnet  xlvi,  of  which  he  says: 

I  need  not  go  farther  than  this  sonnet,  which  is  so  intensely  legal  in  its  language 
and  imagery  that  without  a  considerable  knowledge  of  English  forensic  procedure  it 
cannot  be  fully  understood. 

Sonnet  XLVI. 

Mine  Eye  and  Heart  are  at  a  mortal  war 

How  to  divide  the  conquest  of  thy  sight; 
Mine  Eye  my  Heart  thy  picture's  sight  would  bar, 

My  Heart  mine  Eye  the  freedom  of  that  right. 
My  Heart  doth  plead  that  thou  in  him  dost  lie 

(A  closet  never  pierced  with  crystal  eyes), 
But  the  Defendant  doth  that  plea  deny, 

And  says  in  him  thy  fair  appearance  lies. 
To  'cide  this  title  is  impaneled 

A  quest  of  Thoughts,  all  tenants  of  the  Heart; 
And  by  their  verdict  is  determined 

The  clear  Eye's  moiety,  and  the  dear  Heart's  part; 
As  thus:  mine  Eyes'  due  is  thine  outward  part, 
And  my  Heart's  right,  thine  inward  love  of  heart. 

One  is  reminded,  in  reading  this,  of  Brownell's  humorous  lines: 

The  Lawyer's  Invocation  to  Spring. 

Whereas  on  certain  boughs  and  sprays 

Now  divers  birds  are  heard  to  sing; 
And  sundry  flowers  their  heads  upraise, 

Hail  to  the  coming  on  of  spring! 

1  Shak.  Legal  Acquirements,  p.  75.  3  Hamlet,  i,  1. 

2  Act  ii,  scene  1.  4  Shak.  Legal  Acquirements,  p.  83. 


THE    WRITER    OF    THE  PLAYS  A    LAWYER.  105 

The  songs  of  those  said  birds  arouse 

The  memory  of  our  youthful  hours, 
As  green  as  those  said  sprays  and  boughs, 

As  fresh  and  sweet  as  those  said  flowers. 

The  birds  aforesaid  —  happy  pairs  !  — 

Love,  'mid  the  aforesaid  boughs,  inshrines 

In  freehold  nests;   themselves  their  heirs, 
Administrators  and  assigns. 

Oh,  busiest  term  of  Cupid's  court, 

Where  tender  plaintiffs  actions  bring; 
Season  of  frolic  and  of  sport, 

Hail  —  as  aforesaid  —  coming  spring  ! 

Lord  Campbell  says: 

In  Antony  and  Cleopatra,1  Lepidus,  in  trying  to  palliate  the  bad  qualities  and 
misdeeds  of  Antony,  uses  the  language  of  a  conveyancer's  chambers  in  Lincoln's 
Inn: 

His  faults,  in  him,  seem  as  the  spots  of  heaven, 

More  fiery  by  night's  blackness;   hereditary 

Rather  than  purchased. 

That  is  to  say,  they  are  taken  by  descent,  not  by  purchase.  Lay  gents  (viz.,  all 
except  lawyers)  understand  by  purchase  buying  for  a  sum  of  money,  called  the 
price,  but  lawyers  consider  that  purchase  is  opposed  to  descent;  that  all  things 
come  to  the  owner  either  by  descent  or  by  purchase,  and  that  whatever  does  not 
come  through  operation  of  law  by  descent  is  purchased,  although  it  may  be  the  free 
gift  of  a  donor.  Thus,  if  land  be  devised  by  will  to  A  in  fee,  he  takes  by  pur- 
chase; or  to  B  for  life,  remainder  to  A  and  his  heirs  (B  being  a  stranger  to  A),  A 
takes  by  purchase;  but  upon  the  death  of  A,  his  eldest  son  would  take  by  descent} 

Appleton  Morgan  says: 

But  most  wonderful  of  all  is  the  dialogue  in  the  graveyard  scene. 

In  the  quarto  the  two  grave-diggers  are  wondering  whether  Ophelia,  having 
committed  suicide,  is  to  be  buried  in  consecrated  ground,  instead  of  at  a  cross- 
road with  a  stake  driven  through  her  body,  and  clumsily  allude  to  the  probability 
that,  having  been  of  noble  birth,  a  pretext  will  be  found  to  avoid  the  law. 

It  happens  that  in  the  first  volume  of  Plowden's  Reports  there  is  a  case  (Hales 
vs.  Petit,  I.  PI.  253)  of  which  the  facts  bore  a  wonderful  resemblance  to  the  story 
of  Ophelia. 

Sir  James  Hales  was  a  judge  of  the  Common  Pleas,  who  had  prominently  con- 
cerned himself  in  opposing  the  succession  of  Mary  the  Bloody.  When  Mary 
ascended  the  throne,  he  expected  decapitation,  and  was  actually  imprisoned,  but 
by  some  influence  released.  His  brain,  however,  became  affected  by  his  vicissi- 
tudes, and  he  finally  committed  suicide  by  throwing  himself  into  a  water-course. 
Suicide  was  felony,  and  his  estates  became  escheated  to  the  crown.  The  crown  in 
turn  granted  them  to  one  Petit.  But  Lady  Hales,  instructed  that  the  escheat 
might  be  attacked,  brought  ejectment  against  Petit,  the  crown  tenant.  The  point 
was  as  to  whether  the  forfeiture  could  be  considered  as  having  taken  place  in  the 
lifetime  of  Sir  James;  for,  if  not,  the  plaintiff  took  the  estate  by  survivorship. 
In  other  words,  could  Sir  James  be  visited  with  the  penalty  for  plunging  into  a 

*Act  1,  scene  4.  2  Shak.  Legal  Acquirements,  p.  94. 


106     WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE   DID   NOT    WRITE    THE    PLA  VS. 

stream  of  water?  For  that  was  all  he  did  actually  do.  The  suicide  was  only  the 
result  of  his  act,  and  can  a  man  die  during  his  life?  Precisely  the  point  in 
Ophelia's  case  as  to  her  burial  in  consecrated  ground.  If  Ophelia  only  threw  her 
self  into  the  water,  she  was  only  a  suicide  by  consequence,  non  constat  that  she- 
proposed  to  die  in  the  aforesaid  water.  So  the  case  was  argued,  and  the  debate  of 
the  momentous  questions  —  whether  a  man  who  commits  suicide  dies  during  his 
own  life  or  only  begins  to  die;  whether  he  drowns  himself,  or  only  goes  into  the 
water;  whether  going  into  water  is  a  felony,  or  only  part  of  a  felony,  and  whether 
a  subject  can  be  attainted  and  his  lands  escheated  for  only  part  of  a  felony  —  is  so 
rich  in  serious  absurdity,  and  the  grave-diggers'  dialogue  over  Ophelia's  proposed 
interment  in  holy  ground  so  literal  a  travesty,  that  the  humor  of  the  dialogue  — 
entirely  the  unconscious  humor  of  the  learned  counsel  in  Hales  vs.  Petit  —  can 
hardly  be  anything  but  proof  that,  admitting  William  Shakespeare  to  have  written 
that  graveyard  scene,  William  Shakespeare  was  a  practicing  lawyer. 

Especially  since  it  is  to  be  remembered  that  Plowderi 's  report  was  then,  as  it  is 
to-day,  accessible  in  Norman  Latin  law  jargon  and  black-letter  type,  utterly  unintelli- 
gible to  anybody  but  an  expert  antiquarian,  and  utterly  uninviting  to  anybody.  Law 
Norman  or  law  Latin  was  just  as  unattractive  to  laymen  in  Elizabeth's  day  as  it  is 
to  lawyers  in  ours;  if  possible,  more  so. 

The  decision  in  Hales  vs.  Petit  —  on  account  of  the  standing  of  parties-plain- 
tiff—  might  have  been  town-talk  for  a  day  or  two;  but  that  the  wearying,  and,  to 
us,  ridiculous  dialectics  of  the  argument  and  decision  were  town-talk,  seems  the 
suggestion  of  a  very  simple  or  of  a  very  bold  ignorance  as  to  town  life  and 
manners. 

Besides,  nobody  sets  the  composition  of  Hamlet  earlier  than  Nash's  mention 
of  "whole  Hamlets"  in  1587  or  1589  —  and  every  commentator  of  standing  puts  it 
about  ten  years  later.  That  the  hair-splitting  of  a  handful  of  counsel  would 
remain  town-talk  for  twenty-five  or  thirty-six  years  is  preposterous  to  suppose. 
Reference  to  the  arguments  in  that. case  could  only  have  been  had  from  Plowden's 
report. 

My  friend  Senator  Davis1  points  out  another  curious  fact,  viz.: 
that  a  comparison  of  the  Hamlet  of  the  quarto  of  1603,  with  the 
Folio  of  1623,  shows  that  part  of  the  text  was  re-written,  to  make  it 
more  correct  in  a  legal  point  of  view.     In  the  quarto  we  read: 

Who  by  a  sealed  compact,  well  ratified  by  law 
And  heraldrie,  did  forfeit  with  his  life  all  those 
His  lands,  which  he  stood  seized  of,  to  the  conqueror, 
Against  the  which  a  moiety  competent 
Was  gaged  by  our  king. 

But  to  state    this  in   legal   form   there  is  appended,   when   Hamlet 
comes  to  be  printed  in  the  Folio: 

—  which  had  returned 
To  the  inheritance  of  Fortinbras 
Had  he  bin  Vanquisher,  as  by  the  same  cov'nant 
The  carriage  of  the  article  designed, 
His  fell  to  Hamlet* 

1  The  Law  in  Shakespeare.  a  I famlct,  i,  1. 


THE    WRITER    OE    THE   FLAYS  A    LAWYER. 


107 


What  poet,  not  a  lawyer,  would  have  stated  the  agreement  in 
such  legal  phraseology;  and  what  poet,  not  a  lawyer,  would  have 
subsequently  added  the  lines  given,  to  show  the  consideration  mov- 
ing to  Fortinbras  for  the  contract  ?  And  this  for  the  benefit  of  such 
an  audience  as  commonly  frequented  the  Globe  ! 

Richard  Grant  White  says: 

No  dramatist  of  the  time,  not  even  Beaumont,  who  was  a  younger  son  of  a 
judge  of  the  Common  Pleas,  and  who,  after  studying  in  the  inns  of  court,  aban- 
doned law  for  the  drama,  used  legal  phrases  with  Shakespeare's  readiness  and 
exactness.  And  the  significance  of  this  fact  is  heightened  by  another,  that  it  is 
only  to  the  language  of  the  law  that  he  exhibits  this  inclination.  The  phrases 
peculiar  to  other  occupations  serve  him  on  rare  occasions  by  way  of  description, 
comparison  or  illustration,  generally  when  something  in  the  scene  suggests  them; 
but  legal  phrases  flow  from  his  pen  as  part  of  his  vocabulary  and  parcel  of  his 
thought.  The  word  purchase,  for  instance,  which  in  ordinary  use  meant,  as 
now  it  means,  to  acquire  by  giving  value,  applies  in  law  to  all  legal  modes  of 
obtaining  property,  except  inheritance  or  descent.  And  in  this  peculiar  sense  the 
word  occurs  five  times  in  Shakespeare's  thirty-four  plays,  but  only  in  a  single 
passage  in  the  fifty-four  plays  of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher.  And  in  the  first  scene 
of  the  Midsummer  Nighfs  Dream  the  father  of  Hermia  begs  the  ancient  privilege 
of  Athens,  that  he  may  dispose  of  his  daughter  either  to  Demetrius  or  to  death, 

According  to  our  law 
Immediately  provided  in  that  case. 

He  pleads  the  statute;  and  the  words  run  off  his  tongue  in  heroic  verse,  as  if  he 
was  reading  them  from  a  paper. 

As  the  courts  of  law  in  Shakespeare's  time  occupied  public  attention  much 
more  than  they  do  now,  it  has  been  suggested  that  it  was  in  attendance  upon  them 
that  he  picked  up  his  legal  vocabulary.  But  this  supposition  not  only  fails  to 
account  for  Shakespeare's  peculiar  freedom  and  exactness  in  the  use  of  that  phras- 
eology—  it  does  not  even  place  him  in  the  way  of  learning  those  terms,  his  use  of 
which  is  most  remarkable,  which  are  not  such  as  he  would  have  heard  at  ordinary 
proceedings  at  nisi  prius,  but  such  as  refer  to  the  tenure  or  transfer  of  real  property 
—  "  fine  and  recovery,"  "statutes  merchant,"  "  purchase,"  "  indenture,"  "  tenure," 
"double  voucher,"  "  fee  simple,"  "fee  farm,"  "remainder,"  "reversion,"  "  fdr- 
feiture,"  etc.  This  conveyancer's  jargon  could  not  have  been  picked  up  by  hang- 
ing around  the  courts  of  law  in  London  250  years  ago,  when  suits  as  to  the  title  to 
real  property  were  comparatively  so  rare.  And  besides,  Shakespeare  uses  his  law 
just  as  freely  in  his  early  plays,  written  in  his  first  London  years,  as  in  those  pro- 
duced at  a  later  period.  Just  as  exactly,  too;  for  the  correctness  and  propriety 
with  which  these  terms  are  introduced  have  compelled  the  admiration  of  a  chief 
justice  and  a  lord  chancellor.1 

And  again  Mr.  White  says: 

Genius,  although  it  reveals  general  truth  and  facilitates  all  acquirement,  does 
not  impart  facts  or  acquaintance  with  general  terms;  how  then  can  we  account  for 
the  fact  that,  in  an  age  when  it  was  the  common  practice  for  young  lawyers  to  write 
plays,  one  playwright  left  upon  his  plays   a  stronger,  a  sharper  legal   stamp  than 

1  R.  G.  White,  Life  and  Genius  of  Shak.,  p.  74. 


io8      WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE   DID  NOT    WRITE    THE   PLAYS. 

appears  upon  those   of  any  of  his  contemporaries,  and  that  the  characters  of  this 
stamp  are  those  of  the  complicated  law  of  real  property.1 

And  the  same  man  who  wrote  this,  and  who  still  believed  the 
deer-stealer  wrote  the  Plays,  said,  shortly  before  his  death,  in  the 
Atlantic  Magazine: 

The  notion  that  he  was  once  an  attorney's  clerk  is  blown  to  pieces. 

The  first  to  suggest  that  Shakspere  might,  at  some   time,  have 

been  a  lawyer's  clerk,  was  Malone,  who,  in  1790,  said: 

His  knowledge  of  legal  terms  is  not  merely  such  as  might  be  acquired  by  the 
casual  observation  of  even  his  all-comprehending  mind;  it  has  the  appearance  of 
technical  skill,  and  he  is  so  fond  of  displaying  it  on  all  occasions,  that  I  suspect  he 
was  early  initiated  in  at  least  the  forms  of  law,  and  was  employed,  while  he  yet 
remained  at  Stratford,  in  the  office  of  some  country  attorney,  who  was  at  the  same 
time  a  petty  conveyancer,  and  perhaps  also  the  seneschal  of  some  manor  court. 

But  even  Lord   Chief  Justice  Campbell,  who,  as  we  have  seen, 

asserts  that  the  writer  of  the  Plays  was  familiar  with  the  abstrusest 

parts  of  the  law,  is  forced  to  abandon  this  theory.     He  says,  writing 

to  J.  Payne  Collier,  who  favored  the  law-clerk  theory: 

Resuming  the  judge,  however,  I  must  lay  down  that  your  opponents  are  not 
called  upon  to  prove  a  negative,  and  that  the  onus  probandi  rests  upon  you.  You 
must  likewise  remember  that  you  require  us  implicitly  to  believe  a  fact,  which,  were 
it  true,  positive  and  irrefragable  evidence,  in  Shakespeare's  own  handwriting,  might 
have  been  forthcoming  to  establish  it.  Not  having  been  actually  enrolled  as  an 
attorney,  neither  the  records  of  the  local  court  at  Stratford,  nor  of  the  superior 
courts  at  Westminster,  would  present  his  name,  as  being  concerned  in  any  suits  as 
an  attorney;  but  it  might  have  been  reasonably  expected  that  there  would  have  been 
deeds  or  wills  witnessed  by  him  still  extant;  and,  after  a  very  diligent  search,  none 
such  can  be  discovered.  Nor  can  this  consideration  be  disregarded,  that  between 
Nash's  Epistle,  in  the  end  of  the  sixteenth  century,  and  Chalmers'  suggestion,  more 
than  two  hundred  years  afterwards,  there  is  no  hint,  by  his  foes  or  his  friends,  of 
Shakespeare  having  consumed  pens,  paper,  ink  and  pounce  in  an  attorney's  office 
at  Stratford.2 

The  Nash  Epistle  here  referred  to  was  an  "  Epistle  to  the  Gen- 
tlemen Students  of  the  Two  Universities,  by  Thomas  Nash,"  pre- 
fixed to  the  first  edition  of  Robert  Green's  Menaphon,  published, 
according  to  the  title-page,  in  1589.     In  it  Nash  says: 

It  is  a  common  practice  now-a-days,  amongst  a  sort  of  shifting  companions 
that  run  through  every  art  and  thrive  by  none,  to  leave  the  trade  of  noverint, 
whereto  they  were  born,  and  busy  themselves  with  the  endeavors  of  art,  that 
could  scarcely  Latinize  their  neck  verse  if  they  should  have  need;  yet  English 
Seneca,  read  by  candle-light,  yields  many  good  sentences,  as  Blood  is  a  beggar,  and 
so  forth  ;  and  if  you  entreat  him  fair,  in  a  frosty  morning,  he  will  afford  you  whole 
Hamlets  ;  I  should  say  handfuls  of  tragical  speeches. 

1  Life  and  Genius  o/Shak.,  p.  76.  2  S/iak.  Legal  Acquit  "tents,  p.  no. 


THE    WRITER    OF    THE   PLAYS  A    LAWYER.  lQg 

This  epistle  has  been  cited  to  prove  that  Shakspere  was  a  law- 
yer. In  Elizabeth's  reign  deeds  were  in  the  Latin  tongue;  and  all 
deeds  poll,  and  many  other  papers,  began  with  the  words:  "Nover- 
int  unirersi  per  presentes" — "Be  it  known  to  all  men  by  these 
presents;" — and  hence  the  business  of  an  attorney  was  known  as 
"  the  trade  of  noverint" 

But  here  are  the  difficulties  that  attend  this  matter:  In  the  first 
place  Nash  charges  that  the  party  he  has  in  view,  "  the  shifting 
companion  "  who  could  afford  whole  Hamlets,  was  not  only  a  lawyer, 
but  bom  a  lawyer; — "the  trade  of  noverint  whereto  they  were  born." 
In  other  words,  that  the  party  who  wrote  Hamlet  had  inherited  the 
trade  of  lawyer.  We  say  of  one  "he  was  born  a  gentleman,"  and 
we  mean,  thereby,  that  his  father  before  him  was  a  gentleman. 
Now,  it  is  within  the  possibilities  that  Shakespeare  might  have 
studied  for  a  few  months,  or  a  year  or  two,  in  some  lawyer's 
office,  but  assuredly  his  father  was  not  a  lawyer;  he  could  not 
even  write  his  own  name;  he  was  a  glover,  wool-dealer  or  butcher. 
But  the  description  applies  precisely  to  Bacon,  whose  father  had 
been  an  eminent  lawyer,  and  who  was  therefore  born  a  noverint. 

But  there  is  another  mystery  about  this  Nash  Epistle. 

It  is  universally  conceded,  by  all  the  biographers  and  commen- 
tators, that  Shakespeare  did  not  begin  to  write  for  the  stage  until 
1592.  Our  highest  and  most  recent  authority,  J.  O.  Halliwell-Phil- 
lipps,1  fixes  the  date  of  the  appearance  of  Shakespeare's  first  play  as 
the  third  of  March,  1592,  when  Henry  VI.  was  put  on  the  boards 
for  the  first  time;  and  this  same  Nash  tells  us  that  between  March 
3d,  1592,  and  the  beginning  of  July,  it  had  been  witnessed  by 
"ten  thousand  spectators  at  least."  And  yet  we  are  asked  to 
believe  that  when  Nash,  in  1589,  or,  as  some  will  have  it,  in  1587, 
wrote  his  epistle,  and  mocked  at  some  lawyer  who  had  written 
Hamlet,  he  referred  to  the  butcher's  apprentice,  who  did  not  com- 
mence to  write  until  three  or  five  years  subsequently  ! 

And  there  are  not  wanting  proofs,  as  we  will  see  hereafter,  that 
Hamlet  appeared  in  1585,  the  very  year  Shakspere's  wife  was 
delivered  of  the  twins,  Hamnet  and  Judith;  the  very  year  probably, 
when  Shakspere,  aged  twenty-one,  whipped,  scourged  and  im- 
prisoned for  poaching,  fled  from  Stratford  to  London. 

^Outlines  of  the  Life  of  Shak.,  p.  64. 


no     WILLIAM    SHAKSPERE  DID  NOT    WRITE    THE   PLAYS. 

We  can  conceive  the  possibility  of  a  rude  and  ignorant  peasant- 
boy  coming  to  London,  and,  conscious  of  his  defects  and  possess- 
ing great  powers,  applying  himself  with  superhuman  industry  to 
study  and  self-cultivation;  but  we  will  find  that  Hamlet,  that  most 
thoughtful  and  scholarly  production,  was  on  the  boards  in  1587,  if 
not  in  1585;  and  Venus  and  Adonis,  the  "first  heir  of  his  invention," 
must  have  antedated  even  this. 

Richard  Grant  White  says: 

It  has  most  unaccountably  been  assumed  that  this  passage  [in  Nash's  Epistle] 
refers  to  Shakespeare.  .  .  .  That  Shakespeare  had  written  this  tragedy  in  1586, 
when  he  was  but  twenty-two  years  old,  is  improbable  to  the  verge  of  im- 
possibility.1 

Halliwell-Phillipps  says: 

The  preceding  notices  may  fairly  authorize  us  to  infer  that  the  ancient  play  of 
Hamlet  was  written  either  by  an  attorney  or  an  attorney's  clerk.2 

The  Shakspereans,  to  avoid  the  logical  conclusions  that  flow 
from  this  Epistle  of  Nash,  are  forced  to  suggest  that  there  must 
have  been  an  older  play  of  Hamlet,  written  by  some  one  else — "the 
ancient  Hamlet,"  to  which  Halliwell-Phillipps  alludes.  But  there 
is  no  evidence  that  any  other  playwright  wrote  a  play  of  Hamlet. 
It  is  not  probable. 

The  essence  of  a  new  play  is  its  novelty.  We  find  Augustine 
Phillips,  one  of  the  members  of  Shakspere's  company,  objecting  to 
playing  Richard  II,  in  1600,  for  the  entertainment  of  the  followers 
of  Essex,  because  it  was  an  old  play,  and  would  not  draw  an  audi- 
ence, and  thereupon  Sir  Gilly  Merrick  pays  him  forty  shillings 
extra  to  induce  him  to  present  it. 

The  name  of  a  new  play  has  sometimes  as  much  to  do  with  its 
success  as  the  name  of  a  new  novel.  Is  it  probable  that  a  play- 
wright, having  written  a  new  play  and  desirous  to  draw  a  crowd  and 
make  money,  would  affix  to  it  the  name  of  some  old  play,  written  by 
some  one  else,  which  had  been  on  the  boards  for  ten  years  or  more, 
and  had  been  worn  threadbare  ?  Fancy  Dickens  publishing  a  new 
novel  and  calling  it  Roderick  Random.  Or  Boucicault  bringing  out 
a  new  drama  under  the  name  of  Othello.     The  theory  is  absurd. 

We  have  now  two  forms  of  the  play  of  Hamlet,  published  within 
a  year  of  each  other,  both  with  Shakespeare's  name  on  the  title- 

1  Life  and  Genius  of  Shak.,  p.  71.  2  Outlines  Life  of  Shak.,  p.  270. 


THE    WRITER    OE    THE   PLAYS  A    LAWYER.  m 

page;  and  one  is  the  crude,  first  form  of  the  play,  and  the  other  is 
its  perfected  form,  "enlarged  to  almost  twice  as  much  again."  Is 
this  first  form  "the  ancient  Hamlet"  to  which  Nash  alluded  in 
1589?  or  is  it  the  successor  of  some  still  earlier  edition?  Bacon 
said  of  himself:  "  I  never  alter  but  I  add."  He  re-wrote  his  Essays, 
we  are  told,  thirty  times.     Says  his  chaplain,  Rawley: 

I  have  myself  at  least  twelve  copies  of  his  Lnstauration,  revised  year  after  year, 
one  after  another,  and  every  year  altered  and  amended  in  the  frame  thereof,  till  at 
last  it  came  to  that  model  in  which  it  was  committed  to  the  press,  as  many  living 
creatures  do  lick  their  young  ones  till  they  bring  them  to  the  strength  of  their  limbs. 

Why  is  it  not  probable  that  the  young  noverint,  "  born  a  law- 
yer," Francis  Bacon,  of  age  in  1582,  may,  in  1585,  when  twenty-three 
years  of  age,  having  been  "put  to  all  the  learning  that  his  time 
could  make  him  master  of,"  have  written  a  play  for  the  stage, 
called  Hamlet,  at  a  time  when  William  Shakspere,  three  years  his 
junior  in  age,  and  fifty  years  his  junior  in  opportunities,  was  lying 
drunk  under  the  crab-tree,  or  howling  under  the  whips  of  the 
beadles  ? 

Hamlet,  then,  was  written  by  a  lawyer;  and  Shakspere  never 
was  a  lawyer. 

This  fact  must  also  not  be  forgotten,  that  the  knowledge  of  the 
law  shown  in  the  Plays  is  not  such  as  could  be  acquired  during  a 
few  months  spent  in  a  lawyer's  office  in  the  youth  of  the  poet,  and 
which  would  constitute  such  a  species  of  learning  as  might  be 
recalled  upon  questioning.  It  is  evident  that  the  man  who  wrote 
the  Plays  was  a  thorough  lawyer,  a  learned  lawyer,  a  lawyer 
steeped  in  and  impregnated  with  the  associations  of  his  profession, 
and  who  bubbled  over  with  its  language  whenever  he  opened  his 
mouth.  For  he  did  not  use  law  terms  only  when  speaking  upon 
legal  subjects:  the  phraseology  of  the  courts  rose  to  his  lips  even 
in  describing  love  scenes.  He  makes  the  fair  Maria,  in  Love's  Labor 
Lost,  pun  upon  a  subtle  distinction  of  the  law: 

Boyct.     So  you  grant  pasture  for  me. 

Offering  to  kiss  her. 
Maria.     Not  so,  gentle  beast: 
My  lips  are  no  common  though  several  they  be. 
Boyet.     Belonging  to  whom  ?  * 

Maria.  To  my  fortunes  and  me.1 

1  Act  ii,  scene  t. 


,12     WILLIAM    SHAKSPERE   DID   NOT    WRITE    THE   PLAYS. 

Grant  White  gives  this  explanation: 

Maria's  meaning  and  her  first  pun  are  plain  enough;  the  second  has  been  hith- 
erto explained  by  the  statement  that  the  several  or  severall  in  England  was  a  part 
of  the  common,  set  apart  for  some  particular  person  or  purpose,  and  that  the  town 
bull  had  equal  rights  of  pasture  in  common  and  several.  It  seems  to  me,  however, 
that  we  have  here  another  exhibition  of  Shakespeare's  familiarity  with  the  law, 
and  that  the  allusion  is  to  tenancy  in  common  by  several  (i.e.,  divided,  distinct) 
title.  Thus:  "  Tenants  in  Common  are  they  which  have  Lands  or  Tenements  in 
Fee-simple,  fee-taile,  or  for  terme  of  life,  &c,  and  they  have  such  Lands  or  Tene- 
ments by  severall  Titles  and  not  by  a  joynt  Title,  and  none  of  them  know  by  this 
his  severall,  but  they  ought  by  the  Law  to  occupie'  these  Lands  or  Tenements  in 
common  and  pro  indiviso,  to  take  the  profits  in  common."  '  .  .  .  Maria's  lips  were 
several,  as  being  two,  and  (as  she  says  in  the  next  line)  as  belonging  in  common 
to  her  fortunes  and  to  herself,  but  they  were  no  common  pasturage. - 

There  was  no  propriety  in  placing  puns  on  law  phrases  in  the 
mouth  of  a  young  lady,  and  still  less  in  representing  a  French  lady 
as  familiar  with  English  laws  and  customs  as  to  the  pasturage  of 
the  town-bull.  These  phrases  found  their  way  to  the  fair  lips  of 
Maria  because  the  author  was  brimming  full  of  legal  phraseology. 

Take  another  instance.     We  read  of  — 

A  contract  of  eternal  bond  of  love, 
Confirmed by  mutual  joinder  of  your  /rands, 
Attested 'by  the  holy  close  of  lips, 
Strengthened  by  interchangement  of  your  rings; 
And  all  the  ceremony  of  this  compact 
Sealed  in  my  function  by  my  testimony. ,a 

To  be  so  saturated  with  the  law  the  writer  must  have  been  in 
daily  practice  of  the  law,  and  in  hourly  converse  with  men  of  the 
same  profession.  He  did  not  seek  these  legal  phrases;  they  burst 
from  him  involuntarily  and  on  all  occasions. 

Gerald  Massey  well  says: 

The  worst  of  it,  for  the  theory  of  his  having  been  an  attorney's  clerk,  is  that  it 
will  not  account  for  his  insight  into  law.  His  knowledge  is  not  office-sweepings, 
but  ripe  fruits,  mature,  as  though  he  had  spent  his  life  in  their  growth.* 

But  it  is  said  that  a  really  learned  lawyer  could  not  have  writ- 
ten the  Plays,  because  the  law  put  forth  in  the  great  trial  scene  of 
The  Merchant  of  Venice  is  not  good  law. 

Lord  Chief  Justice  Campbell,  however,  reviews  the  proceedings 
in  the  case,  and  declares  that  "  the  trial  is  duly  conducted  accord- 
ing to  the  strict  forms  of  legal  procedure.   .  .  .  Antonio  is  made  to 

1  Co.  Litt.,  lib.  iii,  cap.  4,  sec.  292.  3  Twelfth  Night,  v,  1. 

9  Shakespeare,  vol.  iii,  p.  453.  *  Shakespeare 's  Sonnets,  p.  504. 


THE    WRITER   OF-  THE   PLAYS  A    LAWYER. 


H3 


confess  that  Shylock  is  entitled  to  the  pound  of  flesh  .  .  .  accord- 
ing to  the  rigid  strictness  of  the  common  law  of  England." 

It  is  claimed  that  Shylock  could  not  enforce  the  penalty  of  his 
bond,  but  was  entitled  only  to  the  sum  loaned  and  legal  interest ; 
and  that  Antonio  should  have  applied  for  an  injunction  to  restrain 
Shylock  from  cutting  off  the  pound  of  flesh. 

Imagine  the  play  so  reformed.  The  audience  are  looking  for- 
ward with  feelings  of  delight  to  the  great  trial  scene,  with  its  mar- 
velous alternations  of  hope  and  despair  ;  with  Portia's  immortal 
appeal  for  mercy  while  the  Jew  whets  his  knife;  and  anticipating 
the  final  triumph  of  virtue  and  the  overthrow  of  cruelty.  The  cur- 
tain rolls  up,  and  a  dapper  lawyer's-clerk  steps  forward  to  the  foot- 
lights to  inform  the  expectant  audience  that  Antonio  has  procured 
an  injunction,  with  proper  sureties,  from  the  Court  of  Equity,  and 
that  they  will  find  the  whole  thing  duly  set  forth  in  the  next  num- 
ber of  the  Law  Reporter! 

In  the  first  place,  it  is  absurd  to  try  a  Venetian  lawsuit  by  the 
antique  and  barbarous  code  of  England. 

In  the  next  place,  it  is  not  clear  that,  even  by  the  rules  of  the 
Court  of  Equity  of  England,  Antonio  could  have  been  relieved  of 
the  penalty  without  good  cause  shown. 

There  seems  to  be  a  distinction  taken  in  equity  between  penalties  and  forfeit- 
ures. ...  In  the  latter,  although  compensation  can  be  made,  relief  is  not  always 
given.1 

In  the  case  of  Antonio,  the  pound  of  flesh  was  to  be  forfeited. 

If  you  repay  me  not  on  such  a  day, 

In  such  a  place,  such  sum  or  sums  as  are 

Expressed  in  the  condition,  let  the  forfeit 

Be  nominated  for  an  equal  pound 

Of  your  fair  flesh.2 


And  in  the  court  scene  Shylock  says  : 

My  < 
The 

And  Portia  says 


My  deeds  upon  my  head  !     I  crave  the  law, 
The  penalty  and  forfeit  of  my  bond.3 


Why,  this  bond  is  forfeit. 
Certain  it  is,  Bacon,  a  thorough  lawyer,  did  not  understand  that 
he  could  escape  the  penalty  of  a  bond,  even  under  the  laws  of  Eng- 

1  3  Daniel's  Chan.  Plead,  and  Prac,  p.  1946;  2  Story's  Equity  Jur.^  §  1321,  etc. 
2  Act  i,  scene  3.  3  Act  iv,  scene  1. 


ii4 


WILLIAM   SIIAKSPERE   DID   NOT    WRITE    THE   PLAYS. 


land,  by  simply  paying  the  debt  and    interest.     In   July,  1603,  he 

was  arrested  at  the  suit  of  a  Jew  (the  original  probably  of  Shylock), 

and  thrown  into  a  sponging-house,  and   we  have   his  letter  to   his 

cousin  Robert,  Lord  Cecil,  Secretary  of  State,  begging  him  to  use 

his  power  to  prevent    his   creditors   from  "  taking  any  part  of  the 

penalty  [of  his  bond]  but  principal,  interest  and  costs." 

The  Judge  says: 

There  is  no  power  in  Venice 
Can  alter  a  decree  established. 
'  Twill  be  recorded  for  a  precedent, 
And  many  an  error  by  the  same  example 
Will  rush  into  the  state. 

Before  a  writ  of  error  can  be  taken  from  Portia's  ruling,  it  must 
be  shown  by  some  precedent,  or  "decree  established,"  of  the  Venetian 
chancery,  that  Antonio  had  the  right  to  avoid  the  forfeiture  by  ten- 
dering the  amount  received  and  simple  interest;  and  as  no  such  man 
as  Shylock  ever  lived,  and  no  such  case  as  that  in  question  was  ever 
tried,  it  will  puzzle  the  critics  to  know  just  how  far  back  to  go  to 
establish  the  priority  of  such  a  decision. 

Again,  the  point  is  made  that,  if  Shylock  was  entitled  to  his 
pound  of  flesh,  he  was  entitled  to  the  blood  that  would  necessarily 
flow  in.  cutting  it;  upon  the  principle,  it  is  said,  that  if  I  own  a 
piece  of  land  I  have  the  right  to  a  necessary  roadway  over  another 
man's  land  to  reach  it.  True.  But  in  case  I  can  only  reach  my 
land  by  committing  murder  (for  that  was  what  Shylock  was  under- 
taking), my  lesser  property  right  must  be  subordinated  to  the 
greater  natural  right  of  the  other  man  to  his  life. 

But  all  this  reasoning,  if  it  be  intended  to  show  that  the  writer 
of  the  play  was  but  partially  learned  in  the  law,  must  give  way  to 
the  fact  that  Shylock  vs.  Anto?iio  is  a  dramatic  representation,  for 
popular  entertainment,  and  not  a  veritable  law-suit.  The  plot  of 
The  Merchant  of  Venice  was  taken  from  the  Italian  romance  II 
Pccorone,  of  Giovanni  Fiorentino,  written  in  1378;  and  there  we 
have  the  decision  of  the  judge,  that  the  Jew  must  cut  a  precise 
pound  of  flesh,  neither  more  nor  less,  and  that,  if  he  draw  a  drop  of 
Christian  blood  in  so  doing,  he  must  die  for  it. 

It  would  be  absurd  to  suppose  that  a  dramatic  writer,  even 
though  a  lawyer,  would  be  obliged  to  leave  out  these  striking 
incidents,  and   substitute  a  tamer  something,  in  accordance  with 


THE    WRITER    OF    THE    PLAYS  A    LAWYER.  nj 

that  barbarous  jumble  of  justice  and  injustice  called  law  in 
England. 

But  the  question  after  all  is  to  be  decided  by  Venetian,  not 
English  precedents.     The  scene  is  laid  in  Venice. 

John  T.  Doyle,  Esq.,  of  California,  writes  a  letter  to  Lawrence 

Barrett,  Esq.,  the  celebrated  actor,  which  has  been  published  in  the 

Overland  Monthly,   in  which   he   discusses  "The  Case  of   Shylock." 

He  says: 

The  trial  scene  in  The  Merchant  of  Venice  has,  however,  always  seemed 
inconsistent  with  his  [Bacon's]  supposed  legal  learning,  for  the  proceedings  in  it 
are  such  as  never  could  have  occurred  in  any  court  administering  English  law. 
Lord  Campbell,  in  his  letter  to  Payne  Collyer,  has  attempted  to  gloss  over  the 
difficulty,  but  to  all  common  lawyers  the  attempt  is  a  failure.  Save  in  the  fact 
that  the  scene  presents  a  plaintiff,  a  defendant  and  a  judge  —  characters  essential 
to  litigation  under  any  system  of  procedure  —  there  is  no  resemblance  in  the  pro- 
ceedings on  the  stage  to  anything  that  could  possibly  occur  in  an  English  court,  or 
any  court  administering  English  law.  No  jury  is  impaneled  to  determine  the 
facts,  no  witnesses  called  by  either  side;  on  the  contrary,  when  the  court  opens, 
the  duke  who  presides  is  already  fully  informed  of  the  facts,  and  has  even  com- 
municated them,  in  writing,  to  Bellario,  a  learned  doctor  of  Padua,  and  invited 
him  to  come  and  render  judgment  in  the  case. 

Mr.  Doyle  then  proceeds  to  give  his  experience  of  a  lawsuit  he 

had    in    the   Spanish-American   republic   of    Nicaragua    in    185 1-2. 

After  describing  the  verbal  summons  he  received  from  the  alguazil 

to  the  alcalde  in  his  court,  Mr.  Doyle  says: 

Proceedings  of  some  sort  were  going  on  at  the  moment,  but  the  alcalde  sus- 
pended them,  received  me  very  courteously,  and  directed  some  one  present  to  go 
and  call  Don  Dolores  Bermudez,  the  plaintiff,  into  court.  The  substance  of  Mr. 
Bermudez'  complaint  against  the  company  was  then  stated  to  me,  and  I  was 
asked  for  my  answer  to  it.  I  sent  for  my  counsel,  and  the  company's  defense  was 
stated  orally.  The  contract  out  of  which  the  controversy  arose  was  produced,  and 
perhaps  a  witness  or  two  examined,  and  some  oral  discussion  followed;  those 
details  I  forget,  for  there  was  nothing  in  them  that  struck  me  as  strange.  There 
was,  in  fact,  little,  if  any,  dispute  about  the  facts  of  the  case,  the  real  controversy 
being  as  to  the  company's  liability  and  its  extent.  We  were  finally  informed  that 
on  a  given  day  we  should  be  expected  to  attend  again,  when  the  judge  would  be 
prepared  with  his  decision. 

At  the  appointed  time  we  attended  accordingly,  and  the  judge  read  a  paper  in 
which  all  the  facts  were  stated,  at  the  conclusion  of  which  he  announced  to  us  that 
he  proposed  to  submit  the  question  of  law  involved  to  Don  Buenaventura  Silva,  a 
practicing  lawyer  of  Granada,  as  a  "jurisconsult."  unless  some  competent  objec- 
tions were  made  to  him.  I  learned  then  that  I  could  challenge  the  proposed  ju- 
risconsult for  consanguinity,  affinity  or  favor,  just  as  we  challenge  a  juror.  I  knew 
of  no  cause  of  challenge  against  him;  my  counsel  said  he  was  an  unexceptionable 
person;  and  so  he  was  chosen,  and  the  case  was  referred  to  him.  Some  days 
after,  he  returned  the  papers  to  the  alcalde  with  his  opinion,  which  was  in  my 
favor,  and  the  plaintiff's  case  was  dismissed. 


n6     WILLIAM   SIIAKSPERE  DID   NOT    WRITE    THE  TLA  VS. 

In  the  course  of  the  same  afternoon,  or  next  day,  I  received  an  intimation; 
that  Don  Buenaventura  expected  from  me  a  gratification  —  the  name  in  that  coun- 
try for  what  we  call  a  gratuity  —  and  I  think  the  sum  of  $200  was  named.  This 
did  not  harmonize  with  my  crude  notions  of  the  administration  of  justice,  and  I 
asked  for  explanations.  They  were  given  in  the  stereotyped  form  used  to  explain 
every  other  anomaly  in  that  queer  country,  "Costumbre  del  pais."  I  thought  it  a 
custom  more  honored  in  the  breach  than  the  observance. 

Here  we  find  that  the  writer  of  the  Plays  followed,  in  all  proba- 
bility, the  exact  course  of  procedure  usual  in  Venice,  and  in  all 
countries  subject  to  the  civil  law.  We  even  have,  as  in  Portia's 
case,  the  expectation  that  the  judge  should  be  rewarded  with  a 
gratuity. 

The  only  difference  between  the  writer  of  the  Plays  and  his 
critics  is,  that  he  knew  what  he  was  talking  about,  and  they  did  not. 

My  friend  Senator  Davis,  of  Minnesota,  as  a  crowning  proof 
that  Francis  Bacon  did  not  write  the  Plays,  says: 

.  .  .  Again,  Bacon  was  actively  engaged  in  the  court  of  chancery  many  years 
before  he  became  Lord  Chancellor.  It  was  then  that  the  memorable  war  of  juris- 
diction was  waged  between  Ellesmere  and  Coke — and  yet  there  is  not  in  Shake- 
speare a  single  phrase,  word  or  application  of  any  principle  peculiar  to  the 
chancery.1 

To  this  my  friend  John  A.  Wilstach,  Esq.,  the  learned  translator 
of  Virgil,2  and  an  eminent  lawyer,  says  in  a  letter  addressed  to  me: 

In  the  English  courts,  ancient  and  modern  —  as  even  laymen  know  —  the 
practice  at  common  law  and  in  chancery  were  and  are  severed,  although  the  bar- 
riers between  the  two  are  now,  by  the  gradual  adoption  of  chancery  rules  in  com- 
mon law  practice,  largely  broken  down.  In  the  time  of  Bacon  and  Shakespeare 
the  division  was  distinct :  the  common-law  lawyer  was  not  a  chancery  practitioner; 
the  chancery  practitioner  was  not  a  practitioner  in  the  courts  of  common  law. 
But  the  general  language  of  both  branches  of  the  profession  was  necessarily  (for 
in  history  and  method  they  intertwined),  if  even  superficially,  known  to  the  fol- 
lowers of  both,  and  the  probability  is  that  a  practitioner  of  the  one  would  easily 
use  the  current  verbiage  of  the  other;  indeed  it  would  be  strange  if  either  should 
hold  away  from  the  other.  A  Lord  Coke,  in  the  wide  scope  of  literature,  would 
relax  his  common-law  exclusiveness  and  enlarge  the  narrow  circuit  of  his  pro- 
fessional prepossessions.  A  Lord  Bacon,  a  student  or  a  judge  in  chancery, 
would  delight  to  turn  aside  from  the  roses  and  lilies  of  equity  —  some  of  them 
exotic  plants  —  and  become,  for  the  time,  a  gratified  wanderer  in  an  historic  com- 
mon of  pasture,  among  the  butterflies  and  bees  of  an  indigenous  jurisprudence. 
Hence  my  suggestion,  opposed  to  that  of  the  learned  jurist,  is,  that  this  very  scope 
and  freedom  of  law  in  literature  is  what  the  writer  of  the  Shakespeare  Plays  has 
given  himself.  And  I  find  in  the  rambling  pasture  of  the  common  law,  according 
to  his  own  outgivings,  he  has  met,  besides  its  attractive  features,  other  and  repel- 
ling ones  —  thorns,  quagmires  and  serpents.     I  find  that,  on  a  close  examination  of 

1  Law  in  Shakespeare.  'Boston:   Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.     1884. 


THE    WRITER    OF    THE   PLAYS  A    LAWYER.  II7 

the  Shakespeare  Plays,  the  averment  of  the  learned  jurist  as  to  the  want  of  chan- 
cery features  therein  is  not  proven.  I  find  that  there  are  passages  wherein,  in  the 
most  evident  manner,  chancery  principles  and  the  equity  practice  are  recognized 
and  extolled;  and,  further  yet,  that  among  passages  tolerant  or  praiseful  of  the 
common  law  are  also  found  passages  wherein  its  principles  and  practice  are  held 
up  to  derision  and  even  to  scorn.  And  while  it  is  true  that  phrases  are  not  proofs, 
but  only  grounds  whence  inferences  may  be  drawn,  yet  the  citations  I  shall 
offer  will  be  of  as  high  a  grade  as  those  which  are  offered  to  support  the 
propositions  which  I  contest.  Nor  is  the  argument  weakened  in  its  application 
to  the  Baconian  question  by  the  establishment  of  the  fact  that  the  participation 
in  the  production  of  the  Shakespeare  Plays  on  the  part  of  Bacon  was  the  work 
of  his  early  manhood.  Coleridge  well  formulates  the  general  experience  when 
he  says  that  "a  young  author's  first  work  almost  always  bespeaks  his  recent 
pursuit." 

He  is,  at  this  early  age,  too,  more  conversant  with  the  literature  of  his  art;  is 
more  recently  from  the  books  and  sometimes  is  observed  to  carry  a  head  inflated 
with  pride  in  that  branch  of  the  profession  which  his  bent  of  mind  has  led  him  to 
favor.  First  let  me  recall  some  of  those  passages  wherein  derision  and  censure 
are  visited  upon  the  common  law  —  the  "biting"  severity  of  its  principles,  the 
"hideous  "  deformity  of  its  practice. 

The  most  superficial  reader  of  these  dramas  will  need  no  reminder  of  the 
satires  conveyed  in  the  conversation  of  Justices  Dogberry  and  Shallow,  Constable 
Elbow  and  the  clowns  in  Twelfth  Night,  and  the  more  dignified  broadsides  of 
Wolsey  and  Queen  Katharine,  and  Hamlet  and  Portia,  and  their  interlocutors. 
As  my  reading  goes,  puerility,  pedantry,  corruption  and  chicanery,  in  legal 
practice,  have  found  in  all  literature  no  denunciations  so  severe,  no  ridicule  so 
effective. 

In  rst  Llenry  IV.,  i,  2,  the  derision  takes,  in  the  mouth  of  Falstaff,  the  form  of 
"  the  rusty  curb  of  old  Father  Antic,  the  Law,"  the  metaphor  being  that  of  a  super- 
annuated clown  who,  with  rusty  methods,  methods  old  and  lacking  polish,  cheats 
.the  people  out  of  the  attainment  of  their  cherished  desires. 

When  law  can  do  no  right, 

Let  it  be  lawful  that  law  bar  no  wrong.1 

Since  law  itself  is  perfect  wrong, 

How  can  the  law  forbid  my  tongue  to  curse  ?* 

The  state  of  law  is  bond-slave  to  the  law.  3 

But  in  these  nice,  sharp  quillets  of  the  law,  etc.4 

The  laws,  your  curb  and  whip,  in  their  rough  power, 

Have  checked  theft.5 

The  bloody  book  of  law,  etc." 

Crack  the  lawyer's  voice, 

That  he  may  nevermore  false  title  plead. : 

My  head  to  my  good  man's  hat, 

These  oaths  and  laws  will  prove  an  idle  scorn.8 
Parolles,  the  lawyer  in  All's  Well  that  Ends  Well,  uses  contemptuously 
the  legal  machinery  applicable  to  English  estates  in  describing  how  Dumain 
would  convey  away  a  title  in  fee-simple  to  his  salvation;  and,  with  the  same 
contemptuous  reference  to  the  same  machinery,  Mrs.  Page  describes  the  devil's 
titles  to  Falstaff. 

Now  let  us  take  up  the  praises  of  chancery. 
\ 

1  King  John,  iii,  i.  2  Ibid.,  iii,  i.  s  Richard  II.,  ii,  I. 

4  jst  Henry  VI.,  ii,  4.  5  Timon  of  Athens,  iv,  3.  6  Othello,  iii,  1. 

7  Timon  of  Athens,  v,  3.  8  Lome's  Labor  Lost,  i,  1. 


n8     WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE   DID   NOT    WRITE    THE   PLAYS. 

And,  first,  I  cite  a  passage  which  the  learned  jurist  himself  quotes.  My 
italics  will  indicate  my  impression  that,  in  his  bent  for  common  law,  he  has. 
failed  to  give  emphasis  to  the  most  important  feature  of  the  passage. 

In  the  corrupted  currents  of  this  world 
Offense's  gilded  hand  may  shove  by  justice, 
And  oft  'tis  seen  the  wicked  prize  itself 
Buys  out  the  law:  but  'tis  not  so  above; 
There  is  no  shuffling,  there  the  action  lies 
In  his  true  nature,  and  we  ourselves  compel! d 
Even  to  the  teeth  and  forehead  of  our  faults, 
To  give  in  evidence.1 

And,  to  pass  to  others  : 

Ah,  gracious  lord,  these  days  are  dangerous; 
Virtue  is  choked  with  foul  ambition, 
And  charity  chased  hence  by  rancor's  hand, 
Fell  subornation  is  predominant, 
And  equity  exiled  your  highness'  land.2 

What  a  trinity  is  here:  Virtue,  Charity,  Equity!  Opposed,  too,  to  the  hellish 
trio  of  ambition,  rancor  and  subornation. 

A  larger  definition  of  equity  jurisprudence  could  not  well  be  had  than  that  it  is 
"strong  authority  looking  into  the  blots  and  stains  of  right." 

King  John.     From  whom  hast  thou  this  great  commission, 
To  draw  mine  answer  from  thine  articles  ? 

King  Philip.     From  that  supernal  judge  that  stirs  good  thoughts 

In  any  breast  of  strong  authority, 

To  look  into  the  blots  and  stains  of  right. 

That  judge  hath  made  me  guardian  to  this  boy: 

Under  whose  warrant  I  impeach  thy  wrong, 

And  by  whose  help  I  mean  to  chastise  it. 

'  This  passage  is  also  cited  by  the  learned  jurist,  but  it  is  only  to  remark  upon 
the  words  warrant  and  impeach.  It  contains,  as  I  have  observed,  the  very  definition 
of  chancery  jurisprudence,  and  besides  employs  terms  technical  in  chancery  prac- 
tice, commission  articles  and  answer. 

Themes  which,  in  an  especial  manner,  engage  the  intellect  and  the  heart  of  the 
student  and  practitioner  of  chancery  principles  are  "Charity,"  "Mercy,"  "Con- 
science." 

In  contrast  with  the  evasions  and  chicanery  which  are,  in  the  Shakespeare  Plays 
and  elsewhere,  the  reproach  of  the  practice  at  common  law,  chancery  decides  from 
considerations  of  what  is  right  and  just  between  man  and  man,  ex  cequo  et  bono. 
Chancery  jurisdiction  enters  the  breast  of  the  party  himself,  and  there  sets  up  its 
forum  in  his  conscience.  The  interrogatories  authorized  by  the  chancery  practice 
arraign  and  search  that  conscience,  and,  upon  an  oath  binding  upon  it,  "  compel"" 
the  reluctant  litigant,  "even  to  the  teeth  and  forehead  of  his  faults,  to  give  in  evi- 
dence." 

Every  man's  conscience  is  a  thousand  swords.3 
My  conscience  hath  a  thousand  several  tongues.4 
The  worm  of  conscience  still  begnaw  thy  soul ! 5 

Well,  believe  this, 
No  ceremony  that  to  great  ones  'longs 
Not  the  king's  crown,  nor  the  deputed  sword, 
The  marshal's  truncheon,  nor  the  judge" s  robe, 
Becomes  them  with  one-half  so  good  a  grace 
As  mercy  does.6 

1  Hamlet,  iii,  3.  3  Richard  111.,  v,  2.  5  Ibid.,  i,  3. 

*  2nd  Henry  VI.,  iii,  1.  *  Ibid.,  v,  3.  •  Measure  /or  Measure,  ii,  2„ 


THE    WRITER    OP    THE   PLAYS  A    LAWYER. 


The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strained; 


It  is  an  attribute  to  God  himself; 

And  earthly  power  doth  then  show  likest  God's, 

When  mercy  seasons  justice.1 

In  addition  to  these  citations,  touching  Shakespeare's  use  of  the 

terms  of  the  equity  courts,  I  would  quote  the  following  from  Judge 

Holmes: 

Indeed,  it  is  clear  that  Portia's  knowledge  extended  even  to  chancery  practice, 
and  continued  to  the  end  of  the  piece: 

Portia.  Let  us  go  in 

And  charge  us  there  upon  int'rogatories, 
And  we  will  answer  all  things  faithfully.'2 

The  terms  of  chancery  practice,  charges,  interrogatories  and  answer, 
are  dragged  in  by  the  heels  despite  the  protests  of  the  refractory 
meter. 

But  passing  from  this  point,  I  will  add  a  few  more  extracts 
which  bespeak  the  lawyer: 

Sir,  for  a  quart  d'ecu  he  will  sell  the  fee-simple  of  his  salvation,  the  inherit- 
ance of  it;  and  cut  the  entail  for  all  remainder.3 

And  again: 

If  the  devil  have  him  not  in  fee-simple,  with  fine  and  recovery,  he  will  never,  I 
think,  in  the  way  of  waste,  attempt  us  again.4 

And  again: 

Time  stays  still  with  lawyers  in  the  vacation;  for  they  sleep  between  term  and 
term.5 

Judge  Holmes  says:6 

Mr.  Rushton  cites  the  statute  16  Richard  II.,  which  was  leveled  against  the 
Pope's  usurpations  of  sovereignty  in  England,  and  enacted  that  "  if  any  do  bring 
any  translation,  process,  sentence  of  excommunication,  bulls,  instruments,  etc., 
within  the  realm,  or  receive  them,  they  shall  be  put  out  of  the  King's  protection,  and 
their  lands,  tenements,  goods  and  chattels  forfeited  to  the  King,"  and  compares  it  with 
the  speech  of  Suffolk  in  the  play  of  Henry  J'LLL.,  thus: 

Suff.     Lord  Cardinal,  the  King's  further  pleasure  is, 

Because  all  those  things  you  have  done  of  late 

By  your  power  legatine  within  this  kingdom, 

Fall  into  the  compass  of  a  praemunire, 

That  therefore  such  a  writ  be  sued  against  you: 

To  forfeit  all  your  goods,  lands,  tenements, 

Chattels  and  whatsoever,  and  to  be 

Out  of  the  King ' s protection.     This  is  my  charge.7 

1  Merchant  of  Venice,  iv,  i.  4  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  iv,  2. 

2  A  uthorship  of  Shak.,  3d  ed.,  p.  637.  b  As  \  'on  Like  It,  iii,  2. 

3  A  it's  Well  that  Ends  Well,  iv,  3.  6  A  uthorship  of  Shak.,  3d  ed.,  p.  630. 

7  Henry  VIII.,  iii,  2. 


I2o     WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE   DID   NOT    WRITE    THE  PLAYS. 

It  is  manifest  here,  as  Mr.  Rushton  thinks,  that  the  author  of 
the  Plays  was  exactly  acquainted  with  the  very  language  of  this  old 
statute. 

This,  then,  is  the  syllogism  which  faces  the  Shakspereans: 

i.  The  man  who  wrote  the  Plays  was  a  lawyer. 

2.  William  Shakspere  was  not  a  lawyer. 

3.  Therefore,  William  Shakspere  did  not  write  the  Plays. 

But  if  they  shift  their  ground,  and  fall  back  upon  the  supposition 
that  Shakspere  might  have  been  a  lawyer's  clerk  during  his  pre- 
London  residence  in  Stratford,  they  encounter  these  difficulties: 

1.  There  is  not  the  slightest  proof  of  this  fact;  and  if  it  was 
true,  proof  could  not  fail  to  be  forthcoming. 

2.  There  is  not  a  scrap  of  tradition  that  points  to  it. 

3.  Granting  it  to  be  possible,  it  would  not  explain  away  the 
difficulty.  It  would  not  have  been  sufficient  for  Shakspere  to  have 
passed  a  few  months  in  a  lawyer's  office  in  Stratford  in  his  youth. 
The  man  who  wrote  the  Plays  must  have  lived  and  breathed  in 
an  atmosphere  of  the  law,  which  so  completely  filled  his  whole 
being  that  he  could  not  speak  of  war  or  of  peace,  of  business  or  of 
love,  of  sorrow  or  of  pleasure,  without  scintillating  forth  legal 
expressions;  and  these  he  placed  indifferently  in  the  mouths  of 
young  and  old,  learned  and  unlearned,  Greeks,  Romans,  Italians, 
Frenchmen,  Scotchmen  and  Englishmen. 

Having,  as  I  hope,  demonstrated  to  the  satisfaction  of  my  read- 
ers that  William  Shakspere  could  not  have  written  the  Plays  which 
go  abroad  in  his  name,  we  come  to  the  second  branch  of  my  argu- 
ment, to-wit:  that  Francis  Bacon,  of  St.  Albans,  son  of  Queen 
Elizabeth's  Lord  Keeper,  Nicholas  Bacon,  was  their  real  author. 


PART  II, 


FRANCIS  BACON  THE  AUTHOR   OF 
THE   PLAYS. 


CHAPTER    I. 

FRAXCIS  BACON    WAS  A    POET. 

Mount,  eagle,  to  thy  palace  crystalline. 

Cymbeline,  t,  4. 

WE  come  now  to  an  important  branch  of  this  inquiry. 
It  will  be  said:  Granted  that  Francis  Bacon  possessed  a 
great  and  mighty  genius;  granted  that  he  was  master  of  the  vast 
learning  revealed  in  the  Plays;  granted  that  he  had  the  laborious 
industry  necessary  for  their  preparation;  granted  that  they  reveal 
a  character  and  disposition,  political,  social  and  religious  views, 
studies  and  investigations,  identical  with  his  own;  granted  that  we 
are  able  to  marshal  a  vast  array  of  parallel  thoughts,  beliefs, 
expressions  and  even  errors:  the  great  question  still  remains,  Was 
Francis  Bacon  a  poet  ?  Did  he  possess  the  imagination,  the  fancy, 
the  sense  of  the  beautiful  —  in  other  words,  the  divine  faculty,  the 
fine  phrensy,  the  capacity  to  "give  to  airy  nothing  a  local  habita- 
tion and  a  name  "  ?  Was  he  not  merely  a  philosopher,  a  dry  and 
patient  investigator  of  nature,  a  student  of  things,  not  words;  of 
the  useful,  not  the  beautiful  ? 

I.     The  Universal  Mtnd. 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  grasped  the  whole  answer  to  this  ques- 
tion when  he  said:  "The  true  poet  and  the  true  philosopher  are 
one."  The  complete  mind  (and  we  are  reminded  of  Ulysses'  appli- 
cation of  the  word  to  Achilles,  "thou  great  and  co?nplete  man") 
enfolds  in  its  orb  all  the  realms  of  thought;   it  perceives  not  alone 


j 22  FRANC 7 S   BACON    THE  AUTHOR    OF    THE   FLAYS. 

the  nature  of  things,  but  the  subtle  light  of  beauty  which  irradiates 
them;  it  is  able  not  only  to  trace  the  roots  of  facts  into  the  dead, 
dull,  material  earth,  but  to  follow  the  plant  as  it  rises  into  the  air 
and  find  in  the  flower  thoughts  too  deep  for  tears.  The  purpose 
of  things,  the  wherefore  of  things  and  the  glory  of  things  are  all 
one  to  the  God  who  made  them,  and  to  the  great  broad  brain  to 
which  He  has  given  power  enough  to  comprehend  them.  But 
such  minds  are  rare.  Science  tells  us  that  the  capacity  of  memory 
underlies  those  portions  of  the  brain  that  perceive,  but  only  a 
small  share  of  them,  and  that  if  you  excise  a  part  of  the  brain,  but 
not  all  of  any  particular  department,  the  surrounding  territory, 
which  theretofore  lay  dormant,  will  now  develop  the  faculty  which 
was  formerly  exercised  by  the  part  removed.  So  it  would  seem  that 
in  all  brains  there  is  the  capacity  for  universal  intelligence,  but  there 
is  lacking  some  power  which  forces  it  into  action.  The  intellect  lies 
like  a  mass  of  coals,  heated,  alive,  but  dormant;  it  needs  the  blow- 
pipe of  genius  to  oxygenate  and  bring  it  to  a  white  heat;  and  it 
rarely  happens,  in  the  history  of  mankind,  that  the  whole  brain  is 
equally  active,  and  the  whole  broad  temple  of  the  soul  lighted  up 
in  every  part.  The  world  is  full  of  men  whose  minds  glow  in 
spots.  The  hereditary  blood-force,  or  power  of  nutrition,  or  pur- 
pose of  God,  or  whatever  it  may  be,  is  directed  to  a  section  of  the 
intelligence,  and  it  blazes  forth  in  music,  or  poetry,  or  painting,  or 
philosophy,  or  action,  or  oratory.  And  the  world,  as  it  cannot 
always  behold  the  full  orb  of  the  sun,  is  delighted  to  look  upon 
these  stars,  points  of  intense  brilliancy,  glorious  with  a  fraction  of 
the  universal  fire. 

II.     Johann  Wolfgang  von  Goethe. 

But  occasionally  there  is  born  into  the  world  a  sun-like  soul,  the 
orb  of  whose  brain,  as  Bacon  says,  "is  concentric  with  the  uni- 
verse." 

One  of  these  was  Johann  Wolfgang  von  Goethe,  the  great  spirit 
of  German  literature.  Like  Bacon,  he  sprang  from  the  common 
people;  but,  like  him,  not  directly  from  them.  His  father  was  an 
imperial  councilor,  his  mother  was  the  daughter  of  the  chief 
magistrate  of  the  city.  Like  Bacon,  he  was  thoroughly  educated. 
Like   him,  his   intellectual   activity   manifested    itself    in   his   early 


FRANCIS    HA  COX    WAS  A    POET. 


23 


years.  "  Before  he  was  ten  years  of  age  he  wrote  several  languages, 
meditated  poems,  invented  stories  and  had  considerable  familiarity 
with  works  of  art."  He  began  to  write  verse  while  yet  at  college.' 
He  associated  with  actors,  free-thinkers  and  jovial  companions. 
When  twenty-three  years  of  age  he  published  his  first  play,  Gotz  von 
Berlichingen y  two  years  later  he  wrote  The  Sorrows  of  Wcrther, 
and  ClavigO)  a  drama.  He  also  projected  a  drama  on  Mohammed 
and  another  on  Prometheus,  and  began  to  revolve  in  his  mind  his 
greatest  work,  Faust.  At  the  same  time,  while  he  was  astonishing 
the  world  with  his  poetical  and  dramatic  genius,  he  was  engaged 
in  a  profound  study  of  natural  science.  When  forty-three  years  of 
age,  he  published  his  Beitr&ge  zur  Optik,  and  his  FarbcnleJue,  in  the 
latter  of  which  he  questioned  the  correctness  of  the  Newtonian 
theory  of  colors.  "  He  wrote  also  on  the  metamorphosis  of  plants,, 
and  on  topics  of  comparative  anatomy.  In  all  these  he  displayed 
remarkable  penetration  and  sagacity,  and  his  remarks  on  the  mor- 
phology of  plants  are  now  reckoned  among  the  earlier  enunciations 
of  the  theory  of  evolution."  Faust  was  not  finished  until  he  was 
fifty-six  years  old. 

We  see  here,  as  in  the  case  of  Bacon,  a  vivacious,  active  youth, 
full  of  emotion  and  poetry;  the  dramatic  faculty  forcing  itself  out 
in  great  dramas;  wide  learning;  some  capacity  for  affairs  of  state 
(he  was  privy  councilor  of  legation  at  the  court  of  the  .Duke  of 
Saxe-Weimar);  and,  running  through  all,  profound  studies  in  phil- 
osophy and  natural  science.  Goethe  was  always  in  easy  circum- 
stances. We  have  only  to  imagine  him  living  in  poverty,  forced  to 
maintain  appearances,  and  yet  to  earn  his  living  by  his  pen,  with  no 
avenue  open  to  him  but  the  play-house,  and  we  have  all  the  condi- 
tions, with  added  genius  and  philanthropic  purposes,  to  make  a 
Bacon. 

If  the  poetical  works  of  Goethe  had  been  published  anony- 
mously, or  in  the  name  of  some  friend,  it  would  have  been  difficult  to 
persuade  the  world,  in  after  years,  that  the  philosopher  and  the  poet 
were  one. 

III.     Had  Bacon  the  Poetic  Temperament  ? 

First,  let  us  inquire  whether  Bacon  possessed  the  poetic  tem- 
perament. 


124 


FRANCIS  BACON    THE   AUTHOR   OF    THE   PLAYS. 


Bacon  says: 

For  myself,  I  found  that  I  was  fitted  for  nothing  so  well  as  for  the  study  of 
truth;  as  having  a  mind  nimble  and  versatile  enough  to  catch  the  resemblances  of 
things.1 

But,  it  may  be  asked,  had  he  that  fine  sensibility  which  accom- 
panies genius;  did  he  possess  those  delicate  chords  from  which 
time  and  chance  and  nature  draw  their  most  exquisite  melodies  — 
those  chords  which,  as  Burns  says, 

Vibrate  sweetest  pleasure, 
-and 

Thrill  the  deepest  notes  of  woe  ? 

The  answer  is  plain. 

Macaulay  speaks  of  Bacon's  mind  as 

The  most  exquisitely  constructed  intellect  that  has  ever  been  bestowed  on  any 
of  the  children  of  men.2 

Montagu  says: 

His  invagination  was  fruitful  and  vivid.  He  was  of  a  temperament  of  the  most 
delicate  sensibility:  so  excitable  as  to  be  affected  by  the  slightest  alterations  in  the 
atmosphere.3 

And  remember  that  neither  Macaulay  nor  Montagu  dreamed 
of  the  possibility  of  Bacon  being  the  author  of  the  Shakespeare 
Plays. 

Emerson  calls  the  writer  of  the  Plays,  as  revealed  therein,  "the 
most  susceptible  of  human  beings." 

Bacon's  chaplain  and  biographer,  Dr.  Rawley,  says: 

It  may  seem  the  moon  had  some  principal  place  in  the  figure  of  his  nativity,  for 
the  moon  was  never  in  her  passion  or  eclipsed  but  he  was  surprised  with  a  sudden 
fit  of  fainting;  and  that  though  he  observed  not  nor  took  any  previous  knowledge 
of  the  eclipse  thereof;  and  as  soon  as  the  eclipse  ceased  he  was  restored  to  his 
former  strength  agair. 

IV.     Was  he  a  Lover  of  Poetry  ? 

Many  things  might  be  quoted  from  his  writings  to  show  his 
love  of  poetry  and  his  profound  study  of  it.  He  says  it  "  elevates 
the  mind  from  the  dungeon  of  the  body  to  the  enjoying  of  its  own 
divine  essence." 

He  even  contemplated  the  improvement  of  poetry  by  the  inven- 
tion of  new  measures  or  meters.     He  says: 

1  Preface  to  The  Interpretation  of  Nature.  2  Essays,  Bacon,  p.  263. 

3  Montagu's  Life  of  Bacon. 


FRANCIS  BACON    WAS  A    POET.  125 

For  though  men  with  learned  tongues  do  tie  themselves  to  the  ancient  meas- 
ures, yet  in  modern  languages  it  seemeth  to  me  as  free  to  make  new  measures  of 
verses  as  of  dances;  for  a  dance  is  a  measured  pace,  as  a  verse  is  a  measured 
speech.1 

The  basis  of  Bacon's  mind  was  the  imagination.  This  is  the 
eye  of  the  soul.  By  it  the  spirit  sees  into  the  relations  of  objects. 
This  it  is  gives  penetration,  for  it  surveys  things  as  the  eagle 
does  —  from  above.     And  this  is  Bacon's  metaphor.     He  says: 

Some  writings  have  more  of  the  eagle  in  them  than  others.2 

It  was  this  descending  sight,  commanding  the  whole  landscape, 
that  enabled  him  to  make  all  knowledge  his  province,  and  out  of 
this  vast  scope  of  view  grew  his  philosophy.  It  was  but  a  higher 
poetry.     Montaigne  says: 

Philosophy  is  no  other  than  a  falsified  poesie.  .  .  .  Plato  is  but  a  poet  unript. 
All  superhuman  sciences  make  use  of  the  poetic  style. 

V.     The  Character  of  Bacon's  Mind. 

Alfred  H.  Welsh  says  of  Bacon: 

He  belongs  to  the  realm  of  the  imagination,  of  eloquence,  of  history,  of  jurispru- 
dence, of  ethics,  of  metaphysics;  the  investigation  of  the  powers  and  operations  of 
the  human  mind.  His  writings  have  the  gravity  of  prose,  with  the  fervor  and 
vividness  of  poetry.  .  .  .  Shakespeare,  with  greater  variety,  contains  no  more  vig- 
orous or  expressive  condensations. 

Edmund  Burke  says: 

Who  is  there  that,  hearing  the  name  of  Bacon,  does  not  instantly  recognize 
everything  of  genius  the  most  profound,  of  literature  the  most  extensive,  of  dis- 
covery the  most  penetrating,  of  observation  of  human  life  the  most  distinguishing 
and  refined  ? 

Macaulay  says: 

The  poetical  faculty  was  powerful  in  Bacon's  mind,  but  not,  like  his  wit,  so 
powerful  as  occasionally  to  usurp  the  place  of  his  reason,  and  to  tyrannize  over  the 
whole  man.  No  imagination  was  ever  at  once  so  strong  and  so  thoroughly  subju- 
gated. It  never  stirred  but  at  a  signal  from  good  sense;  it  stopped  at  the  first 
check  of  good  sense.  Yet,  though  disciplined  to  such  obedience,  it  gave  noble 
proofs  of  its  vigor.  In  truth,  much  of  Bacon's  life  was  passed  in  a  visionary  world, 
amidst  things  as  strange  as  any  that  are  described  in  the  Arabian  tales.3 

Montagu  says: 

His  mind,  like  the  sun,  had  both  light  and  agility;  it  knew  no  rest  but  in 
motion,  no  quiet  but  in  activity;  it  did  not  so  properly  apprehend  as  irradiate  the 
object.   ...   His  understanding  could  almost  pierce  into  future  contingents,  his 

1  Advancement  0/  Learning,  book  ii.  2  Ibid.  3  Essays,  Bacen,  p.  285. 


l/ 


I26  FRANCIS  BACON    THE   AUTHOR    OF    THE   PLAYS. 

conjectures   improving  even    to  prophecy;    he  saw  consequences  yet  dormant   in 
their  principles,  and  effects  yet  unborn  in  the  womb  of  their  causes.1 

Macaulay  speaks  of  his 

•  Compactness  of  expression  and  richness  of  fancy.'2 

Addison  said  of  his  prayer,  composed  in  the  midst  of  his  afflic- 
tions, in  1621: 

For  elevation  of  thought  and  greatness  of  expression,  it  seems  rather  the 
devotion  of  an  angel  than  a  man.3 

Fowler  says: 

His  utterances  are  not  infrequently  marked  with  a  grandeur  and  solemnity  of 
tone,  a  majesty  of  diction,  which  renders  it  impossible  to  forget,  and  difficult  even 
to  criticise  them.  .  .  .  There  is  no  author,  unless  it  be  Shakespeare,  who  is  so 
easily  remembered  or  so  frequently  quoted.  .  .  .  The  terse  and  burning  words 
issuing  from  the  lips  of  an  irresistible  commander.4 

R.  W.  Church  speaks  of 

The  bright  torch  of  his  incorrigible  imaginativeness/'  .  .  .  He  was  a  genius 
second  only  to  Shakespeare.  .  .  .  He  liked  to  enter  into  the  humors  of  a  court; 
to  devote  brilliant  imagination  and  affluence  of  invention  to  devising  a  pageant 
which  should  throw  all  others  into  the  shade.6. 

That  he  was  master  of  the  dramatic  faculty  will  be  made  plain 
to  any  one  who  reads  that  interesting  dialogue  entitled  An  Adver- 
tisement Touching  an  Holy  War,  and  observes  the  skill  with  which 
the  conversation  is  carried  on,  and  the  separate  characters  of  the 
parties  maintained. 

VI.     Did  Bacon  Claim  to  be  a  Poet  ? 

Let  us  next  ask  ourselves  this  question:  Did  Bacon  claim  to 
be  a  poet  ? 

Certainly.  We  have  among  his  acknowledged  works  a  series  of 
translations,  the  Psalms  of  David,  made  in  his  old  age,  and  com- 
posed upon  a  sick-bed. 

Mr.  Spedding  says  of  these  translations: 

It  has  been  usual  to  speak  of  them  as  a  ridiculous  failure;  a  censure  in  which  I 
cannot  concur.  ...  I  should  myself  infer  from  this  sample  that  Bacon  had  all  the 
natural  faculties  which  a  poet  wants:  a  fine  ear  for  meter,  a  fine  feeling  for  imagi- 
native effect  in  words,  and  a  vein  of  poetic  passion.  .  .  .  The  thought  could  not 
well  be  fitted  with  imagery,  words  and  rhythm  more  apt  and  imaginative;  and 
there  is  a  tenderness  of  expression  which  comes  manifestly  out  of  a  heart  in  sensi- 
tive sympathy  with  nature.     The  heroic  couplet  could  hardly  do  its  work  better  in 

1  Montagu's  Life  of  Bacon.  '■'  Fowler's  Bacon,  p.  57.  r>  Francis  Bacon,  p.  208. 

-  Essays )  Bacon,  p.  249.  '  Ibid.,  p.  202.  6Ibid.,  p.  214. 


FRANCIS  BACON    WAS  A    POET.  127 

the  hands  of  Dryden.     The  truth  is  that  Bacon  was  not  without  the  fine  phrensy  of 
the  poet.1 

I  quote  a  few  passages  from  these  Psalms,  selected  at  random: 

There  do  the  stately  ships  plough  up  the  floods; 
The  greater  navies  look  like  walking  woods. 

This  reminds  us  of  the  walking  wood  in  Macbeth  : 

As  I  did  stand  my  watch  upon  the  hill, 

I  looked  toward  Birnam,  and,  anon,  methought, 

The  wood  began  to  move.'- 

He  speaks  of 

The  sappy  cedars,  tall  like  stately  towers. 
Again: 

The  vales  their  hollow  bosoms  opened  plain, 
The  streams  ran  trembling  down  the  vales  again. 

He  speaks  of  the  birds  — 

Stroking  the  gentle  air  with  pleasant  notes. 
He  describes  life  as 

This  bubble  light,  this  vapor  of  our  breath. 


He  says 
Again: 


So  that,  with  present  griefs  and  future  fears, 
Our  eyes  burst  forth  into  a  stream  of  tears. 

Why  should  there  be  such  turmoil  and  such  strife, 
To  spin  in  length  this  feeble  line  of  life? 


It  must  be  remembered,  in  extenuation  of  any  defects  in  these 
translations,  that  they  were  the  work  of  sickness  and  old  age,  when 
his  powers  were  shrunken.  They  were  written  in  his  sixty-fifth 
year  —  one  year  before  his  death.  We  will  see  that  they  are  not 
equal  in  scope  and  vigor  even  to  his  prose  writings.  He  himself 
noted  this  difference  between  youth  and  age. 

He  says: 

There  is  a  youth  in  thoughts  as  well  as  in  age;  and  yet  the  invention  of  young 
men  is  more  lively  than  that  of  old,  and  imaginations  stream  into  their  minds  better, 
and  as  it  were  more  divinely.* 

VII.     The  Exaltations  of  Genius. 

Neither  can  we  judge  what  great  things  genius  can  do  in 
the  blessed  moments  of  its  highest  exaltation  by  the  beggarly 
dregs  of  daily  life.  Lord  Byron  said,  in  a  letter  to  Tom 
Moore: 

1  Works,  vii,  269.  ■  Macbeth,  v,  4.  3  Essay  Of  Vout/i  and  Age. 


i28  FRANCIS  BACON    THE   AUTHOR   OF   THE   PLAYS. 

A  man's  poetry  has  no  more  to  do  with  the  every-day  individual  than  the  inspi- 
ration with  the  Pythoness,  when  removed  from  the  tripod. 

Richard  Grant  White  ridicules  "the  great  inherent  absurdity  — 

the  unlikeness  of  Bacon's  mind  and  style  to  those  of  the  writer  of 

the  Plays,"  to  which  William  D.  O'Connor  well  replies: 

Of  all  fudge  ever  written  this  is  the  sheerest.  Methinks  I  see  a  critic  with  his 
sagacious  right  eye  fixed  upon  the  long  loping  alexandrines  of  Richelieu,  and  his 
sagacious  left  eye  fixed  upon  Richelieu's  Maxims  of  State,  oracularly  deciding  from 
the  unlikeness  of  mind  and  style  that  the  great  Cardinal  could  not  have  written  the 
tragi-comedy  of  Mirame !  Could  he  inform  us  (I  will  offer  the  most  favorable 
instance  possible)  what  likeness  of  "mind  and  style"  he  could  detect  between  Sir 
William  Blackstone's  charming  verses,  A  Lawyer's  Farewell  to  his  Muse,  and  the 
same  Sir  William  Blackstone's  Commentaries?  What  likeness  of  "mind  and  style" 
could  he  establish  between  the  famous  treatise  by  Grotius,  on  The  Rights  of  Peace 
and  War,  and  the  stately  tragedy  by  Grotius  entitled  Adam  in  Exile?  Where  is  the 
identity  of  "mind  and  style"  between  Sir  Walter  Raleigh's  dry-as-dust  Cabinet 
Council  and  Sir  Walter  Raleigh's  magnificent  and  ringing  poem,  The  Soul's  Errand? 
What  likeness  of  "mind  and  style"  could  he  find  between  Coleridge's  Aids  to  Re- 
flection and  the  unearthly  melody  and  magian  imagery  of  Coleridge's  Kubla  Khan? 
What  likeness  of  "mind  and  style"  exists  between  the  exquisite  riant  grace,  light- 
ness and  Watteau-color  of  Milton's  Allegro,  the  gracious  andante  movement  and 
sweet  cloistral  imagery  of  Milton's  Penserosa,  and  the  Tetrachordon,  or  the  Areo- 
pagitica  of  the  same  John  Milton?  Are  the  solemn,  rolling  harmonies  of  Paradise 
Lost  one  in  "mind  and  style"  with  the  trip-hammer  crash  of  the  reply  to  Salmasius 
by  Cromwell's  Latin  secretary?  Could  the  most  astute  reviewer  discover  likeness 
of  "  mind  and  style"  between  Peregrine  Pickle  or  Roderick  Random  and  the  noble 
and  majestic  passion  of  the  Ode  to  Independence  ?  — 

Thy  spirit,  Independence,  let  me  share, 

Lord  of  the  lion-heart  and  eagle-eye  ! 
Thy  steps  I'll  follow  with  my  bosom  bare, 

Nor  heed  the  storm  that  howls  along  the  sky.1 

VIII.     Bacon's  Court  Mask. 

Let  us  go  a  step  farther  and  prove  that  Bacon  wrote  verse,  and 
mastered  the  difficulties  of  rhythm  and  rhyme,  in  other  productions 
besides  the  translation  of  a  few  psalms. 

Messrs.  Spedding  and  Dixon  brought  to  light,  in  their  re- 
searches, two  fragments  of  a  court  mask  which  is  believed  to  be 
unquestionably  Bacon's,  and  in  it,  as  an  oracle,  occur  these 
verses,  spoken  of  a  blind  Indian  boy.  The  queen,  of  course, 
is  Elizabeth: 

Seated  between  the  Old  World  and  the  New, 

A  land  there  is  no  other  land  may  touch, 
Where  reigns  a  queen  in  peace  and  honor  true; 
Stories  or  fables  do  describe  no  such. 

1  Hamlet's  Note  Book,  p.  56,  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  Boston  and  New  York. 


FRANCIS  BACON    WAS  A    POET.  I2g 

Never  did  Atlas  such  a  burden  bear, 

As  she  in  holding  up  the  world  opprest; 
Supplying  with  her  virtue  everywhere 

Weakness  of  friends,  errors  of  servants  best. 
No  nation  breeds  a  warmer  blood  for  war, 

And  yet  she  calms  them  by  her  majesty; 
No  age  hath  ever  wits  refined  so  far, 

And  yet  she  calms  them  by  her  policy: 
To  her  thy  son  must  make  his  sacrifice 
If  he  will  have  the  morning  of  his  eyes. 

Certainly  this  exhibits  full  possession  of  the  powers  requisite  in 
metrical  composition,  while  the  closing  expression  for  restoration 
from  blindness,  "  the  morning  of  his  eyes,"  is  eminently  poetical. 

IX.     Other  Verses  by  Bacon. 

There  are  also  some  other  verses  which  go  under  the  name  of 
Bacon.     They  are  worthy  of  the  pen  that  wrote  Shakespeare: 

Mr.  Spedding  publishes  in  his  great  edition  of  Bacon's  Works,1 
a  poem,  which  he  calls  "a  remarkable  performance."  It  is  a  para- 
phrase of  a  Greek  epigram,  attributed  by  some  to  Poseidippus,  by 
others  to  Plato,  the  comic  poet,  and  by  others  to  Crates,  the  cynic. 
In  1629,  only  three  years  after  Bacon's  death,  Thomas  Farnaby,  a 
contemporary  and  scholar,  published  a  collection  of  Greek  epigrams. 
After  giving  the  epigram  in  question,  with  its  Latin  translation  on 
the  opposite  page,  he  adds:  "  Hue  elegantem  V.  C.  L.  Do7nini  Verulamii 
xapwdiav  adjicere  adlubuit"  and  then  prints  the  English  lines  below 
(the  only  English  in  the  book),  with  a  translation  of  his  own  oppo- 
site in  rhyming  Greek.  A  copy  of  the  English  lines  was  also  found 
among  Sir  Henry  Wotton's  papers,  with  the  name  Francis  Lord 
Bacon  at  the  bottom.  Spedding  says,  "  Farnaby's  evidence  is  direct 
and  strong,"  and  he  expresses  the  opinion  that  the  internal  evi- 
dence is  in  favor  of  the  poem  being  the  work  of  Bacon.  Spedding 
says: 

The  English  lines  which  follow  are  not  meant  for  a  translation,  and  can  hardly 
be  called  a  paraphrase.  They  are  rather  another  poem  on  the  same  subject  and 
with  the  same  sentiment;  and  though  the  topics  are  mostly  the  same,  the  treatment 
of  them  is  very  different.  The  merit  of  the  original  consists  almost  entirely  in  its 
compactness;  there  being  no  special  felicity  in  the  expression,  or  music  in  the 
meter.  In  the  English,  compactness  is  not  aimed  at,  and  a  tone  of  plaintive 
melody  is  imparted,  which  is  due  chiefly  to  the  metrical  arrangement,  and  has 
something  very  pathetic  in  it  to  the  ear. 

1  Vol.  xiv,  p.  115,  Boston  ed. 


I3o  FRANCIS  BACON    THE  AUTHOR   OF   THE   PLAYS. 

The  world's  a  bubble,  and  the  life  of  man 

Less  than  a  span; 
In  his  conception  wretched,  from  the  womb 

So  to  the  tomb; 
Cursed  from  his  cradle  and  brought  up  to  years 

With  cares  and  fears: 
Who,  then,  to  frail  mortality  shall  trust, 
But  limns  the  water,  or  but  writes  in  dust. 
Yet,  whilst  with  sorrow  here  we  live  opprest, 

What  life  is  best? 
Courts  are  but  only  superficial  schools, 

To  dandle  fools; 
The  rural  parts  are  turned  into  a  den 

Of  savage  men; 
And  where's  the  city  from  foul  vice  so  free 
But  may  be  termed  the  worst  of  all  the  three  ? 
Domestic  cares  afflict  the  husband's  bed, 

Or  pains  his  head. 
Those  that  live  single  take  it  for  a  curse, 

Or  do  things  worse. 
Some  would  have  children;  those  that  have  them  moan, 

Or  wish  them  gone. 
What  is  it,  then,  to  have  or  have  no  wife, 
But  single  thraldom  or  a  double  strife? 
Our  own  affections  still  at  home  to  please 

Is  a  disease: 
To  cross  the  seas  to  any  foreign  soil, 

Perils  and  toil. 
Wars  with  their  noise  affright  us;  when  they  cease, 

We're  worse  in  peace. 
What  then  remains,  but  that  we  still  should  cry 
Not  to  be  born,  or,  being  born,  to  die? 

I  differ  with  Mr.  Spedding.  These  verses  are  exceedingly  terse 
and  compact.  They  exhibit  a  complete  mastery  over  rhythm  and 
rhyme.     Those  two  lines, — 

Who  then  to  frail  mortality  shall  trust, 

But  limns  the  water,  or  but  writes  in  dust, — 

are  worthy  of  any  writer  in  the  language.    We  are  reminded  of  the 

pathetic  utterance  of  poor  Keats,  who  requested   that  his   friends 

should  place  upon  his  tomb  the  words: 

Here  lies  one  whose  name  was  writ  in  water. 

Mr.  Spedding  also  gives  us  '  the  following  lines,  inferior  to  the 

above,  found  in  a  volume  of  manuscript  collections  now  in    the 

British  Museum: 

1  Vol.  xiv,p.  114. 


FRANCIS  BACON    WAS  A    POET.  131 

Verses  Made  by  Mr.  Francis  Bacon. 

The  man  of  life  upright,  whose  guiltless  heart  is  free 
From  all  dishonest  deeds  and  thoughts  of  vanity; 
The  man  whose  silent  days  in  harmless  joys  are  spent, 
Whom  hopes  cannot  delude,  nor  fortune  discontent: 
That  man  needs  neither  towers,  nor  armor  for  defense, 
Nor  secret  vaults  to  fly  from  thunder's  violence; 
He  only  can  behold  with  unaffrighted  eyes 
The  horrors  of  the  deep  and  terrors  of  the  skies; 
Thus  scorning  all  the  care  that  Fate  or  Fortune  brings, 
He  makes  the  Heaven  his  book,  his  wisdom  heavenly  things; 
Good  thoughts  his  only  friends,  his  life  a  well-spent  age, 
The  earth  his  sober  inn, —  a  quiet  pilgrimage. 

Mrs.  Pott1   quotes  a  poem   entitled    The  Retired  Courtier,  from 

Dowland's  First  Book  of  Songs,  published  1600;  and  she  gives  many 

very  good  reasons  for  believing  that  it  was  from  the  pen  of  Bacon. 

Certain  it  is  that   the  verses  are    of  extraordinary  excellence,  and 

were  claimed  by  no  one  else,  and  they  afford   numerous  parallels 

with  the  Plays: 

The   Retired   Courtier. 

1. 

His  golden  locks  hath  Time  to  silver  turned; 

O  time  too  swift  !     O  swiftness  never  ceasing  ! 
His  youth  'gainst  time  and  age  hath  ever  spurned, 

But  spurned  in  vain;  youth  waneth  by  increasing. 
Beauty,  strength,  youth,  are  flowers  but  fading  seen, 
Duty,  faith,  love,  are  roots,  and  ever  green. 

II. 

His  helmet  now  shall  make  a  hive  for  bees, 

And  lovers'  sonnets  turn  to  holy  psalms. 
A  man-at-arms  must  now  serve  on  his  knees, 

And  feed  on  prayers  which  are  age's  alms; 
But  though  from  court  to  cottage  he  depart, 
His  saint  is  sure  of  his  unspotted  heart. 

in. 
And  when  he  saddest  sits  in  homely  cell, 

He'll  teach  his  swains  this  carol  for  a  song: 
Blest  be  the  hearts  that  wish  my  sovereign  well ! 

Curst  be  the  soul  that  thinks  her  any  wrong  ! 
Goddess,  allow  this  aged  man  his  right, 
To  be  your  beadsman  now  that  was  your  knight. 

What  a  beautiful  and  poetical  conception  is  that: 

His  helmet  now  shall  make  a  hive  for  bees  J 

1  Promus,  appendix  D,  p.  528. 


I32  FRANCIS  BACON    THE  AUTHOR   OF    THE  PLAYS. 

If  Bacon  did   not    write  this,  who   was   the   unknown   poet    te» 

whom  it  can  be  ascribed  ? 

His  saint  is  sure  of  his  unspotted  heart, 
says  the  poem. 

A  pure,  unspotted  heart, 
says  Shakespeare.1 

Allow  this  aged  man  his  right 
To  be  your  beadsman  now. 

Says  Bacon  to  Lord  Burleigh  (1597): 

I  will  still  be  your  beadsman. 

X.     Bacon's   Concealed  Writings. 

Let  us  next  inquire:  Were  these  extracts  all  of  Bacon's  poeticar 
works  ?  Is  there  any  evidence  that  he  was  the  author  of  any  con- 
cealed writings  ? 

Yes.     Mrs.  Pott  says: 

There  are  times  noted  by  Mr.  Spedding  when  Bacon  wrote  with  closed  doors 
and  when  the  subject  of  his  studies  is  doubtful;  and  there  is  one  long  vacation  of 
which  the  same  careful  biographer  remarks  that  he  cannot  tell  what  work  the  inde- 
fatigable student  produced  during  those  months,  for  that  he  knows  of  none 
whose  date  corresponds  with  the  period.  Perhaps  it  was  at  such  a  time  Bacon 
took  recreation  in  the  form  in  which  he  recommended  it  to  others,  not  by 
idleness,  but  by  bending  the  bow  in  an  opposite  direction;  for  he  says:  "  I  have 
found  now  twice,  upon  amendment  of  my  fortunes,  disposition  to  melancholy  and 
distaste,  especially  the  same  happening  against  the  long  vacation,  when  company 
failed  and  business  both."  The  same  distaste  to  what  he  in  a  letter  calls  the 
"dead  vacation"  is  seen  in  As  You  Like  It,  act  iii,  scene  2; 

Who  stays  it  [time]  still  withal? 
With  lawyers  in  the  vacation. 

Bacon  says  in  a  letter  to  Tobie  Matthew: 

I  have  sent  you  some  copies  of  my  book  of  the  Advancement,  which  you 
desired ;  and  a  little  work  of  my  recreation,  which  you  desired  not.  My  Instauration 
I  reserve  for  conference;  it  sleeps  not.  Those  works  of  the  alphabet  are  in  my 
opinion  of  less  use  to  you  where  you  now  are  than  at  Paris.     [1607-9.] 

Mr.  Spedding  cannot  guess  what  those  works  of  the  alphabet 
may  have  been,  unless  they  referred  to  Bacon's  experiments  at 
cipher-writing. 

When  he  has  become  Sir  Francis,  Bacon  writes  to  Tobie  Matthew: 

I  send  my  desire  to  you  in  this  letter  that  you  will  take  care  not  to  leave  the  writing 
which  I  left  with  you  last  with  any  man  so  long  that  he  may  be  able  to  take  a  copy  of  it. 

And  that  this  was  evidently  some  composition  of  his  own  ap- 
pears by  the  fact  that  he  asks  his  friend's  criticism  upon  it,  and  to* 

list  Henry  VI..  v,  4. 


FRANCIS  BACON    WAS  A    POET. 


133 


"  point  out  where  I  do  perhaps  indormiscere,  or  where  I  do  in- 
dulgere  genio;  or  where,  in  fine,  I  give  any  manner  of  disadvantage 
to  myself." 

Does  this  mean  that  he  fears  he  will  reveal  himself  by  his 
style  ? 

Again,  he  writes  to  the  same  friend: 

You  conceive  aright,  that  in  this  and  the  other,  you  have  commission  to  impart 
and  communicate  them  to  others,  according  to  your  discretion;  other  matters  I 
write  not  of} 

What  was  the  meaning  of  all  this  mystery  ? 

Bacon   refers    to  some   unnamed  work  which  he  sends   to  his 

friend  as    "  a  work  of  his  recreation."     And  in  The  Advancement  of 

Learning"1  he  says  : 

As  for  poesy,  it  is  rather  a  pleasure  or  play  of  the  imagination  than  a  work  or 
duty  thereof. 

And  in  Macbeth  we  have: 

The  labor  we  delight  in  physics  pain.1 

And  in  Antony  and  Cleopatra  we  have: 

The  business  that  we  love,  we  rise  betimes 
And  go  to  it  with  delight.4 

Bacon  in  his  Apology  says: 

It  happened,  a  little  before  that  time,  that  her  Majesty  had  a  purpose  to  dine 
at  Twickenham  Park,  at  which  time  I  had  (although  I  profess  not  to  be  a  poet) 
prepared  a  sonnet  directly  tending  and  alluding  to  draw  on  her  Majesty's  recon- 
cilement to  my  Lord,  which  I  remember  I  also  showed  to  a  great  person. 

Mr.  William  Thompson 5  calls  attention  to  the  fact  that  this 
sonnet  has  never  been  found  among  Bacon's  papers,  or  elsewhere, 
and  suggests  that  this  is  one  of  the  sonnets  that  go  under  the  name 
of  Shakespeare. 

When  James  I.,  after  the  death  of  Elizabeth,  was  about  to  come 
to  England,  to  assume  the  crown,  Master  John  Davis,  afterward 
Sir  John  Davis,  the  poet  and  courtier,  went  to  meet  him,  where- 
upon Bacon  sent  after  him  this  significant  letter: 

Master  Davis: 

Though  you  went  on  the  sudden,  yet  you  could  not  go  before  you  had  spoken 
with  yourself  to  the  purpose  which  I  will  now  write.  And,  therefore,  I  know  it 
shall  be  altogether  needless,  save  that  I  meant  to  show  you  that  I  was  not  asleep. 

1  Letter  to  Tobie  Matthew,  1609.    ,      2  Book  ii.  3  Act  ii,  scene  3.  4  Act  iv,  scene  4. 

*  The  Renascene  Drama;  or,  History  Made  Visible.  By  William  Thompson,  F.R.C.S.,  F.L.S. 
Melbourne,  1880. 


i34 


FRANCIS  BACON    THE   AUTHOR    OF    THE   PLAYS. 


Briefly,  I  commend  myself  to  your  love  and  the  well-using  of  my  name,  as  well  in 
repressing  and  answering  for  me,  if  there  be  any  biting  or  nibbling  at  it,  in  that 
place;  as  by  imprinting  a  good  conceit  and  opinion  of  me,  chiefly  in  the  King  (of 
whose  favor  I  make  myself  comfortable  assurance),  and  otherwise  in  that  court. 
And,  not  only  so,  but  generally  to  perform  to  me  all  the  good  offices  which  the 
vivacity  of  your  wit  can  suggest  to  your  mind,  to  be  performed  to  one  with  whose 
affection  you  have  so  great  sympathy,  and  in  whose  fortune  you  have  so  great 
interest.     So  desiring  you  to  be  good  to  all  concealed  poets  %  I  continue,  etc. 

This  letter  is  very  significant.  It  is  addressed  to  a  poet;  it 
anticipates  that  there  will  be  "biting  and  nibbling"  at  his  good 
name;  it  begs  the  friendly  services  of  Davis;  and  it  concludes  by 
asking  him  to  be  good  "to  all  concealed  poets.'"  This  plainly  refers  to 
himself.  The  whole  context  shows  it.  We  know  that  Bacon  was  a 
poet.  Here  he  admits  that  he  is  a  concealed  poet.  That  is  to  say, 
that  he  was  the  author  of  poetical  writings  which  he  does  not 
acknowledge  —  "  which  go  about  in  others'  names.'' 

This  pregnant  admission  half  proves  my  case;  for  if  the  "con- 
cealed" poetical  writings  were  not  the  Shakespeare  Plays,  what 
were  they  ?  Are  there  any  other  poetical  writings  in  that  age 
whose  authorship  is  questioned  ?     If  so,  what  are  they  ? 

And  we  have  another  proof  of  this  in  a  letter  of  Sir  Tobie 
Matthew  to  Bacon,  which,  being  addressed  to  him  as  the  Viscount 
St.  Albans,  must  necessarily  have  been  written  subsequent  to  the 
27th  January,  162 1,  when  his  Lordship  was  invested  with  that  title. 
Judge  Holmes  says: 

It  appears  to  be  in  answer  to  a  letter  from  Lord  Bacon,  dated  "the  9th  of 
April "  (year  not  given),  accompanying  some  great  and  noble  token  of  his  "  Lord- 
ship's favor,"  which  was  in  all  probability  a  newly  printed  book;  for  Bacon,  as  we 
know  from  the  letters,  was  in  the  habit  of  sending  to  Mr.  Matthew  a  copy  of  his 
books  as  they  were  published.  .  .  .  Neither  is  there  anything  in  the  way  of  the 
supposition  that  this  date  may  actually  have  been  the  9th  of  April,  1623;  and  there 
was  no  publication  of  any  work  of  Bacon,  during  that  spring,  which  he  would  be 
sending  to  Mr.  Matthew  unless  it  were  precisely  this  Folio  of  1623. ! 

The  postscript  is  as  follows: 

P.  S.  The  most  prodigious  wit  that  ever  I  knew  of  my  nation,  and  of  this  side 
of  the  sea,  is  of  your  Lordship's  name,  THOUGH  HE  BE  known  hy  another. 

If  we  suppose  that  "the  great  and  noble  token  "  was  the  Shake- 
speare Folio  of  1623,  we  can  understand  this.  If  Tobie  Matthew, 
Bacon's  intimate  friend  and  correspondent,  his  "other  self"  as  he 
calls  him,  to  whom  he  wrote  about  the  mysterious  works  of  the 

1  Authorship  of  Shah.,  p.  172. 


FRANCIS  BACON    WAS  A    POET. 


*35 


alphabet,  and  to  whom  he  sent  "the  works  of  his  recreation"  (not  to 
be  left  where  any  one  could  take  a  copy  of  them)  —  if  Tobie  Mat- 
thew knew  that  "the  great  and  noble  token  "  was  written  by  "the 
concealed  poet,"  Bacon,  and  if  he  desired,  as  part  of  his  thanks,  to 
compliment  him  upon  the  mighty  genius  manifested  in  it,  what  is 
more  natural  than  that  he  should  allude  to  the  hidden  secret  in  the 
way  he  does?  He  says,  in  effect,  waiting  from  abroad:  "Thanks 
for  the  Folio.  Your  Lordship  is  the  greatest  wit  of  our  nation, 
and  of  this  side  of  the  sea  (that  is,  in  all  Europe),  though  your 
noblest  work  is  published  under  another  name." 

In  another  letter  Tobie  Matthew  writes  him: 

I  shall  give  you  " Measure  for  Measure '." 

He  was  familiar  with  the  Plays  of  Shakespeare.  After  Shake- 
speare's death,  he  wrote  a  letter,  in  which  he  refers  to  Falstaff  as 
the  author  of  a  speech  which  he  quotes.  And  in  1598  he  writes  to 
Dudley  Carleton,  again  quoting  from  Falstaff:  "Well,  honour 
pricks  them  on,  and  the  world  thinckes  that  honour  will  quickly 
prick  them  off  againe." 

That  there  were  concealed  poets  in  London  among  the  gentlemen 
scholars,  and  the  lawyers  in  the  inns  of  court,  we  know  in  another 
way:  In  Webb's  Discourse  of  Poetry,  published  in  1586,  after  enumer- 
ating the  writers  of  the  day,  Whetstone,  Munday,  etc.,  he  adds: 

I  am  humbly  to  desire  pardon  of  the  learned  company  of  gentlemen  scJiolars  and 
students  of  the  universities  and  inns  of 'court,  if  I  omit  their  several  commenda- 
tions in  this  place,  which  I  know  a  great  number  of  them  have  worthily  deserved, 
in  many  rare  devices  and  singular  inventions  of  poetry;  for  neither  hath  it  been  my 
good  hap  to  have  seen  all  which  I  have  heard  of,  neither  is  my  abiding  in  such 
place  where  I  can  with  facility  get  knowledge  of  their  works.1 

In  Spenser's  Tcares  of  the  Muses,  printed  in  1591,  there  is  a  pass- 
age beginning: 

And  he  the  man  whom  Nature's  self  had  made 

To  mock  her  selfe  and  Truth  to  imitate, 
With  kindly  counter  under  mimic  shade, 

Our  pleasant  Willy,  ah,  is  dead  of  late  ! 

This  has  been  held  to  refer  to  Shakspere,  chiefly,  it  would 
seem,  because  of  the  name  Willy.  "But,"  says  Richard  Grant 
White,2  "' Willy,'  like  'shepherd,'  was  not  uncommonly  used 
merely  to  mean   a   poet,  and  was  distinctly  applied   to  Sir   Philip 

1  Knight,  Shak.  Biography,  p.  328.  2  Life  and  Genius  of  Shale.,  p.  95. 


136  FRANCIS  BACON   THE  AUTHOR   OF   THE  PLAYS. 

Sidney,  in  an  eclogue  preserved  in  Davidson's  Poetical  Rhapsody, 
published  in  1602.  And  The  Teares  of  the  Muses  had  certainly  been 
written  before  1590,  when  Shakspere  could  not  have  arisen  to 
the  position  assigned,  by  the  first  poet  of  the  age,  to  the  subject  of 
this  passage,  and  probably  before  1580,  when  Shakspere  was  a  boy 
of  sixteen  at  Stratford." 

And  if  these  lines  referred  to  Shakspere,  what  is  meant  by  the 
words,  "with  kindly  counter  under  mimic  shade"?  Certainly 
Shakspere  never  appeared  under  any  mimic  shade  or  disguise; 
while,  if  the  lines  referred  to  Bacon,  old  enough  even  in  1580  to  be 
a  poet  and  a  friend  of  Spenser,  there  might  be  an  allusion  here  to 
his  use  of  some  play-actor's  name  as  a  disguise  for  his  productions, 
just  as  we  find  him  in  the  sonnets  referring  to  himself  as 

Keeping  invention  in  a  noted  weed 

Till  every  word  does  almost  speak  my  name. 

But  I  shall  discuss  this  matter  more  at  length  hereafter. 
And  Bacon,  in  a  prayer  made  while  Lord  Chancellor,  refers  to 
the  same  weed  or  disguise: 

The  state  and  bread  of  the  poor  and  oppressed  have  been  precious  in  mine 
eyes;  I  have  hated  all  cruelty  and  hardness  of  heart.  I  have,  though  in  a  despised 
weed,  procured  the  good  of  all  men. 

We  will  see  hereafter  that  the  purpose  of  the  Plays  was  the 
good  of  all  men. 

And  we  find  in  the  following  sentence  proof  that  Bacon  used 
the  word  weed  to  signify  a  disguise: 

This  fellow,  when  Perkin  took  sanctuary,  chose  rather  to  take  a  holy  habit 
than  a  holy  place,  and  clad  himself  like  a  hermit,  and  in  that  weed  wandered  about 
the  country  until  he  was  discovered  and  taken.1 

We  find  many  evidences  that  Bacon's  pursuits  were  poetical. 
He  writes  to  the  Earl  of  Essex  on  one  occasion: 

Desiring  your  good  Lordship,  nevertheless,  not  to  conceive  out  of  this  my  dili- 
gence in  soliciting  this  matter,  that  I  am  either  much  in  appetite  or  much  in  hope. 
For,  as  for  appetite,  the  -waters  of  Parnassus  are  not  like  the  waters  of  the  Spa, 
that  give  a  stomach,  but  rather  they  quench  appetite  and  desires. 

And  when,  after  Essex  was  released  from  confinement  in  1600, 
Bacon  wrote  him  a  congratulatory  letter,  Essex  replied,  evidently 
somewhat  angry  at  him,  as  follows: 

1  History  of  Henry  VII. 


FRANCIS  BACON    WAS  A  POET.  137 

I  can  neither  expound  nor  censure  your  late  actions,  being  ignorant  of  them  all 
save  one,  and  having  directed  my  sight  inward  only  to  examine  myself.  ...  I  am 
a  stranger  to  all  poetical  conceits,  or  else  /  should  say  somewhat  of  your  poetical 
example} 

And  we  have  many  proofs  that  Bacon  was  engaged   in   some 

studies  which  absorbed  him  to  the  exclusion  of  law  and  politics. 

He  says: 

I  do  confess,  since  I  was  of  any  understanding,  my  mind  hath,  in  effect,  been 
absent  from  that  I  have  done,  and  in  absence  errors  are  committed,  which  I  do 
willingly  acknowledge;  and  amongst  the  rest  this  great  one  which  led  the  rest:  that 
knowing  myself  by  inward  calling  to  be  fitter  to  hold  a  book  than  to  play  a  part,  I 
have  led  my  life  in  civil  causes,  for  which  I  was  not  very  fit  by  nature,  and  more 
unfit  by  the  preoccupation  of  my  mind.2 

And  he  makes  this  apology  for  the  failure  of  his  life: 

This  I  speak  to  posterity,  not  out  of  ostentation,  but  because  I  judge  it  may 
somewhat  import  the  dignity  of  learning,  to  have  a  man  born  for  letters  rather  than 
anything  else,  who  should  by  a  certain  fatality,  and  against  the  bent  of  his  own 
genius,  be  compelled  into  active  life.3 

• 

XI.      The    Imagination     Revealed    in    Bacon's    Acknowledged 

Writings. 

But,  after  all,  the  best  evidence  of  the  fact  that  Bacon  possessed 
the  imagination,  the  fancy  and  the  wit  necessary  for  the  pro- 
duction of  the  Plays,  must  be  found  in  his  acknowledged  writings. 

I  assert,  first,  that  he  had  all  the  fancy,  vivacity  and  sprightli- 
ness  of  mind  necessary  for  the  task. 

Let  me  give  a  few  proofs  of  this.     He  says: 

Extreme  self-lovers  will  set  a  man's  house  on  fire,  though  it  were  but  to  roast 
their  eggs.4 

Money  is  like  muck,  not  good  unless  it  be  spread.5 

You  have  built  an  ark  to  save  learning  from  deluge.6 

He  calls  the  great  conquerors  of  history  "  the  troublers  of  the 

world;  "  he  speaks  of  "  the  tempest  of  human  life." 

He  says: 

A  full  heart  is  like  a  full  pen;   it  can  hardly  make  any  distinguished  work.1 

He  says: 

For  as  statues  and  pictures  are  dumb  histories,  so  histories  are  speaking  pict- 


1  Letter  from  Essex  to  Bacon,  1600.  5  Essay  Of  Seditions. 

2  Letter  to  Sir  Thomas  Bodley.  fi  Letter  to  Sir  Thomas  Bodlev. 

3  Advancement  of  Learning,  viii,  3.  7  Letter  to  the  King. 

4  Coll.  Sene.  8  Letter  to  the  Chancellor. 


I38  FRANCIS  BACON    THE   AUTHOR    OF   THE   PLAYS. 

In   so  grave  and   abstract  a  matter  as  the   dedication  of    The 

Arguments  of  Law,  he  says: 

For  the  reasons  of  municipal  laws,  severed  from  the  grounds  of  nature,  man- 
ners and  policy,  are  like  wall-flowers,  which,  though  they  grow  high  upon  the 
crests  of  states,  yet  have  no  deep  roots. 

How  figurative,  how  poetical  is  this!  Not  only  the  municipal 
laws  are  compared  to  wall-flowers,  but  they  grow  upon  the  crests 
of  states  ! 

He  says  also: 

Fame  hath  swift  swings,  especially  that  which  hath  black  feathers.1 

Meaning,  by  black  feathers,  slanders. 

He  also  says: 

For,  though  your  Lordship's  fortunes  be  above  the  thunder  and  storms  of 
inferior  regions,  yet,  nevertheless,  to  hear  the  wind  and  not  to  feel  it,  will  make 
one  sleep  the  better.2 

He  says: 

Myself  have  ridden  at  anchor  all  your  Grace's  absence,  and  my  cables  are  now 
quite  worn.3 

We  also  find  this: 

The  great  labor  was  to  get  entrance  into  the  business;  but  now  the  portcullis 
is  drawn  up.4 

He  says: 

Hereupon  presently  came  forth  swarms  and  volleys  of  libels,  which  are  the 
gusts  of  liberty  of  speech  restrained,  and  the  females  of  sedition,  containing  bitter 
invectives  and  slanders.5 

Again: 

I  shall  perhaps,  before  my  death,  have  rendered  the  age  a  light  unto  posterity,, 
by  kindling  this  new  torch  amid  the  darkness  of  philosophy.6 

Again: 

Time,  like  a  river,  hath  brought  down  all  that  was  light  and  inflated,  and  hath 
sunk  what  was  weighty  and  solid.7 

Again: 

I  ask  for  a  full  pardon,  that  I  may  die  out  of  a  cloud* 

Again: 

As  for  gestures,  they  are  as  transitory  hieroglyphics.9 

1  Letter  to  Sir  George  Villiers,  1615.  5  History  0/ Henry  VII. 

2  Letter  to  Buckingham,  April,  1623.  «  Letter  to  King  James. 

3  Letter  to  Buckingham,  October  12,  1623.  7  Preface  to  Great  Instauration. 

4  Letter  to  Buckingham,  i6iq.  «  Letter  to  Buckingham,  November  25,  1623. 

•  Advancement  of  Learnings  book  ii. 


FRANCIS  BACON    WAS  A    POET.  T  39 

He  says: 

Words  are  the  footsteps  and  prints  of  reason.1 
Again: 

Hope  is  a  leaf-joy,  which  may  be  beaten  out  to  a  great  extension,  like  gold.2 

Again: 

The  reason  of  this  omission  I  suppose  to  be  that  hidden  rock  whereupon  both 
this  and  many  other  barks  of  knowledge  have  been  cast  away.3 

Again  he  speaks  of 

The  Georgics  of  the  mind,  concerning  the  husbandry  and  tillage  thereof.4 

Again: 

Such  men  are,  as  it  were,  the  very  suitors  and  lovers  of  fables.5 

This  reminds  us  of  Shakespeare: 

The  very  beadle  to  a  humorous  sigh.6 

Speaking  of   the   then   recent  voyages   in   which   the  earth   was 

circumnavigated,  he  uses  this  poetical  expression: 

Memorable  voyages,  after  the  manner  of  heaven,  about  the  globe  of  the  earth.7 

Did  ever  grave  geographer  use  such  a  simile  as  this  ? 

He  says: 

Industrious  persons  ...  do  save  and  recover  somewhat  from  the  deluge  of 
time.8 

Also: 

Remnants  of  history  which  have  casually  escaped  the  shipwreck  of  time.9 

Again: 

Times  answerable,  like  waters  after  a  tempest,  full  of  working  and  swelling.1" 

He  says: 

The  corrupter  sort  of  politicians  .  .  .  thrust  themselves  into  the  center  of  the 
world,  as  if  all  lines  should  meet  in  them  and  their  fortunes;  never  caring,  in  all 
tempests,  what  becomes  of  the  ship  of  state,  so  they  may  save  themselves  in  the 
cock-boat  of  their  own  fortune. n 

Again: 

Virtue  is  like  a  rich  stone,  best  plain  set.   H 
He  says: 

If  a  man  be  gracious  and  courteous  to  strangers,  it  shows  he  is  a  citizen  of  the 
world,  and  that  his  heart  is  no  island  cut  off  from  other  lands,  but  a  continent  that 
joins  to  them.13 

1  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii.  7  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii. 

3  History  of  Life  and  Death.  8  Ibid. 

3  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii.  8  Ibid. 

*  Ibid.  10  Ibid.,  book  ii. 
6 Novum  Organum,  book  ii.  u  Ibid.,  book  i. 

*  Love's  Labor  Lost,  iii,  i.  12  Essay  Of  Beauty. 

13  Essay  Of  Goodness. 


14o  FRANCIS  BACON    THE  AUTHOR   OF   THE  PLAYS. 

He  says: 

It  is  sport  to  see  a  bold  fellow  out  of  countenance,  for  that  puts  his  face  into  a 
most  shrunken  and  wooden  posture.1 

Again: 

Suspicions  among  thoughts  are  like  bats  among  birds  —  they  ever  fly  by  twi- 
light.2 

Again: 

Some  men's  behavior  is  like  a  verse,  wherein  every  syllable  is  measured.3 

He  says: 

Certainly  there  be  whose  fortunes  are  like  Homer's  verses,  that  have  a  slide 
and  an  easiness  more  than  the  verses  of  other  poets.4 

Speaking  of  those    studies  that    come  home  to  the  hearts  of 

men,  or,  to  use  his  phrase,  "  their  business  and  bosoms,"  he  says: 

So  men  generally  take  well  knowledges  that  are  drenched  in  flesh  and  blood.5 

He  says: 

Duty,  though  my  state  lie  buried  in  the  sands,  and  my  favors  be  cast  upon  the 
waters,  and  my  honors  be  committed  to  the  wind,  yet  standeth  surely  built  upon 
the  rock,  and  hath  been,  and  ever  shall  be,  unforced  and  unattempted.6 

Speaking  of  the  Perkin  Warbeck  conspiracy,  Bacon  says: 

After  such  time  .  .  .  she  began  to  cast  with  herself  from  what  coast  this  blazing 
star  should  first  appear,  and  at  what  time  it  must  be  upon  the  horizon  of  Ireland,  for 
there  had  been  the  like  meteor  strong  influence  before.  The  time  of  the  apparition  to 
be  when  the  King  should  be  engaged  into  a  war  with  France.7 

Again  he  says: 

Honor  that  is  gained  and  broken  upon  another  hath  the  quickest  reflection, 
like  diamonds  cut  tvith  facets  .8 

Again: 

In  fame  of  learning  the  flight  will  be  slow  without  some  feathers  of  ostenta- 
tion.9 

Again: 

Pope  Alexander  .  .  .  was  desirous  to  trouble  the  waters  in  Italy,  that  he  might 
fish  the  better;  casting  the  net  not  out  of  St.  Peter's,  but  out  of  Borgia's  bark.10 

He  uses  this  expression: 

Their  preposterous,  fantastic  and  hypothetical  philosophies  which   have   led 


1  Essay  Of  Goodness.  «  Letter  written  in  Essex'  name  to  the  Queen,  1600. 

2  Essay  Of  Suspicion.  1  History  of  Henry  VII. 

3  Essay  Of  Praise.  *  Essay  Of  Honor  and  Reputation. 
*  Essay  Of  Fortune.                                           »  Essay  Of  Vain  Glory. 

5  A  d?'ancetncnt  of  Learning-,  book  ii.  10  History  of  Henry  VII. 

'* Novum  Organum. 


IRA  NCI S  BACON    WAS  A    POET.  I4I 

Speaking  again  of  the  Perkin  Warbeck  conspiracy,  he  expresses 
it  in  this  most  figurative  manner: 

At  this  time  the  King  began  to  be  haunted  with  spirits,  by  the  magic  and  curi- 
ous arts  of  the  Lady  Margaret,  who  raised  up  the  ghost  of  Richard,  Duke  of  York, 
second  son  to  King  Edward  the  Fourth,  to  walk  and  vex  the  King.1 

Again: 

Every  giddy-headed  humor  keeps,  in  a  manner,  revel-rout  in  false  religions. ? 

Again: 

It  is  the  extremity  of  evil  when  mercy  is  not  suffered  to  have  commerce  with 
misery.3 

When  he  would  say  that  the  circumstances  were  favorable  for 
the  inauguration  of  the  Perkin  Warbeck  conspiracy,  he  puts  it  thus: 

Now  did  the  sign  reign,  and  the  constellation  was  come,  under  which  Perkin 
should  appear.4 

[We  find  the  Duke  telling  Viola: 

I  know  thy  constellation  is  right  apt 
For  this  affair.5] 
And  again: 

But  all  this  upon  the  French  King's  part  was  but  a  trick,  the  better  to  bow 
King  Henry  to  peace.  And  therefore  upon  the  first  grain  of  incense  that  was  sac- 
rificed upon  the  altar  of  peace,  at  Boloign,  Perkin  was  smoked  away.6 

When  Bacon  would  say  that  King  Henry  VII.  used  his  wars  as 
a  means  and  excuse  to  fill  his  treasury,  he  expresses  it  in  this  pict- 
uresque fashion: 

His  wars  were  always  to  him  as  a  mine  of  treasure  of  a  strange  kind  of  ore; 
iron  at  the  top  and  gold  and  silver  at  the  bottom.7 

Again  he  says: 

And  Perkin,  for  a  perfume  before  him  as  ne  went,  caused  to  be  published  a 
proclamation.8 

Again: 

So  certainly,  if  a  man  meditate  much  upon  the  universal  frame  of  nature,  the 
earth  with  men  upon  it  (the  divineness  of  souls  except)  will  not  seem  much  other 
than  an  ant-hill,  where,  as  some  ants  carry  corn,  and  some  carry  their  young,  and 
some  go  empty,  and  all  —  to  and  fro  —  a  little  heap  of  dust.9 

He  uses  this  expression  after  his  downfall: 

Here  I  live  upon  the  sword-point  of  a  sharp  air.10 

1  History  of  Henry  J  'II.  •  History  of  Henry  VII. 

-  J  J  'isdom  of  the  A  ncients  —  Dionysius.  '  Ibid. 

3  Ibid.—  Diomedes.  8  Ibid. 

4  History  of  Henry  J  'II.  9  A  dvancement  of  Learning,  book  i. 

5  Twelfth  Night,  i,  4.  I0  Petition  to  the  House  of  Lords. 


i42  FRANCIS  BACON    THE   AUTHOR    OF    THE   FLAYS. 

Alluding  to  Perkin  Warbeck,  he  says: 

But  it  was  ordained  that  this  winding-ivy  of  a  Plantagenet  should  kill  the  true 
tree  itself.1 

Again: 

It  was  a  race  often  dipped  in  their  own  blood.2 

Speaking  of  the  crowds  of  rabble  who  followed  Perkin  Warbeck 

after  his  capture,  to  mock  and  deride  him,  Bacon  uses  this  poetical 

figure: 

They  flocked  about  him  as  he  went  along:  that  one  might  know  afar  off  where 
the  owl  was  by  the  flight  of  birds.3 

After  his  downfall  he  writes: 

I  desire  to  do,  for  the  little  time  God  shall  send  me  life,  like  the  merchants  of 
London,  which,  when  they  give  over  trade,  lay  out  their  money  upon  land.  So 
being  freed  from  civil  business,  I  lay  forth  my  poor  talent  upon  those  things  which 
may  be  perpetual.4 

Again: 

And  as  in  the  tides  of  people  once  up,  there  want  not  commonly  stirring  winds 
to  make  them  more  rough.5 

Speaking  of  Henry  VII.,  after  he  had  overcome  the  rebellions 

of  Simnell  and  Warbeck,  Bacon  says: 

This  year  also,  though  the  King  was  no  more  haunted  with  sprites,  for  that  by 
the  sprinkling,  partly  of  blood,  and  partly  of  water,  he  had  chased  them  away.6 

Again  he  says: 

As  if  one  were  to  employ  himself  poring  over  the  dissection  of  the  dead  car- 
cass of  nature,  rather  than  to  set  himself  to  ascertain  the  powers  and  properties  of 
living  nature.1 

He  says: 

Nothing  appears  omitted  for  preparing  the  senses  to  inform  the  understand- 
ing, and  we  shall  no  longer  dance,  as  it  were,  within  the  narrow  circles  of  the 
enchanter,  but  extend  our  march  around  the  confines  of  the  world  itself.8 

Again: 

A  fellow  that  thinks  with  his  magistrality  and  goosequill  to  give  laws  and 
menages  to  crowns  and  scepters.9 

This  is  rather  a  long  list  of  examples  to  prove  that  Bacon  pos- 
sessed in  a  preeminent  degree  fancy,  vivacity  and  imagination,  but 
I  feel  that  no  man  can  say  his  time  is  wasted  in  reading  such  a 
catalogue  of  gems. 

1  History  of  Henry  VII.  *  Letter  to  the  King,  Oct.  8,  1621.  7  Nature  of  Things. 

2  Ibid.  °  History  of  Henry  VII.  »  Exper.  History. 

3  Ibid.  "Ibid.  9  Charge  against  Talbot. 


FRANCIS  BACON    WAS  A    POET.  143 

XII.     Had  he  the  Higher  Genius? 

We  come  now  to  another  question.  Granted  that  he  had  these 
humbler  qualities  of  a  vivacious  mind,  did  he  possess  the  loftier 
features  of  the  imagination,  those  touches  where  heart  and  soul 
and  sense  of  melody  are  fused  together  as  in  the  great  Plays  ? 

Undoubtedly  an  affirmative  answer  must  be  given  to  this  ques- 
tion. But  as  in  the  doings  of  daily  life  he  was,  as  Byron  says,  "off  the 
tripod,"  it  is  only  when  he  is,  as  Prospero  has  it,  "touched  to  the 
quick,"  by  some  great  emotion,  that  he  forgets  the  philosophical  and 
political  restraints  he  has  imposed  upon  himself,  and  pours  forth  his 
heart  in  words.  One  of  these  occasions  was  his  downfall,  in  utter 
disgrace,  fined,  imprisoned,  exiled  from  the  court.  In  his  petition 
to  the  House  of  Lords  he  cries  out  from  the  depths  of  his  soul: 

I  am  old,  weak,  ruined,  in  want,  a  very  subject  of  pity. 

We  seem  to  hear  the  voice  of  Lear: 

A  poor,  infirm,  weak  and  despised  old  man.1 

And,  still  speaking  of  himself,  he  continues  with  this  noble 
thought: 

It  may  be  you  will  do  posterity  good,  if  out  of  the  carcass  of  dead  and  rotten 
greatness,  as  out  of  Samson's  lion,  there  may  be  honey  gathered  for  the  use  of 
future  times.2 

What  a  noble,  what  a  splendid  image  is  this  !  How  the  meta- 
phor is  interwoven,  Shakespeare-wise,  not  as  a  distinct  comparison, 
but  into  the  entire  body  of  the  thought.  He  is  appealing  for 
mercy,  for  time  to  finish  his  great  works;  he  is  himself  already 
"dead  and  rotten  greatness,"  but  withal  majestic  greatness;  he  is 
Samson's  lion,  but  in  the  carcass  the  bees  have  made  their  hive 
and  hoarded  honey  for  posterity.  And  what  a  soul !  That  in  the 
hour  of  ruin  and  humiliation,  sacrificed,  as  I  believe,  to  save  a  dis- 
honest King  and  a  degraded  favorite,  he  could  still  love  humanity 
and  look  forward  to  its  welfare. 

Could  that  expression  have  come  from  any  other  source  than 
the  mind  that  wrote  Shakespeare  ?  The  image  was  not  unfamiliar 
to  the  writer  of  the  Plays: 

Tis  seldom  when  the  bee  doth  leave  her  comb 

In  the  dead  carrion.3 

» 

1  Lear,  iii,  2.  2  Petition  to  the  House  of  Lords.  3  2d  Henry  II'.,  iv,  4. 


I44  FRANCIS  BACON   THE   AUTHOR    OF    THE   TLA  YS. 

Take  another  instance.     Bacon  speaks  of 
The  ocean,  the  solitary  handmaid  of  eternity.1 

If  that  thought  was  found  in  the  Plays,  would  it  not  be  on  the 
tongues  of  all  men  as  a  magnificent  image? 
And  what  poetry  is  there  in  this  ? 

But  men  must  learn  that  in  this  theater  of  man's  life  it  is  reserved  only  for 
God  and  the  angels  to  be  lookers-on.2 

If  Shakespeare  had  written  a  prose  essay,  should  we  not  expect 
him  to  speak  something  after  this  fashion  ? 

But  the  images  of  men's  wits  and  knowledges  remain  in  books,  exempted  from 
the  wrong  of  time  and  capable  of  perpetual  renovation.  Neither  are  they  fitly  to 
be  called  images,  because  they  generate  still  and  cast  their  seeds  in  the  minds  of 
others,  provoking  and  causing  infinite  actions  and  opinions  in  succeeding  ages;  so 
that  if  the  invention  of  the  ship  was  thought  so  noble,  which  carrieth  riches  and 
commodities  from  place  to  place  and  consociateth  the  most  remote  regions  in  par- 
ticipation of  their  fruits,  how  much  more  are  letters  to  be  magnified,  which,  as 
ships,  pass  through  the  vast  seas  of  time  and  make  ages  so  distant  to  participate  of 
the  wisdom,  illuminations  and  inventions,  the  one  of  the  other.3 

How  poetical  is  the  following: 

Her  royal  clemency  which  as  a  sovereign  and  precious  balm  continually  distil- 
leth  from  her  fair  hands,  and  falleth  into  the  wounds  of  many  that  have  incurred 
the  offense  of  the  law.4 

Again  we  have  : 

Sure  I  am  that  the  treasure  that  cometh  from  you  to  her  Majesty  is  but  as  a 
vapor  which  riseth  from  the  earth  and  gathereth  into  a  cloud  and  stayeth  not  there 
long,  but  upon  the  same  earth  it  falleth  again.  It  is  like  a  sweet  odor  of  honor  and 
reputation  to  our  nation  throughout  the  world.5 

We  are  reminded  of  Portia's : 

The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strained, 

It  droppeth  like  the  gentle  rain  from  heaven 

Upon  the  place  beneath.6 

And  also  of  the  following: 

The  heavens  rain  odors  on  you.7 

How  beautiful  is  this  expression  of  Bacon: 

A  crowd  is  not  company,  and  faces  are  but  a  gallery  of  pictures,  and  talk  but  a 
tinkling  cymbal  where  there  is  no  love.8 

1  The  Nature  of  Things.  6  Bacon's  Speech  in  Parliament,  1597-8,  vol. 

2  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii.  ii,  p.  86. 

8  Ibid.,  book  i.  "  Merchant  of  J'enice,  iv,  1. 

♦Discourse  in  Praise  ofthe  Queen;  Life  7  Twelfth  Night,  iii,  1.  • 

and  Works,  vol.  i,  p.  129.  8  Essay  Of  Friendship. 


r  FRANCIS   BACON    WAS  A    POET.  I45 

How  figurative  is  this: 

The  King  slept  out  the  sobs  of  his  subjects  until  he  was  awakened  with  the 
thunderbolt  of  a  Parliament.1 

What  poet  has  written  in  prose  anything  more  poetical  than  this  ? 

The  unfortunate  destinies  of  hopeful  young  men,  who,  like  the  sons  of  Aurora, 
puffed  up  with  the  glittering  show  of  vanity  and  ostentation,  attempt  actions  above 
their  strength.  .  .  .  For  among  all  the  disasters  that  can  happen  to  mortals,  there 
is  none  so  lamentable,  and  so  powerful  to  move  compassion,  as  the  flower  of  virtue 
cropped  with  too  sudden  a  mischance.  .  .  .  Lamentation  and  mourning  flutter  around 
their  obsequies  like  those  funereal  birds.* 

How  fine  is  this  expression  : 

He  took,  as  it  were,  the  picture  of  words  from  the  life  of  reason.3 

There  is  a  rhythm  in  this: 

Bred  in  the  cells  of  gross  and  solitary  monks.4 

How  poetical  is  his  conception  when  he  speaks  5  of  the  prepara- 
tion for  the  grand  Armada  and  the  Spanish  invasion  of  England, 
as  being  "like  the  travail  of  an  elephant."  And  again,  when  he 
speaks  of  one  of  the  Popes,  who,  by  his  labors,  prevented  the 
Mohammedanizing  of  the  white  race,  as  one  who  had  "put  a  ring 
in  the  snout  of  the  Ottoman  boar"  whereby  he  was  prevented  from 
rooting  up  and  ravaging  the  fair  field  of  Europe.  The  words 
draw  a  picture  for  us  which  the  memory  cannot  forget. 

What  a  command   of  language  does   he  exhibit !     Take  these 

sentences: 

Words  that  come  from  wasted  spirits  and  an  oppressed  mind  are  more  safe  in 
being  deposited  in  a  noble  construction.6 

Neither  doth  the  wind,  as  far  as  it  carrieth  a  voice,  with  a  motion  thereof,  con- 
found any  of  the  delicate  and  figurative  articulations  of  the  air,  in  variety  of  words.7 

Who  taught  the  bee  to  sail  through  such  a  vast  sea  of  air?  8 

The  first  of  these  expeditions  invasive  was  achieved  with  great  felicity,  ravished 
a  strong  and  famous  port  in  the  lap  and  bosom  of  their  high  countries.9 

Whilst  I  live,  my  affection  to  do  you  service  shall  remain  quick  under  the  ashes 
of  my  fortune.10 

He  speaks  of  Catiline  as 

A  very  fury  of  lust  and  blood.11 

1  Report  of  Spanish  Grievances.  7  Natural  History,  cent,  ii,  §125. 

8  Wisdom  o/the  A ncients — Memnon.  8  Advancement  0/  Learning,  book  ii. 

*  Advancement  0/ Learning,  book  i.  'Bacon's  Speech  in  Parliament,  39  Eliz.  (1597), 

*  Ibid.,  book  ii.  Life  and  Works,  ii,  88. 
6  In  Praise  of  the  Queen.  10  Letter  to  Earl  of  Bristol. 

*  His  Submission  to  Parliament.  u  Advancement  0/  Learning,  book  ii. 


i46  FRANCIS  BACON    THE  AUTHOR    OF    THE   TLA  VS.         • 

Take  these  sentences: 

Religion  sweetly  touched  with  eloquence.1 

The  admirable  and  exquisite  subtility  of  nature.2 

Have  you  never  seen  a  fly  in  amber  more  beautifully  entombed  than  an  Egyptian 
monarch? 

When  it  has  at  last  been  clearly  seen  what  results  are  to  be  expected  from  the 
nature  of  things  and  the  nature  of  the  mind,  we  consider  that  we  shall  have  pre- 
pared and  adorned  a  nuptial  couch  for  the  mind  and  the  universe,  the  Divine 
Goodness  being  our  bridesmaid. 

The  blustering  affection  of  a  wild  and  naked  people.3 

Sweet,  ravishing  music.   .  .   . 
The  melody  and  delicate  touch  of  an  instrument.4 

But  these  blossoms  of  unripe  marriages  were  but  friendly  wishes  and  the  airs 
of  loving  entertainments.5 

To  dig  up  the  sepulchers  of  buried  and  forgotten  impositions.6 

But  the  King  did  much  to  overcast  his  fortunes,  which  proved  for  many  years 
together  full  of  broken  seas,  tides  and  tempests.7 

Neither  was  the  song  of  the  sirens  plain  and  single,  but  consisting  of  such  a 
variety  of  melodious  tunes,  so  fitting  and  delighting  the  ears  that  heard  them,  as 
that  it  ravished  and  betrayed  all  passengers.8 

We  might  make  a  book  of  such  citations. 

Mr.  John  H.  Stotsenburg,  of  New  Albany,  Indiana,  has  put 
together,  in  a  newspaper  article,  a  number  of  extracts  from  Bacon, 
and  arranged  them  as  if  they  were  blank  verse,  I  give  a  few  of 
these.  It  is  surprising  to  observe  how  much,  in  this  shape,  they 
resemble  the  poetry  of  the  Shakespeare  Plays,  and  how  readily 
they  would  deceive  an  ordinary  reader: 

Truth  may  come,  perhaps, 
To  a  pearl's  value  that  shows  best  by  day, 
But  rise  it  will  not  to  a  diamond's  price 
That  showeth  always  best  in  varied  lights. 
Yet  it  is  not  death  man  fears, 
But  only  the  stroke  of  death. 
Virtue  walks  not  in  the  highway 
Though  she  go  heavenward. 

Why  should  we  love  our  fetters,  though  of  gold  ? 

When  resting  in  security,  man  is  dead; 

His  soul  is  buried  within  him 

And  his  good  angel  either  forsakes  his  guard  or  sleeps. 

1  . 1  dvancement  of  Learnings  book  i.  5  History  of  Henry  VII. 

2  Novum  Organum,  book  ii.  «  Speech  in  Parliament,  39  Elizabeth,  1597. 

3  History  0/  Henry  VII.  1  History  of  Henry  VII. 

4  Wisdom  0/  the  A ncients.  »  Wisdom  0/  the  A ncients  —Sirens. 


•  FRANCIS  BACON    WAS  A    POET.  I47 

There  is  nothing  under  heaven 

To  which  the  heart  can  lean,  save  a  true  friend. 

Why  mourn,  then,  for  the  end  which  must  be 

Or  spend  one  wish  to  have  a  minute  added 

To  the  uncertain  date  which  marks  our  years  ? 

Death  exempts  not  man  from  being, 

But  marks  an  alteration  only. 

He  is  a  guest  unwelcome  and  importunate 

And  he  will  not,  must  not  be  said  nay. 

Death  arrives  gracious  only 

To  such  as  sit  in  darkness 

Or  lie  heavy-burdened  with  grief  and  irons. 

To  the  poor. Christian  that  sits  slave-bound 

In  the  galleys; 

To  despairful  widows,  pensive  pensioners  and  deposed  kings; 

To  them  whose  fortune  runneth  backward 

And  whose  spirits  mutiny: 

Unto  such  death  is  a  redeemer, 

And  the  grave  a  place  of  retiredness  and  rest. 

These  wait  upon  the  shore,  and  waft  to  him 

To  draw  near,  wishing  to  see  his  star 

That  they  may  be  led  to  him, 

And  wooing  the  remorseless  sisters 

To  wind  down  the  watch  of  life 

And  break  them  off  before  the  hour. 

It  is  as  natural  to  die 
As  to  be  born. 

In  many  of  these  there  are  scarcely  any  changes,  except  in 
arranging  them  as  blank  verse  instead  of  in  the  form  of  prose;  and 
they  have  been  taken  as  prose  simply  because  Bacon  so  first 
wrote  them. 

No  man,  I  think,  can  have  followed  me  thus  far  in  this 
argument  without  conceding  that  Bacon  was  a  poet.  If  a  poet, 
*;the  greatest  of  mankind"  would  be  the  greatest  poet  of  man- 
kind. Whatever  such  a  mind  strove  to  accomplish  would  be  of 
the  highest.  Nothing  commonplace  could  dwell  in  such  a 
temple. 

We  must  admit  that  he  possessed  everything  needed  for  the 
preparation  of  the  Shakespeare  Plays.  Learning,  industry,  am- 
bition for  immortality;  command  of  language  in  all  its  heights  and 
depths;  the  power  of  compressing  thought  into  condensed  sen- 
tences; wit,  fancy,  imagination,  feeling  and  the  temperament  of 
genius. 


I48  FA' A  *  C/S  BACON   THE   AUTHOR    OF    THE9  PLAYS. 

XIII.     His  Wit. 

But  it  will  be  said,  Was  he  not  lacking  in  the  sense  of  humor  ? 

By  no  means.  It  was  the  defect  of  his  public  speeches  that  his; 
wit  led  him  aside  from  the  path  of  dignity.  Ben  Jonson  says  his 
oratory  was  "  nobly  censorious  when  he  could  spare  or  pass  by  a 
jest."  Sir  Robert  Naunton  says,  "  He  was  abundantly  facetious, 
which  took  much  with  the  Queen."  The  Queen  said,  "He  hath  a 
great  wit."  "I  wish  your  Lordship  a  good  Easter,"  says  the 
Spanish  Jew,  Gondomar,  about  to  cross  the  Channel.  "  I  wish  you 
a  good  Pass-over,"  replied  Bacon.  Queen  Elizabeth  asked  Bacon 
whether  he  had  found  anything  that  smacked  of  treason  in  a  certain 
book.  "  No,"  said  Bacon,  "but  I  have  found  much  felony."  "  How 
is  that?"  asked  the  Queen.  "The  author."  said  Bacon,  "has  stolen 
many  of  his  conceits  from  Cornelius  Tacitus." 

In  the  midst  even   of  his  miseries,  after  his  downfall,  he  writes 

(1625)  to  the  Duke  of  Buckingham: 

I  marvel  that  your  Grace  should  think  to  pull  down  the  monarchy  of  Spain 
without  my  good  help.  Your  Grace  will  give  me  leave  to  be  merry,  however  the  tvorld' 
goeth  with  me. 

I  have  just  quoted  Macaulay's  declaration  that  Bacon's  sense 
of  wit  and  humor  was  so  powerful  that  it  oftentimes  usurped  the 
place  of  reason  and  tyrannized  over  the  whole  man. 

We  find  in  the  author  of  the  Shakespeare  Plays  the  same  ina- 
bility to  restrain  his  wit. 

Says  Carlyle: 

In  no  point  does  Shakespeare  exaggerate  but  only  in  laughter.  Fiery  objurga- 
tions, words  that  pierce  and  burn,  are  to  be  found  in  Shakespeare;  yet  he  is  always 
in  measure  here,  never  what  Johnson  would  remark  as  a  specially  "good  hater." 
But  his  laughter  seems  to  pour  from  him  in  floods,  .  .  .  Not  at  mere  weakness,  at 
misery  or  poverty,  never. 


or  rME    Y 


CHAPTER    II. 

THE    WRITER    OE    THE   PLA  YS  A    PHILOSOPHER. 

First,  let  me  talk  with  this  philosopher. 

Lear,  lit,  4. 

IN  the  attempt  to  establish  identity  I  have  shown  that  Bacon 
was  a  poet  as  well  as  a  philosopher.  I  shall  now  try  to  estab- 
lish that  the  writer  of  the  Plays  was  a  philosopher  as  well  as  a 
poet.  In  this  way  we  will  come  very  near  getting  the  two  heads 
under  one  hat. 

The  poet  is  not  necessarily  a  philosopher;  the  philosopher  is  not 
necessarily  a  poet.  One  may  be  possessed  of  marvelous  imagina- 
tive powers,  with  but  a  small  share  of  the  reasoning  faculty. 
Another  may  penetrate  into  the  secrets  of  nature  with  a  brain  as 
dry  as  grave-dust. 

The  crude  belief  about  Shakespeare  is  that  he  was  an  inspired 
plow-boy,  a  native  genius,  a  Cornish  diamond,  without  polishing;  a 
poet,  and  nothing  but  a  poet.  I  propose  to  show  that  his  mind 
was  as  broad  as  it  was  lofty;  that  he  was  a  philosopher,  and  more 
than  that,  a  natural  philosopher;  and  more  than  that,  that  he  held 
precisely  the  same  views  which  Bacon  held. 

Let  us  see  what  some  of  the  great  thinkers  have  had  to  say 
upon  this  subject: 

Carlyle  makes  this  most  significant  speech: 

There  is  an  understanding  manifested  in  the  construction  of  Shakespeare's 
Plays  equal  to  that  in  Bacon's  Novum  Organum. 

Hazlitt  has  struck  upon  the  same  pregnant  comparison: 

The  wisdom  displayed  in  Shakespeare  was  equal  in  profoundness  to  the  great 
.Lord  Bacon's  Arovum  Organum. 

Coleridge  said: 

He  was  not  only  a  great  poet,  but  a  great  philosopher. 

.  Richard  Grant  White  calls  him 

The  greatest  philosopher  and  the  worldly-wisest  man  of  modern  times. 

149 


I5o  FRANCIS  BACON    THE  AUTHOR    OF    THE   PLAYS. 

Says  Emerson: 

He  was  inconceivably  wise.     The  others  conceivably.1 

Barry  Cornwall  says: 

He  was  not  a  mere  poet  in  the  vulgar  sense  of  the  term.  ...  On  the  con- 
trary, he  was  a  man  eminently  acute,  logical  and  philosophical.  His  reasoning 
faculty  was  on  a  par  with  his  imagination  and  pervaded  all  his  works  completely.* 

Landor  calls  Shakespeare 

The  wisest  of  men,  as  well  as  the  greatest  of  poets. 

Pope  calls  Bacon 

The  wisest  of  mankind. 

Jeffrey  says  of  Shakespeare: 

He  was  more  full  of  wisdom  and  sagacity  than  all  the  moralists  and  satirists 
that  ever  lived. 

Coleridge  says: 

Shakespeare's  judgment  equaled,  if  it  did  not  surpass,  his  creative  faculty. 

Dr.  Johnson  says: 

From  his  works  may  be  collected  a  system  of  civil   and  economical  prudence 

Swinburne  calls  Shakespeare: 

The  wisest  and  mightiest  mind  that  ever  was  informed  with  the  spirit  or  genius 
of  creative  poetry. 

Richard  Grant  White  says  of  Shakespeare: 

He  was  the  most  observant  of  men. 

On  the  other  hand,  Edmund  Burke  said  of  Bacon: 

He  possessed  the  most  distinguished  and  refined  observation  of  human  life. 

Alfred  H.  Welsh  says  of  Bacon: 

Never  was  observation  at  once  more  recondite,  better-natured  and  more  care- 
fully sifted. 

Surely  these  two  men,  if  we  can  call  them  such,  ran  in  closely 
parallel  lines. 

And  it  must  be  remembered  that  these  witnesses  are  not  advo- 
cates of  the  Baconian  authorship  of  the  Plays.  Many  of  them  never 
heard  of  it. 

I.     Bacon's  Philosophy. 

But  there  are  two  kinds  of  philosophy  —  the  transcendental  and 
the  practical.  Naturally,  the  first  has  most  relation  to  the  imagin- 
ation;  the  latter  tends  to  drag  down  the  mind  to  the  base  details 

1  Representative  Men,  p.  209.  2  Preface  to  Works  of  Ben  fonson. 


THE    WRITER    OR    THE  PLAYS  A    PHILOSOPHER.  i5I 

of  life.  The  mind  must  be  peculiarly  constructed  that  can  at  the 
same  time  grapple  with  the  earth  and  soar  in  the  clouds.  It  was 
the  striking  peculiarity  of  Bacon's  system  of  philosophy  that  it 
tended  to  make  great  things  little  and  little  things  great. 

It  was  the  reverse  of  that  old-time  philosophy  to  which  Shake- 
speare sneeringly  alluded  when  he  said: 

We  have  our  philosophical  persons,  to  make  modern  and  familiar  things  super- 
natural and  causeless.1 

Says  Macaulay: 

Some  people  may  think  the  object  of  the  Baconian  philosophy  a  low  object.2 

And  again  he  observes: 

This  persuasion  that  nothing  can  be  too  insignificant  for  the  attention  of  the 
wisest  which  is  not  too  insignificant  to  give  pleasure  or  pain  to  the  meanest,  is  the 
essential  spirit  of  the  Baconian  philosophy.3 

Bacon  cared  nothing  for  the  grand  abstrusenesses:    he  labored 

for  the  "betterment  of  men's  bread  and  wine" — the  improvement 

of  the  condition  of  mankind  in  their  worldly  estate.     This  was  the 

gospel  he  preached.     Like  Socrates,  he  "dragged  down  philosophy 

from  the  clouds."     He  said: 

The  evil,  however,  has  been  wonderfully  increased  by  an  opinion,  or  inveterate 
conceit,  which  is  both  vainglorious  and  prejudicial,  namely,  that  the  dignity  of  the 
human  mind  is  lowered  by  long  and  frequent  intercourse  with  experiments  and 
particulars,  which  are  the  objects  of  sense  and  confined  to  matter,  especially  since 
such  matters  are  mean  subjects  for  meditation.4 

And  again,  in  his  Experimental  Natural  History,  he  says: 

We  briefly  urge  as  a  precept,  that  there  be  admitted  into  this  (natural)  history: 
i.  The  most  common  matters,  such  as  one  might  think  it  superfluous  to  insert, 
from  their  being  well  known;  2.  Base,  illiberal  and  filthy  matters,  and  also  those 
which  are  trifling  and  puerile,  .  .  .  nor  ought  their  worth  to  be  measured  by  their 
intrinsic  value,  but  by  their  application  to  other  points  and  their  influence  on  phil- 
osophy. 

And  again: 

This  was  a  false  estimation  that  it  should  be  a  diminution  to  the  mind  of  man 
to  be  much  conversant  in  experiences  and  particulars,  subject  to  sense  and  bound 
in  matter,  and  which  are  laborious  to  search,  ignoble  to  meditate,  harsh  to  deliver, 
illiberal  to  practice,  infinite  as  is  supposed  in  number,  and  noways  accommodate 
to  the  glory  of  arts.5 

And,  strange  to  say,  when  we  turn  to  Shakespeare  we  find 
embalmed   in   poetry,  where  one  would  think  there  would  be  the 

>  All's  Well  that  Ends  Well,  ii,  3.  3  Ibid.,  p.  272.  ■  Filum  Labyrintki. 

a  Essay  Bacon,  p.  278.  4  Novum  Organum,  book  i. 


l52  FRANCIS   BACON    THE   AUTHOR   OF    THE   PLAYS. 

least  chance  to  find  it,  and  with  which  it  would  seem  to  have  no 

natural  kindred  or  coherence,  this  novel  philosophy. 

Shakespeare  says: 

Some  kinds  of  baseness 
Are  nobly  undergone,  and  most  poor  matters 

Point  to  rich  ends} 

And  again: 

Nature,  what  things  there  are, 
Most  abject  in  regard  and  dear  in  use  ! 
What  things  again  most  dear  in  the  esteem 
And  poor  in  worth! 2 

This  is  the  very  doctrine  taught  by  Bacon,  which  I  have  just 

quoted: 

Base,  illiberal  and  filthy  matters,  and  also  those  which  are  trifling  and  puerile, 
.   .   .  nor  ought  their  worth  to  be  measured  by  their  intrinsic  value,  but  by  their 
application  to  other  points  and  their  influence  on  philosophy. 

Why  did  not  Bacon  quote  that  sentence  from  the  Tempest? 

Some  kinds  of  baseness 
Are  nobly  undergone,  and  most  poor  matters 
Point  to  rich  ends. 

No  wonder  Birch  is  reminded  of  Bacon  when  he  reads  Shake- 
speare.    He  says: 

Glendower  is  very  angry  at  the  incredulity  of  Hotspur,  and  reiterates  again 
and  again  the  signs  that  he  thought  marked  him  extraordinary.  Hotspur  not  only 
replies  with  badinage,  but  ascribes,  with  Baconian  induction,  all  that  Glendower 
thought  miraculous  and  providential  to  nature  and  the  earth.3 

Dowden  describes  the  philosophy  of  Shakespeare  in  words  that 

fully  fit  the  philosophy  of  Bacon.     He  says: 

The  noble  positivism  of  Shakespeare.  .  .  .  Energy ,  devotion  to  the  fact,  self-gov- 
ernment, tolerance,  ...  an  indifference  to  externals  in  comparison  with  that 
which  is  of  the  invisible  life,  and  a  resolution  to  judge  of  all  things  from  a  purely 

human  standpoint} 

The  same  writer  says: 

The  Elizabethan  drama  is  essentially  mundane.  To  it  all  that  is  upon  this 
earth  is  real,  and  it  does  not  concern  itself  greatly  about  the  reality  of  other 
things.  Of  heaven  or  hell  it  has  no  power  to  sing.  It  finds  such  and  such  facts 
here  and  now,  and  does  not  invent  or  discover  supernatural  causes  to  explain  these 
frets/' 

Richard  Grant  White  says: 

For  although  of  all  poets  he  is  most  profoundly  psychological,  as  well  as  most 
fanciful  and  most  imaginative,  yet  with  him  philosophy,  fancy  and  imagination 

1  Tempest,  mil,  i.  3  Birch,  Plains,  and  Relig.  of  Shak.,  p.  238.  5Ibid.,  p.  23. 

2  Troilus  and  Cress/da,  Hi,  3.  4  Dowden,  Shak.  Mind  and  Art,  p.  34. 


THE    WRITER    OE    THE   PLAYS  A    PHILOSOPHER.  ^3 

are  penetrated  with  the  spirit  of  that  unwritten  law  of  reason  which  we  speak  of  as 
if  it  were  a  faculty — common  sense.  His  philosophy  is  practical  and  his  poetical 
views  are  fused  with  philosophy  and  poetry.  He  is  withal  the  sage  and  the  oracle  of 
this  world.  .  .  .  There  is  in  him  the  constant  presence  and  rule  of  reason  in  his 
most  exalted  flights.1 

Jeffrey  says: 

When  the  object  requires  it  he  is  always  keen  and  worldly  and  practical,  and 
yet,  without  changing  his  hand  or  stopping  his  course,  he  scatters  around  him  as 
he  goes  all  sounds  and  shapes  of  sweetness. 

It  needs  no  further  argument  to  demonstrate: 

1.  That  the  writer  of  the  Plays  was  a  philosopher. 

2.  That  he  was  a  practical  philosopher. 

I  shall  now  go  farther,  and   seek  to  show  that,  like   Bacon,  he 
was  a  natural  philosopher,  a  student  of  nature,  a  materialist. 
Bacon  says: 

Divine  omnipotence  was  required  to  create  anything  out  of  nothing,  so  also  is 
that  omnipotence  to  make  anything  lapse  into  nothing.2 

The  writer  of  the  Plays  had  grasped  the  same  thought: 

O  anything  of  nothing  first  created.3 
Bacon  says: 

Nothing  proceeds  from  nothing.4 

Shakespeare  says: 

Nothing  will  come  of  nothing.5 

Nothing  can  be  made  out  of  nothing.6 

Are  see  the   natural  philosopher  also  in  those  reflections  as  to 

the    indestructibility  of    matter    and    its   transmutations    in   these 

verses: 

Full  fadom  five  thy  father  lies; 

Of  his  bones  are  coral  made; 
These  are  pearls  that  were  his  eyes: 

Nothing  of  him  that  doth  fade, 
But  doth  suffer  a  sea-change 
Into  something  rich  and  strange.'1 

Hamlet's  meditations  run  in  the  same  practical  direction.     He 

perceives  that   the  matter  of  which  Alexander  was  composed  was 

indestructible: 

Alexander  died,  Alexander  was  buried,  Alexander  returned  to  dust;  the  dust 
is  earth,  of  earth  we  make  loam,  and  why  of  that  loam  (whereto  he  was  converted) 
might  they  not  stop  a  beer  barrel? 

1  Life  and  Genius  of  S/iak.,  p.  293.  s  Romeo  andjtiliet,  i,  1.  5  Lear,  i,  1. 

1  Thoughts  on  the  Nature  0/  Things.  *  Novum  Organum,  book  ii.  8  Ibid.,  i,  &.. 

7  Tempest,  i,  2. 


j$4  FRANCIS  BACON    THE   AUTHOR    OF    THE   FT  A  VS.       ' 

Illustrious  Caesar,  dead  and  turn'd  to  clay, 
Might  stop  a  hole  to  keep  the  wind  away. 

And  when  we  turn  again  to  Bacon  we  find  him  considering  how 

All  things  pass  through  an  appointed  circuit  and  succession  of  transformations. 
.   .   .   All  things  change;  nothing  really  perishes.1 

And  again  Bacon  says: 

For  there  is  nothing  in  nature  more  true  .  .  .  than  that  nothing  is  reduced  to 
nothing.2 

Henry  IV.  delivers  what  Birch  calls  "an  episode  proper  to  a 

geological  inquirer,  and  savoring  of  the  theory  of  the  materialist 

with  regard  to  the  natural  and  not  providential  alteration  of  the 

globe,"  when  he  says: 

O  Heaven!  that  one  might  read  the  book  of  fate 

And  see  the  revolution  of  the  times; 

Make  mountains  level,  and  the  continent 

(Weary  of  solid  firmness)  melt  itself 

Into  the  sea  !  and  other  times  to  see 

The  beachy  girdle  of  the  ocean, 

Too  wide  for  Neptune's  hips;  how  chances,  mocks 

And  changes  fill  the  cup  of  alteration 

With  divers  liquors.3 

Birch  adds: 

When  he  returns  to  politics,  and  makes  them  a  consequence,  as  it  were,  of  the 
preceding  philosophical  reflections,  we  do  not  see  the  connection,  except  in  that 
materialistic  view  of  things,  and  necessitarian  way  of  thinking,  in  which  Shake- 
speare frequently  indulges,  and  which  involved  all  alike,  physical  and  human 
effects,  in  the  causes  and  operations  of  nature.  We  either  see  the  unavoidable  ten- 
dency of  Shakespeare's  mind  to  drag  in  some  of  his  own  thoughts  at  the  expense 
of  situation  or  probability,  or  we  must  admit  them  so  mixed  up  in  his  philosophy 
as  not  to  be  divided.4 

We  find  the  man  of  Stratford  (if  we  are  to  believe  he  wrote  the 

Plays),  while  failing  to  teach  his  daughter  to  read  and  write,  urging 

that  the  sciences  should  be  taught  in  England! 

Even  so  our  houses,  and  ourselves,  and  children, 
Have  lost,  or  do  not  learn,  for  want  of  time, 
The  sciences  that  should  become  our  country.5 

We  see  the  natural  philosopher  also  in  Shakespeare's  reflections. 

in  Measure  for  Measure : 

Thou  art  not  thyself; 
For  thou  exist'st  on  many  a  thousand  grains 
That  issue  out  of  dust.6 

1  Thoughts  on  the  Nature  of  Things.  *  Birch,  Philosophy  a!l't  Religion  of  Shah.,  p.  249. 

2  Novum  Organum,  book  ii.  *  Henry  V.,  v,  2. 
*  Henry  IV.,  iii,  1.                                               "Act  iii,  scene  1. 


THE    WRITER    OE    THE  PLAYS  A    PHILOSOPHER.  I55 

Here  we  find  the  same  mind,  that  traced  the  transmutations  of 
the  dust  of  Alexander  and  Caesar,  following,  in  reverse  order,  the 
path  of  matter  from  the  inorganic  dust  into  the  organic  plant, 
thence  into  fruit  or  grain,  thence  into  the  body,  blood  and  brain  of 
man.  Man  is  not  himself;  he  is  simply  a  congeries  of  atoms, 
brought  together  by  a  power  beyond  himself. 

And  Shakespeare  says: 

It  is  as  easy  to  count  atomies  as  to  resolve  the  propositions  of  a  lover.1 

The  natural  philosopher  is  shown  also  in  that  wise  and  merciful 

reflection: 

For  the  poor  beetle  that  we  tread  upon 

In  corporal  sufferance  finds  as  great  a  pang 

As  when  a  giant  dies.-i 

And  we  turn  to  Bacon,  and  we  find  him  indulging  in  a  similar 
thought: 

But  all  violence  to  the  organization  of  animals  is  accompanied  with  a  sense  of 
pain,  according  to  their  different  kinds  and  peculiar  natures,  owing  to  that  sentient 
essence  which  pervades  their  frames.3 

Observe  the  careful  student  of  nature  also  in  this: 

Many  for  many  virtues  excellent, 

None  but  for  some,  and  yet  all  different. 

O,  mickle  is  the  powerful  grace  that  lies 

In  herbs,  plants,  stones  and  their  true  qualities: 

For  naught  so  vile  that  on  the  earth  doth  live, 

But  to  the  earth  some  special  good  doth  give; 

Nor  aught  so  good,  but,  strained  from  that  fair  use, 

Revolts  from  true  birth,  stumbling  on  abuse.4 

Here,  again,  we  see  the  Baconian  idea  that  the  humble  things 
of  earth,  even  the  vilest,  have  their  noble  purposes  and  uses. 
And  the  same  study  of  plants  is  found  in  the  following: 

Checks  and  disasters 
Grow  in  the  veins  of  actions  highest  reared; 
As  knots,  by  the  conflux  of  meeting  sap, 
Infect  the  sound  pine,  and  divert  his  grain 
Tortive  and  errant  from  his  course  and  growth.5 

And  in  the  very  direction  of  Bacon's  curious  investigations  into 
life  is  this  reference  to  the  common  belief  of  the  time,  that  a  horse- 
hair, left  in  the  water,  turns  into  a  living  thing: 

1  As  You  Like  It,  iii,  2.  •  The  Nature  0/  Tilings.  8  Troilus  and  Cressida.  1.  .  - , 

-  Measure  for  Measure,  iii,  1.  '  Ronteo  and  Juliet,  ii,  3. 


I56  FRANCIS  BACOX    THE   AUTHOR   OF    THE   PLAYS. 

Much  is  breeding 
Which,  like  the  courser's  hair,  hath  yet  but  life, 
And  not  a  serpent's  poison.1 

It  has  even  been  noted  by  others  that  in  that  famous  descrip- 
tion of  the  hair,  "standing  on  end  like  quills  upon  the  fretful  por- 
cupine," the  writer  hints  at  the  fact  that  the  quills  of  that  animal 
are  really  modified  hairs.2 

And  when  Lady  Macbeth  says: 

I  know 
How  tender  'tis  to  love  the  babe  that  milks  me: 
I  would,  while  it  was  smiling  in  my  face, 
Have  plucked  my  nipple  from  his  boneless  gums 
And  dashed  the  brains  out,  had  I  so  sworn, 
As  you  have  done  to  this3  — 

we  perceive  that  the  writer  had  thought  it  out  that  the  teeth  are 
but  modified  bones. 

The  student  of  natural  phenomena  is  also  shown  in  these  sen- 
tences: 

Poor  soul,  the  center  of  my  sinful  earth.4 

Can  I  go  forward  when  my  heart  is  here  ? 
Turn  back,  dull  earth,  and  find  thy  center  out  !5 

I  will  find 
Where  truth  is  hid,  though  it  were  hid,  indeed, 
Within  the  center.6 

While  Bacon,  seeming  to  anticipate  the  Newtonian  specula- 
tions, says: 

Heavy  and  ponderous  bodies  tend  toward  the  center  of  the  earth  by  their 
peculiar  formation.  .  .  .  Solid  bodies  are  borne  toward  the  center  of  the  earth.7 

And   here  we  perceive  that  the  poet  and   the  play-writer  had 

even  considered  the  force  of  the  sun's  heat  in  producing  agitations 

of  the  atmosphere. 

He  says: 

Which  shipmen  do  the  hurricano  call, 
Constringed  in  mass  by  the  almighty  sun.8 

Bacon  observed  that 

All  kind  of  heat  dilates  and  extends  the  air,  .  .  .  which  produces  this  breeze 
as  the  sun  goes  forward    .   .   .  and  thence  thunders  and  lightnings  and  storms.9 

1  A  ntony  and  Cleopatra,  i  Romeo  and  Juliet,  ii,  i. 

'2  American  Cyclopedia,  vol.  viii,  p.  384.  *  Hamlet,  ii,  2. 

3  Macbeth,  i,  7.  7  Novum  Organutn,  book  ii. 

4  Sonnet  cxlvi.  8  Troilus  and  Cressida,  v,  2. 

'•'  .  Xuthor.  0/  Shak.,  p.  310. 


THE     WRITER    OF    THE    PLAYS  A    PHILOSOPHER.  , 


57 


And  Judge  Holmes  calls  attention  to  the  following  parallel 
thought  in  Shakespeare: 

As  whence  the  sun  'gins  his  reflection, 
Ship-wrecking  storms  and  direful  thunders  break.1 

And  that  all-powerful  preponderance  of  the  sun  in  the  affairs  of 
the  planet,  which  modern  science  has  established,  was  realized  by 
the  author  of  the  Plays,  when  he  speaks,  in  the  foregoing,  of  "  the 
almighty  sun,"  "  constringing "  the  air  and  producing  the  hurri- 
cane.    It  is  no  wonder  that  Richard  Grant  White  exclaims: 

The  entire  range  of  human  knowledge  must  be  laid  under  contribution  to 
illustrate  his  writings.2 

And  the  natural  philosopher  is  shown  in  the  question  of  Lear 
(for  Shakespeare's  lunatics  ask  many  questions  that  wise  men  can- 
not answer) : 

Canst  tell  how  an  oyster  makes  his  shell?3 

In  his  Natural  History,  we  find  Bacon  occupying  himself  with 
kindred  thoughts.  He  discusses  the  casting-off  of  the  shell  of  the 
lobster,  crab,  era-fish,  the  snail,  the  tortoise,  etc.,  and  the  making 
of  a  new  shell: 

The  cause  of  the  casting  of  the  skin  and  shell  should  seem  to  be  the  great 
quantity  of  matter  that  is  in  those  creatures  that  is  fit  to  make  skin  or  shell* 

And  again  says  Lear: 

First  let  me  talk  with  this  philosopher: 
What  is  the  cause  of  thunder?5 

And  Bacon  had  considered  this  question  also.     He  says: 

We  see  that  among  the  Greeks  those  who  first  disclosed  the  natural  causes  of 
thunder  and  storms,  to  the  yet  untrained  ears  of  man,  were  condemned  as  guilty 
of  impiety  towards  the  gods.6 

Shakespeare  says: 

And  do  but  see  his  vice; 
'Tis  to  his  virtue  a  just  equinox, 
The  one  as  long  as  the  other.7 

In  this  we  have  another  observation  of  a  natural  phenomenon.. 

And  here  is  another: 

Know  you  not 
The  fire,  that  mounts  the  liquor  till  it  run  o'er, 
In  seeming  to  augment  it,  wastes  it.8 

1  Macbeth,  i,  i.  *  Century  viii,  §  732.  7  Othello,  ii,  3. 

xShak.  Genius,  p.  252.  5  Lear,  Hi,  4.  8  Henry  VIII.,  i,  1. 

3  L<\ir,  i,  5.  % Novum  Organuw,  book  i. 


,5X  FRANCIS   HA  COX    THE   AUTHOR    OF    THE    PLAYS. 

The  poet  had  also  studied  the  causes  of  malaria. 
He  says: 

All  the  infections  that  the  sun  sucks  up 

From  bogs,  fens,  flats,  on  Prosper  fall,  and  make  him 

By  inch-meal  a  disease.1 

And  again: 

Infect  her  beauty, 
Yon  fen-sucked  fogs,  drawn  by  the  powerful  sun, 
To  fall  and  blast  her  pride. - 

And  in  the  following  the  natural  philosopher  is  clearly  ap- 
parent: 

The  sun's  a  thief,  and  with  his  great  attraction 
Robs  the  vast  sea;  the  moon's  an  arrant  thief, 
And  her  pale  fire  she  snatches  from  the  sun. 
The  sea's  a  thief,  whose  liquid  surge  resolves 
The  moon  into  salt  tears;  the  earth's  a  thief 
That  feeds  and  breeds  by  a  composture  stolen 
From  general  excrement/5 

I  shall  hereafter  show,  in  the  chapter  on  "  Identical  Compari- 
sons," that  both  Bacon  and  Shakespeare  compared  man  to  a  species 
of  deputy  God,  a  lesser  Providence,  with  a  power  over  nature  that 
approximated  in  kind,  but  not  in  degree,  to  the  creative  power  of 
the  Almighty.     He  says  in  one  place: 

For  in  things  artificial  nature  takes  orders  from  man  and  works  under  his 
authority;  without  man  such  things  would  never  have  been  made.  But  by  the 
help  and  ministry  of  man  a  new  force  of  bodies,  another  universe,  or  theater  of 
things,  comes  into  view. 

And  in  Shakespeare  we  have  the  following  kindred  reflections: 

Perdita.  For  I  have  heard  it  said, 

There  is  an  art  which,  in  their  piedness,  shares 

With  great  creating  nature. 

Pol.  Say  there  be; 

Yet  nature  is  made  better  by  no  mean, 

But  nature  makes  that  mean;  so  o'er  that  art 

Which  you  say  adds  to  nature,  is  an  art 

That  nature  makes.     You  see,  sweet  maid,  we  ma^ry 

A  gentler  scion  to  the  wildest  stock, 

And  make  conceive  a  bark  of  baser  kind 

By  bud  of  nobler  race:  this  is  an  art 

Which  does  mend  nature,  change  it  rather,  but 

The  art  itself  is  nature.4 

1  Tempest,  ii,  2.  2  Lear,  ii,  4.  '■'  Titus  Andronicus,  iv,  3.  *  Winter's  Tale,  iv,  3. 


THE    WRITER    OF    THE   PLAYS  A    PHILOSOPHER.  lc<) 

And  again: 

'Tis  often  seen 
Adoption  strives  with  nature;  and  choice  breeds 
A  native  slip  to  us  from  foreign  seeds.1 

And  we  have  a  glimpse  in  the  following  of  the  doctrine  that 
nature  abhors  a  vacuum. 

The  air,  which,  but  for  vacancy, 
Had  gone  to  gaze  on  Cleopatra,  too, 
And  made  a  gap  in  nature.2 

And  here  we  find  them,  again,  thinking  the  same  thought,  based 
on  the  same  observation.     Bacon  says: 

As  for  the  inequality  of  the  pressure  of  the  parts,  it  appeareth  manifestly  in 
this,  that  if  you  take  a  body  of  stone  or  iron,  and  another  of  wood,  of  the  same 
magnitude  and  shape,  and  throw  them  with  equal  force,  you  cannot  possibly  throw 
the  wood  so  far  as  the  stone  or  the  iron.3 

And  we  find  the  same  thought  in  Shakespeare: 

The  thing  that's  heavy  in  itself, 

Upon  enforcement  flies  with  greatest  speed.4 

And  here  is  a  remarkable  parallelism.     Shakespeare  says: 

There  lives  within  the  very  flame  of  love 
A  kind  of  wick,  or  snuff,  that  will  abate  it.5 

Bacon  says: 

Take  an  arrow  and  hold  it  in  flame  for  the  space  of  ten  pulses,  and  when  it 
cometh  forth  you  shall  find  those  parts  of  the  arrow  which  were  on  the  outside  of 
the  flame  more  burned,  blackened,  and  turned  almost  to  a  coal,  whereas  that  in  the 
midst  of  the  flame  will  be  as  if  the  fire  had  scarce  touched  it.  This  .  .  .  showeth 
manifestly  that  flame  burneth  more  violently  towards  the  sides  than  in  the  midst.6 

And  here  is  another  equally  striking.       Bacon  says: 

Besides  snow  hath  in  it  a  secret  warmth;  as  the  monk  proved  out  of  the  text: 
"  Qui  dat  nivem  sicut  lanam,  gelu  sicut  cineres  spargit."  Whereby  he  did  infer  that 
snow  did  warm  like  wool,  and  frost  did  fret  like  ashes.7 

Shakespeare  says: 

Since  frost  itself  as  actively  doth  burn.8 
Bacon  anticipated  the  discovery  of  the  power  of  one  mind  over 
another  which  we  call   mesmerism;  and   we   find   in  Shakespeare 
Ariel  saying  to  the  shipwrecked  men: 

If  you  could  hurt, 
Your  swords  are  now  too  massy  for  your  strengths, 
And  will  not  be  tiplifted.'* 

*  All's  Well  that  Ends  Well,  i,  3.  x 2d  Henry  IV.,  i,  1.  7  Natural History,  §788. 

2  A  ntony  and  Cleopatra,  ii,  2.  •  Hamlet,  iv,  7.  8  Hamlet,  iii,  4. 

3  Natural  History,  §791.  fi  Natural  History,  §32.  9  Tempest,  iii,  3. 


f6o  FRANCIS  BACON    THE   AUTHOR   OF   THE   PLAYS. 

I   conclude   this  chapter  with  the   following  citations,  each   of 

which  shows  the  profound  natural  philosopher: 

That  man,  how  dearly  ever  parted, 
How  much  in  having,  or  without  or  in, 
Cannot  make  boast  to  have  that  which  he  hath, 
Nor  feels  not  what  he  owes,  but  by  reflection; 
As  when  his  virtues  shining  upon  others 
Heat  them,  and  they  retort  that  heat  again 
To  the  first  giver. ' 


Again: 


Again: 


Again: 


The  beauty  that  is  borne  here  in  the  face, 
The  bearer  knows  not,  but  commends  itself 
To  others'  eyes;  nor  doth  the  eye  itself, 
That  most  pure  spirit  of  sense,  behold  itself, 
Not  going  from  itself.2 


No  man  is  the  lord  of  any  thing, 

Though  in  and  of  him  there  be  much  consisting, 

Till  he  communicate  his  parts  to  others.3 


Heaven  doth  with  us  as  we  with  torches  do, 

Not  light  them  for  ourselves;  for  if  our  virtues 

Did  not  go  forth  of  us,  'twere  all  alike 

As  if  we  had  them  not.     Spirits  are  not  finely  touched 

But  to  fine  issues,  nor  Nature  never  lends 

The  smallest  scruple  of  her  excellence, 

But,  like  a  thrifty  goddess,  she  determines 

Herself  the  glory  of  a  creditor, 

Both  thanks  and  use.4 

1  Troilus  and  Cressida,  hi,  3.  2  Ibid.  s  Ibid.  *  Measure  for  Measure,  i,  t. 


GORHAMBURY 
I.  A.  D.  1821.     2.  A.  D.  1795-      3-  A.  D.  1568. 


CHAPTER  III. 
THE  GEOGRAPHY  OF  THE  PLA  VS. 

Dear  earth  !    I  do  salute  thee  with  my  hand. 

Richard  II.,  Hi,  2. 

GENIUS,  though  its  branches  reach  to  the  heavens  and  cover 
the  continents,  yet  has  its  roots  in  the  earth;  and  its  leaves, 
its  fruit,  its  flowers,  its  texture  and  its  fibers,  bespeak  the  soil  in 
which  it  was  nurtured.  Hence  in  the  writings  of  every  great  mas- 
ter we  find  more  or  less  association  with  the  scenes  in  which  his 
youth  and  manhood  were  passed  —  reflections,  as  it  were,  on  the 
camera  of  the  imagination  of  those  landscapes  with  which  destiny 
had  surrounded  him. 

In  the  work  of  the  peasant-poet,  Robert  Burns,  we  cannot  sepa- 
rate his  writings  from  the  localities  in  which  he  lived.     Take  away 

"  Bonnie  Doon;  " 

"  Auld  Alloway's  witch-haunted  kirk  ;  " 

"  Ye  banks  and  braes  and  streams  around, 
The  castle  of  Montgomery;" 

11  Auld  Ayr,  which  ne'er  a  town  surpasses 
For  honest  men  and  bonny  lasses;  " 

11  Sweet  Afton, 
Amid  its  green  braes," 

and  the  thousand  and  one  other  references  to  localities  with  which 

his  life  was  associated,  and  there  is  very  little  left  which  bears  the 

impress  of  his  genius. 

If  we  turn  to  Byron,  we  find  the  same  thing  to  be  true.     We 

have  his   "Elegy  on   Newstead   Abbey;"  his  poem  "On   Leaving 

Newstead  Abbey;"  his  lines  on  "  Lachin  y  Gair  "  in  the  Highlands, 

where    "my   footsteps    in    infancy   wandered;"    his   verses    upon 

"Movren   of  Snow;"  his   "Lines  written  beneath  an  Elm  in  the 

Churchyard  of  Harrow  on   the  Hill;"  his  verses  "On  Revisiting 

Harrow,"    and   his  poem   addressed   "To  an  Oak  at  Newstead;" 

while  "  Childe  Harold  "  is  full  of  allusions  to  scenes  with  which 

his  life-history  was  associated. 

161 


t62  FRANCIS   B  A  COX    THE   AUTHOR    OF    THE   TLA  VS. 

The  same  is  true,  to  a  greater  or  less  extent,  of  all  great  writers 
who  deal  with  the  emotions  of  the  human  heart. 

I.     Stratford-on-Avon  is  not  Named  in  the  Plays. 

In  view  of  these  things  it  will  scarcely  be  believed  that  in  all  the 
voluminous  writings  of  Shakespeare  there  is  not  a  single  allusion  to 
Stratford,  or  to  the  river  Avon.  His  failure  to  remember  the  dirty 
little  town  of  his  birth  might  be  excused,  but  it  would  seem  most 
natural  that  in  some  place,  in  some  way,  in  drama  or  sonnet  or 
fugitive  poem,  he  should  remember  the  beautiful  and  romantic  river, 
along  whose  banks  he  had  wandered  so  often  in  his  youth,  and  whose 
natural  beauties  must  have  entered  deeply  into  his  soul,  if  he  was 
indeed  the  poet  who  wrote  the  Plays.  He  does,  it  is  true,  refer  to 
Stony-Stratford,1  a  village  in  the  County  of  Bucks,  and  this  makes  the 
omission  of  his  own  Stratford  of  Warwickshire  the  more  surprising. 

II.     St.  Albans  Referred  to  Many  Times. 

On  the  other  hand,  we  find  repeated  references  to  St.  Albans, 
Bacon's  home,  a  village  of  not  much  more  consequence,  so  far  as 
numbers  were  concerned,  than  Stratford. 

Falstaff  says: 

There's  but  a  shirt  and  a  half  in  all  my  company;  .  .  .  and  the  shirt,  to  say 
the  truth,  stolen  from  my  host  of  Saint  Albans.'2 

In  the  2d  Henry  IV.  we  have  this  reference: 

Prince  Henry.     This  Doll  Tear-sheet  should  be  some  road. 

Poins.  I  warrant  you,  as  common  as  the  road  between  Saint  Albans  and 
London.3 

In  The  Contention  between  the  Two  Famous  Houses  of  York  and  Lan- 
caster, which  is  conceded  to  be  the  original  form  of  some  of  the 
Shakespeare  Plays,  we  have: 

For  now  the  King  is  riding  to  Saint  Albans.* 

My  lord,  I  pray  you  let  me  go  post  unto  the  King, 
Unto  Saint  Albans,  to  tell  this  news.5 

Come,  uncle  Gloster,  now  let's  have  our  horse, 
For  we  will  to  Saint  Albans  presently.6 

In  the  same  scene  (in  The  Contention),  of  the  miracle  at  Saint 
Albans : 

1  Richard  III.,  ii,  4.  s  2d  Henry  IV.,  ii,  2.  5  Ibid.,  ii,  3. 

2 1st  Henry  IV.,  iv,  3.  4  1st  Part  of  Contention,  i,  2.  6  Ibid. 


THE    GEOGRAPHY   OP    THE    PLAYS. 


163 


Come,  my  lords,  this  night  we'll  lodge  in  Saint  Albans} 

In   the   play  of  Richard  1 1 J .  we   have   this   allusion    to    Bacon's 

country  seat: 

Was  not  your  husband 
In  Margaret's  battle  at  Saint  Albans  slain  ?'-' 

We  have  numerous  references  to  St.  Albans  in  the  2d  Henry  VI. : 

Messenger.     My  Lord  Protector,  'tis  his  Highness'  pleasure 
You  do  prepare  to  ride  unto  Saint  Albans,* 

And  again: 

Duchess.      It  is  enough;   I'll  think  upon  the  questions: 
When  from  Saint  Albans  we  do  make  return.4 

And  again: 

York.     The  King  is  now  in  progress  toward  Saint  Albans.-' 

III.     Three  Scenes  in  the  Plays   Laid  at  St.  Albans. 

Scene  1,  act  ii,  2d  Henry  VI.,  is  laid  at  Saint  Albans  ;  scene  2,  act 
v,  of  the  same  is  also  laid  at  Saint  Albans  ;  scene  3,  act  v,  is  laid  in 
Fields,  near  Saint  Albans. 

Note  the  following: 

Forsooth,  a  blind  man  at  Saint  Albania  shrine, 
Within  this  half-hour  hath  received  his  sight.6 

Enter  the  Mayor  of  Saint  Albans. 

Being  called 
A  hundred  times  and  oftener,  in  my  sleep 
By  good  Saint  A  /ban.1 


Again: 
Again: 

Again: 


Glos.     Yet  thou  seest  not  well. 

Simpcox.     Yes,  master,  clear  as  day;   I  thank  God  and  Saint  Albany 

Again: 

Gloster.     My  lord,  Saint  A/ban  here  hath  done  a  miracle.'' 

Gloster.      My  masters  of  Saint  Albans,  have  you  not  beadles  in  your  town?111 

And  again: 

For  underneath  an  alehouse'  paltry  sign. 

The  castle  in  Saint  Albans,  Somerset 

Hath  made  the  wizard  famous  in  his  death." 


1  1st  Contention,  ii,  i. 

4  2d  Henry  VI.,  i,  ->. 

-  Ibid. 

,  ii,  1. 

10  Ibid.,  ii,  1. 

»  Richard  III.,  i,  3. 

5  Ibid.,  i,  3. 

sIbid. 

,  ii,  1. 

1 1  2d  Henry  VI. ,  v,  2, 

3  2d  Henry  VI.,  i,  2. 

"Ibid.,  ii,  1. 

9  Ibid. 

.  ii,  1. 

164 


FRANCIS  BACON    THE  AUTHOR    OF    THE   PLAYS. 

Now  by  my  hand,  lords,  'twas  a  glorious  day, 
Saint  Albans  battle,  won  by  famous  York, 
Shall  be  eternized  in  all  age  to  come.1 

In  the  3d  Henry  VI.  we  find  St.  Albans  referred  to  as  follows  z 

Marched  toward  Saint  Albans  to  intercept  the  Queen.2 


Again: 
Again 


Again 


Short  tale  to  make  —  we  at  Saint  Albans  met.3 

When  you  and  I  met  at  Saint  Albans  last.4 

Brother  of  Gloster,  at  Saint  Albans  field 

This  lady's  husband,  Sir  John  Grey,  was  slain.5 

Here  is  St.  Albans  referred  to  in  the  Shakespeare  Plays  twenty -three 
times,  and  Stratford  not  once  ! 

Is  not  this  extraordinary?  What  tie  connected  the  Stratford 
man  with  the  little  village  of  Hertfordshire,  that  he  should  drag  it 
into  his  writings  so  often  ? 

We  are  told  that  he  loved  the  village  of  Stratford,  and  returned, 
when  rich  and  famous,  to  end  his  days  there.  We  have  glowing 
pictures,  in  the  books  of  the  enthusiastic  commentators,  of  his  wan- 
derings along  the  banks  of  the  lovely  Avon.  Why  did  he  utterly 
blot  them  both  out  of  his  writings  ? 

IV.     Warwickshire  Ignored  in  the  Plays. 

But  he  ignored  the  county  of  Warwickshire  —  his  own  beautiful 
county  of  Warwickshire  —  in  like  fashion. 

Michael  Drayton,  poet  and  dramatist,  a  contemporary  of  Shak- 
spere,  was,  like  him,  born  in  Warwickshire,  but  he  did  not  forget 
his  native  shire.     He  thus  invocates  the  place  of  his  birth: 

My  native  country,  then,  which  so  brave  spirits  hath  bred, 
If  there  be  virtues  yet  remaining  in  thy  earth, 
Or  any  good  of  thine  thou  bred'st  into  my  birth, 
Accept  it  as  thine  own,  whilst  now  I  sing  of  thee, 
Of  all  thy  later  brood  th'  unworthiest  though  I  be. 

The  county  of  Warwickshire  is  only  referred  to  once  in  the 
Plays  (1st  Henry  IV.,  iv,  2),  and  "  the  lord  of  Warwickshire"  is 
mentioned  twice.  The  only  reference  that  I  know  of  to  localities 
in  Warwickshire  is  in  the  introduction  to  The  Taming  of  the  Shrew, 
where  Wincot  is  named.     It  is  assumed  that  this  is  Wilmecote,  three 

1  2d  Henry  /"/.,  v,  2.  ^jd  Henry  /'/..  ii,  1.  :iTbid.  *  Ibid.,  ii,  2.         '"Ibid.,  iii,  3. 


THE   GEOGRAPHY  OF   THE  PI. A  VS. 


65 


miles  distant  from  Stratford-on-Avon.     But  of  this  there  is  no  cer- 
tainty. 

There  is  a  Woncot  mentioned  in  2d  Henry  IV, — 
William  Visor  of  VVoncott; '  — 
and    so   eager   have   the    Shakspereans    been   to   sustain   the   War- 
wickshire origin  of  the  Plays  that  they  have  converted   this  into 
Wincot.     As,  however,   Master  Robert   Shallow,  Esquire,  dwelt  in 
Gloucestershire  — 

[He  through  Gloucestershire,  and  there  will  I  visit  Master  Robert  Shallow  Es- 
quire,]— 

and  William  Visor  was  one  of  his  tenants  or  underlings,  this  Won- 
cot could  not  have  been  Wincot,  near  Stratford,  in  Warwickshire. 

V.     St.  Albans  the  Central  Point  of  the  Historical  Plays. 

Mrs.  Pott  has  pointed  out  how  much  of  the  action  of  the  Shake- 
speare Plays  finds  its  turning-point  and  center  in  St.  Albans: 

To  any  one  who  sees  in  it  one  of  the  inciting  causes  for  the  composition  of  the 
historical  plays  called  Shakespeare's,  and  especially  the  second  part  of  Henry  VI. 
and  Richard  III.,  St.  Albans  and  its  neighborhood  are  in  the  highest  degree  sug- 
gestive and  instructive.  Gorhambury  was  one  of  the  boyish  homes  of  Francis 
Bacon.  When,  at  the  age  of  nineteen,  he  was  recalled  from  his  gay  life  at  the 
•court  of  the  French  embassador  on  account  of  the  sudden  death  of  his  father,  it  was 
to  Gorhambury  that  he  retired  with  his  widowed  mother.  Thus  he  found  himself 
on  the  very  scene  of  the  main  events  which  form  the  plot  of  the  second  part  of 
Henry  VI.  .  .  .  The  play  culminates  in  the  great.battle  of  St.  Albans,  which  took 
place  in  a  field  about  one  and  a  half  miles  from  Gorhambury.  As  a  boy,  Francis 
must  have  heard  the  battle  described  by  old  men  whose  fathers  may  even  have 
witnessed  it.  He  must  frequently  have  passed  "  the  alehouse'  paltry  sign  "  beneath 
which  Somerset  was  killed  by  Richard  Plantagenet  (2d  Henry  VI,  v,  2).  He  must 
have  trodden  the  Key  Field  where  the  battle  was  fought,  and  in  which  the  last 
scene  of  the  play  is  laid.  It  was  a  scene  not  likely  to  be  forgotten.  The  Lancas- 
trians lost  five  thousand  men,  including  the  detested  Duke  of  Somerset  and  other 
nobles,  and  the  poor,  weak  King,  Henry  VI.,  was  taken  prisoner  by  the  Yorkists. 
Considering  the  mildness  and  moderation  which  was  invariably  exercised  by  the 
Duke  of  York,  and  the  violent  and  bloodthirsty  course  pursued  by  Queen  Marga- 
ret, it  is  no  wonder  that  this,  the  first  Yorkist  victory  of  the  Wars  of  the  Roses, 
should  be  kept  green  on  the  spot  where  it  took  place. 

'Twas  a  glorious  day. 
Saint  Albans'  battle,  won  by  famous  York, 
Shall  be  eterniz'd  in  all  age  to  come. 

Before  entering  the  abbey,  let  the  visitor  glance  around.  To  the  north  of  the 
town  stands  the  old  church  of  St.  Peter,  and  in  its  graveyard  lie  the  bodies  of  many 
of  those  who  were  slain  in  the  great  battles  between  the  rival  houses  of  York  and 
Lancaster.     To  the  left  is  Bernard's  heath,  the  scene  of  the  second  battle  of  St. 

1  Act  v,  scene  1. 


^6  FRANCIS  BACON    THE  AUTHOR   OF   THE  PLAYS. 

Albans,  where  the  Yorkist  army  was  defeated,  as  related  in  jd  Henry  VI.,  ii,  I. 
In  the  distance  may  be  seen  Hatfield  house,  the  noble  residence  of  the  Marquis  of 
Salisbury,  but  formerly  the  property  of  William  of  Hatfield,  second  son  of  Edward 
III.  {2d  Henry  VI.,  ii,  2).  Within  a  short  distance  is  King's  Langley,  the  birth- 
place and  burial  place  of  the  "famous  Edmund  Langley,  Duke  of  York"  {1st 
Henry  /.'/.,  ii,  5),  and,  as  we  are  further  told,  "  fifth  son  "  of  Edward  III.  {2d  Henry 
VI,  ii,  2).  On  the  east  of  the  town  lay  Key  Field,  the  arena  of  the  first  battle  of 
St.  Albans.  Across  it  may  be  seen  the  ancient  manor-house,  formerly  inhabited 
by  Humphrey,  Duke  of  Gloucester.  To  the  right  is  Sopwell  nunnery,  where  Henry 
VIII.  married  Anne  Boleyn.  The  history  of  the  monastery  to  which  the  abbey 
was  attached  is  intimately  associated  with  English  history.  To  go  back  no  farther 
than  the  fourteenth  century,  there  Edward  I.  held  his  court;  there  Edward  II.  was 
a  frequent  visitor;  thither,  after  the  battle  of  Poictiers,  Edward  III.  and  the  Black 
Prince  brought  the  French  King  captive.  After  the  insurrection  of  Wat  Tyler  and 
Jack  Straw,  Richard  II.  and  his  Chief  Justice  came  in  person  and  tried  the  rioters. 
A  conspiracy  to  dethrone  Richard  began  at  the  dinner  table  of  the  Abbot,  when 
Gloucester  and  the  Prior  of  Westminster  were  his  guests.  This  Gloucester  was 
"Thomas  of  Woodstock,"  described  in  2d  Henry  VI,  ii,  2,  as  "the  sixth  son  of 
Edward  the  Third."  At  a  subsequent  meeting  of  members  of  the  conspiracy,  the 
Duke  of  Gloucester,  "Henry  of  Hereford,  Lancaster  and  Derby"  {Richard  II,  i, 
3),  the  Earl  Marshal  (ibid.),  Scroop,  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  {Richard  II,  iii,  2), 
the  Abbot  of  St.  Albans  and  the  Prior  of  Westminster  {Richard  II,  iv,  1)  were 
present,  and  the  perpetual  imprisonment  of  the  King  was  agreed  upon.  In  the 
play  of  Richard  II  every  name  mentioned  in  the  old  manuscript  which  records 
this  meeting  is  included,  except  one  —  namely,  the  Abbot  of  St.  Albans;  and  yet  in 
the  old  records  priority  over  Westminster  is  always  given  to  him.  It  is  conject- 
ured that  the  omission  was  intentional,  and  that  the  author  did  not  wish  by  fre- 
quent repetition  to  give  prominence  to  a  name  which  would  draw  attention  to  the 
neighborhood  of  his  own  home.  At  the  monastery  of  St.  Albans  rested  the  body 
of  John,  Duke  of  Lancaster  {1st  Henry  IV.,  vol.  4),  on  the  way  to  London  for 
interment.  His  son  Henry,  afterward  Cardinal  Beaufort  {1st  Henry  VI,  i,  3,  etc.), 
performed  the  exequies.  Richard  II.  lodged  at  St.  Albans  on  his  way  to  the 
Tower,  whence,  having  been  forced  to  resign  his  throne  to  Bolingbroke,  he 
was  taken  to  Pomfret,  imprisoned  and  murdered.  Meanwhile,  the  resignation  of 
the  King  being  read  in  the  House,  the  Bishop  of  Carlisle  arose  from  his  seat 
and  stoutly  defended  the  cause  of  the  King.  Upon  this  the  Duke  of  Lancaster 
commanded  that  they  should  seize  the  Bishop  and  carry  him  off  to  prison  at 
St.  Albans.  He  was  afterward  brought  before  Parliament  as  a  prisoner,  but 
the  King,  to  gratify  the  pontiff,  bestowed  on  him  the  living  of  Tottenham. 
These  events  are  faithfully  rendered  or  alluded  to  in  the  Plays,  the  only  notable 
omission  being,  as  before,  any  single  allusion  to  the  Abbot  of  St.  Albans  (See 
Richard  II,  vol.  vi,  22-29). 

Passing  over  many  similar  points  of  interest,  let  us  enter  the  Abbey  church  by 
its  door  on  the  south  side.  There  the  visitor  finds  himself  close  to  the  shrine 
erected  over  the  bones  of  the  martyred  saint.  To  this  shrine,  after  the  defeat  of 
the  Lancastrians,  at  the  first  battle  of  St.  Albans,  the  miserable  King,  having  been 
discovered  at  the  house  of  a  tanner,  was  conducted,  previous  to  his  removal  as  a 
prisoner  to  London.  In  the  shrine  is  seen  the  niche  in  which  handkerchiefs  and 
other  garments  used  to  be  put,  in  order  that  the  miraculous  powers  attributed  to 
the  saint  should  be  imparted  to  the  sick  and  diseased  who  prayed  at  his  shrine, 
and  thereby  hangs  a  tale.  Close  by  the  shrine  is  the  tomb  of  good  Duke  Hum- 
phrey of  Gloucester,  who  plays  such  a  prominent  part  in  Henry  VI     The  inscrip- 


THE    GEOGRAPHY   OE    THE   PLAYS. 


167 


tion  on  his  tomb  is  not  such  as  most  persons  might  expect  to  find  as  an  epitaph  on 
the  proud  and  pugnacious,  but  popular  warrior.  No  hint  is  conveyed  of  his  strug- 
gles with  the  Duke  of  Burgundy,  or  of  his  warlike  contests  for  the  possession  of 
Holland  and  Brabant.  Three  points  are  noted  concerning  him:  That  he  was  pro- 
tector to  Henry  VI.;  that  he  "exposed  the  impostor  who  pretended  to  have  been 
born  blind,"  and  that  he  founded  a  school  of  divinity  at  Oxford.  The  story  of  the 
pretended  blind  man  is  the  subject  of  2d  Henry  VI,  ii,  8,  where  it  is  introduced 
with  much  detail.  Sir  Thomas  More  quoted  the  incident  as  an  instance  of  Duke 
Humphrey's  acuteness  of  judgment,  but  the  circumstance  which  seems  to  connect 
the  epitaph  not  only  with  the  play,  but  with  Francis  Bacon  himself,  is  that  it  was 
not  written  immediately  after  the  death  of  the  Duke,  but  tardily,  as  the  inscription 
hints,  and  it  is  believed  to  be  the  composition  of  John  Westerham,  head-master  of 
the  St.  Albans  grammar  school  in  1625  —  namely,  during  the  lifetime  of  Bacon, 
and  at  a  date  when  Gorhambury  was  his  residence.  A  phrase  in  the  inscription 
applies  to  Margaret  of  Anjou,  Henry's  "proud,  insulting  queen,"  whose  tomb, 
with  her  device  of  "Marguerites,"  or  daisies,  is  not  far  from  the  shrine  of 
St.  Alban.  It  was  by  the  intrigues  of  Margaret  and  her  partisans  that  Duke 
Humphrey  was  arrested  at  Bury.  The  following  night  he  was  found  dead  in 
his  bed  —  slain,  as  some  old  writers  record,  by  the  hand  of  Pole,  Duke  of 
Suffolk.  {2d  Henry  VI,  iii,  1;  223-281,  ii,  1,  1-202.)  Not  far  from  these  tombs 
are  two  more  of  peculiar  interest  to  students  of  Shakespeare.  One  is  the 
resting-place  of  Sir  Anthony  de  Grey,  grandson  of  Henry  Percy,  Earl  of 
Northumberland.  The  inscription  says  that  he  married  "the  fourth  sister  to  our 
sovraine  lady,  the  queen;"  that  is,  Elizabeth  Woodville,  queen  of  Edward  IV. 
She  had  been  formerly  married. 

At  St.  Albans'  field 
This  lady's  husband,  Sir  John  Grey,  was  slain, 
0  His  lands  then  seized  on  by  the  conqueror.1 

Her  suit  to  Edward  to  restore  her  confiscated  property,  and  her  subsequent 
marriage  with  him,  form  a  prominent  portion  of  the  plot  of  the  third  part  of 
Henry  VI. 

Last,  but  not  least,  let  us  not  overlook  the  mausoleum  of  "the  Nevils'  noble 
race,"  the  family  of  the  great  Earl  of  Warwick,  the  "king-maker."  In  2d  Henry 
IV.,  v,  2,  Warwick  swears  by  his 

Father's  badge,  old  Nevil's  crest, 

The  rampant  bear  chained  to  the  ragged  staff. 

The  passage  is  vividly  brought  to  the  mind  by  the  sight  of  a  row  of  rampant 
bears,  each  chained  to  his  ragged  staff,  and  surmounting  the  monument  erected 
over  the  grave  of  that  great  family  of  warriors. 

In  fact,  St.  Albans  seems  to  be  the  very  center  from  which  the 
eye  surveys,  circling  around  it,  the  grand  panorama  of  the  histor- 
ical Plays;  while  far  away  to  the  north  lies  the  dirty  little  village 
of  Stratford-on-Avon,  holding  not  the  slightest  relation  with  any- 
thing in  those  Plays,  save  the  one  fact  that  the  man  who  is  said  to 
have  written  them  dwelt  there. 

l3d  Henry  VI.,  Hi,  2. 


T68  FRANCIS  BACON    THE  AUTHOR   OF   THE  PLAYS. 

VI.     York  Place. 

There  was  one  other  spot  in  England  tenderly  associated  in 
Bacon's  heart  with  loving  memories;  that  was  the  royal  palace  of 
''York  Place,"  in  London,  in  which  he  was  born.  In  the  day  of 
his  success  he  purchased  it,  and  it  was  at  last,  after  his  downfall, 
torn  from  his  reluctant  grasp  by  the  base  Buckingham.  Bacon 
says  of  it: 

York  House  is  the  house  wherein  my  father  died,  and  where  I  first  breathed, 
and  there  will  I  yield  my  last  breath,  if  so  please  God.1 

We  turn  to  the  play  of  Henry  VIII.,  and  we  find  York  Place 
depicted  as  the  scene  where  Cardinal  Wolsey  entertains  the  King  and  his 
companions,  masked  as  shepherds,  with  "good  company,  good  wine, 
good  welcome." 

And  farther  on  in  the  play  we  find  it  again  referred  to,  and 
something  of  its  history  given: 

jd  Gentleman.  So  she  parted, 

And  with  the  same  full  state  paced  back  again 

To  Yorke-Place,  where  the  feast  is  held. 

ist  Gentleman.     You  must  no  more  call  it  Yorke-Place,  that's  past; 

For  since  the  Cardinal  fell  that  title's  lost; 

'Tis  now  the  King's,  and  called  White-hall. 

jd  Gentleman.  I  know  it; 

But  'tis  so  lately  altered,  that  the  old  name 

Is  fresh  about  me.2 

How  lovingly  the  author  of  the  Plays  dwells  on  the  history  of 
the  place! 

VII.     Kent. 

Bacon's  father  was  born  in  Chislehurst;  and  we  find  many 
touches  in  the  Plays  which  show  that  the  writer,  while  he 
had  not  one  good  word  to  say  for  Warwickshire,  turned  lov- 
ingly to  Kent  and  her  people.  He  makes  the  double-dealing 
Say  remark: 

Say.     You  men  of  Kent. 

Dick.     What  say  you,  Kent  ? 

Say.     Nothing  but  this:    'tis  bona  terra,  mala  gens.   .  .  . 

Kent,  in  the  Commentaries  Caesar  writ, 

Is  termed  the  civil'st  place  of  all  this  isle: 

Sweet  is  the  country,  because  full  of  riches; 

The  people  liberal,  valiant,  active,  wealthy.3 

1  Letter  to  the  Duke  of  Lenox,  i6ai.  -  Henry  VIII.,  iv,  i.  3  2d  Henry  TV.,  iv,  7. 


Of  r 

THE    GEOGRAPHY   OF    THE    PLAYS.  169 

What  made  the  Warwickshire  man  forget  his  own  county  and 
remember  Caesar's  praise  of  Kent?  What  tie  bound  William 
Shakspere  to  Kent  ? 

And  again,  in  another  play,  he  comes  back  to  this  theme 

The  Kentishmen  will  willingly  rise. 
In  them  I  trust:  for  they  are  soldiers, 
Witty,  courteous,  liberal,  full  of  spirit.' 

The  first  scene  of  act  iv  of  2d  Henry  VI.  is  laid  upon  the  sea- 
shore of  Kent. 

It  is  in  Kent  that  much  of  the  scene  of  the  play  of  King  Lea?'  is 
laid.  Here  we  have  that  famous  cliff  of  Dover,  to  the  brow  of 
which  Edgar  leads  Gloucester: 

Come  on,  sir: 
Here's  the  place;  stand  still:  how  fearful 
And  dizzy  'tis  to  cast  one's  eyes  so  low. 
The  crows  and  choughs  that  wing  the  midway  air 
Shew  scarce  so  gross  as  beetles.     Half  way  down 
Hangs  one  that  gathers  samphire:  dreadful  trade: 
Methinks  he  seems  no  bigger  than  his  head. 
The  fishermen  that  walked  upon  the  beach 
Appear  like  mice:  and  yon  tall  anchoring  bark 
Diminished  to  her  cocke;   her  cocke  a  buoy 
Almost  too  small  for  sight. 

"Jack  Cade,  the  clothier,"  who  proposed  to  dress  the  common- 
wealth and  put  new  nap  upon  it,  was  a  Kentishman.  The  insur- 
rection was  a  Kentish  outbreak.  The  play  of  2d  Henry  VI.  largelv 
turns  upon  this  famous  rebellion. 

Many  of  the  towns  of  Kent  are  referred  to  in  the  Plays,  and 
Goodwin  Sands  appears  even  in  the  Italian  play  of  The  Merchant 
4>f  Venice,  as  the  scene  of  the  loss  of  one  of  Antonio's  ships. 

VIII.     The  Writer  of  the  Plays  had  Visited  Scotland. 

There  is  some  reason  to  believe  that  the  author  of  Macbeth 
visited  Scotland.  The  chronicler  Holinshead  narrates  that  Mac- 
beth and  Banquo,  before  they  met  the  witches,  "  went  sporting  by 
the  way  together  without  other  company,  passing  through  the 
woods  and  fields,  when  suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  a  laund,  there 
met  them  three  women  in  strange  and  wild  apparel."  "  This  de- 
scription," says  Knight,  "  presents  to  us  the  idea  of  a  pleasant  and 

*  3d  Henry  VI..  i,  3. 


I7o  FRANCIS  BACON    THE   AUTHOR    OF    THE   PLAYS. 

fertile  place."  But  the  poet  makes  the  meeting  with  the  witches 
"  on  the  blasted  heath."  Knight  tells  us  that  "  the  country  around 
Forres  is  wild  moorland.  .  .  .  We  thus  see  that,  whether  Macbeth 
met  the  weird  sisters  to  the  east  or  west  of  Forres,  there  was 
in  each  place  that  desolation  which  was  best  fitted  for  such 
an  event,  and  not  the  woods  and  fields  and  launds  of  the 
chronicler." 

This  departure  from  Holinshead's  narrative  would  strongly 
indicate  that  the  poet  had  actually  visited  the  scene  of  the  play. 

Again,  it  is  claimed  that  the  disposal  of  the  portal  "  at  the  south 
entry  "  of  the  castle  of  Inverness  is  strictly  in  accordance  with  the 
facts,  and  could  not  have  been  derived  from  the  chronicle.  Even 
the  pronunciation  of  Dunsinane,  with  the  accent  on  the  last  sylla- 
ble, is  shown  to  have  been  in  accordance  with  the  custom  of  the 
peasantry. 

Macbeth  was   evidently  written  after  the   accession  of  James  I., 

and  we  find  that  Bacon  paid  a  visit  to  King  James  before  he  came 

to  London  and  probably  while  he  was  still  in  Scotland.      In  Sped- 

ding's  Life  and  Letters1  we  find  a  letter  from   Bacon  to  the  Earl  of 

Northumberland,  without  date,  referring  to  this  visit.     Spedding 

says: 

Meanwhile  the  news  which  Bacon  received  from  his  friends  in  the  Scotch  cour/ 
appears  to  have  been  favorable:  sufficiently  so,  at  least,  to  encourage  him  to  seek 
a  personal  interview  with  the  King.  I  cannot  find  the  exact  date,  but  it  will  be 
seen  from  the  next  letter  that,  before  the  King  arrived  in  London,  he  had  gone  to 
meet  him,  carrying  a  dispatch  from  the  Earl  of  Northumberland;  and  that  he  had 
been  admitted  to  his  presence. 

The  letter  speaks  as  follows: 

//  may  please  your  good  Lordship: 

I  would  not  have  lost  this  journey,  and  yet  I  have  not  that  for  which  I 
went.  For  I  have  had  no  private  conference  to  any  purpose  with  the  King; 
and  no  more  hath  almost  any  other  English.  For  the  speech  his  Majesty 
admitteth  with  some  noblemen  is  rather  matter  of  grace  than  of  business.  With 
the  attorney  he  spake,  being  urged  by  the  Treasurer  of  Scotland,  but  yet  no  more 
than  needs  must.  .   .   . 

I  would  infer  that  this  interview  was  held  in  Scotland.  The 
fact  that  the  Treasurer  of  Scotland  was  present  and  that  the  En- 
glish could  not  obtain  private  audience  with  the  King  would  indi- 
cate this. 

J  Volume  iii,  p.  76. 


THE    GEOGRAPHY   OF    THE   PLAYS.  ,-, 

IX.     The  Writer  of  the  Plays  had  been  in   Italy. 

There  are  many  reasons  to  believe  that  the  writer  of  the  Plavs 

had  visited  Italy.     In  a  note  upon  the  passage, 

Unto  the  tranect  to  the  common  ferry 
Which  trades  to  Venice,1 

Knight  remarks: 

If  Shakspere  had  been  at  Venice  (which,  from  the  extraordinary  keeping  of  the 
play,  appears  the  most  natural  supposition),  he  must  surely  have  had  some  situa- 
tion in  his  eye  for  Belmont.  There  is  a  common  ferry  at  two  places  —  Fusina  and 
Mestre. 

In  the  same  play  the  poet  says: 

This  night  methinks  is  but  the  daylight  sick. 

It  looks  a  little  paler;  'tis  a  day 

Such  as  the  day  is  when  the  sun  is  hid.- 

Whereupon  Knight  says: 

The  light  of  the  moon  and  stars  (in  Italy)  is  almost  as  yellow  as  the  sunlight 
in  England.  .  .  .  Two  hours  after  sunset,  on  the  night  of  a  new  moon,  we  have 
seen  so  far  over  the  lagunes  that  the  night  seemed  only  a  paler  day — "  a  little  paler." 

Mr.  Brown,    the   author  of  Shakespeare  s   Autobiographical  Plays. 

strenuously  maintained   the   opinion   that   Shakespeare   must  have 

visited  Italy: 

His  descriptions  of  Italian  scenes  and  manners  are  more  minute  and  accurate 
than  if  he  had  derived  his  information  wholly  from  books. 

Mr.  Knight,  speaking  of  The  Taming  of  the  Shrew,  says: 

It  is  difficult  for  those  who  have  explored  the  city  [of  Padua]  to  resist  the  per- 
suasion that  the  poet  himself  had  been  one  of  the  travelers  who  had  come  from 
afar  to  look  upon  its  seats  of  learning,  if  not  to  partake  of  its  "  ingenious  studies." 
There  is  a  pure  Paduan  atmosphere  hanging  about  this  play. 

Bacon,  it  is  known,  visited  France,  and  it  is  believed  he  traveled 

in  Italy. 

X.     The  Writer  of    the   Plays  had   been   at   Sea. 

One  other  point,  and  I  pass  from  this  branch  of  the  subject. 

Richard  Grant  White  says: 

Of  all  negative  facts  in  regard  to  his  life,  none,  perhaps,  is  surer  than  that  he 
never  was  at  sea;  yet  in  Henry  VIII.,  describing  the  outburst  of  admiration  and 
loyalty  of  the  multitude  at  sight  of  Anne  Bullen,  he  says,  as  if  he  had  spent  his  life 
on  shipboard: 

Such  a  noise  arose 
As  the  shrouds  make  at  sea  in  a  stiff  tempest; 
As  loud,  and  to  as  many  tunes. '? 

1  Merchant  of  Venice,  Hi,  4.  ■  Act  v.  scene  1.  3  Life  and  Genius  0/  Shakespeare,  p.  259. 


•I72  FRANCIS   BACON    THE   AUTHOR   OF    THE   PLAYS. 

More  than  this,  we  are  told  that  this  man,  who  had  never  been 
at  sea,  wrote  the  play  of  The  Tempest,  which  contains  a  very  accu- 
rate description  of  the  management  of  a  vessel  in  a  storm. 

The  second  Lord  Mulgrave  gives,  in  Boswell's  edition,  a  com- 
munication showing  that 

Shakespeare's  technical  knowledge  of  seamanship  must  have  been  the  result  of 
the  most  accurate  personal  observation,  or,  what  is  perhaps  more  difficult,  of  the 
power  of  combining  and  applying  the  information  derived  from  others. 

But   no  books  had  then  been   published  on  the   subject.     Dr. 

Johnson  says: 

His  naval  dialogue  is,  perhaps,  the  first  example  of  sailor's  language  exhibited 
on  the  stage. 

Lord  Mulgrave  continues: 

The  succession  of  events  is  strictly  observed  in  the  natural  progress  of  the  distress 
described;  the  expedients  adopted  are  the  most  proper  that  could  be  devised  for  a 
chance  of  safety.  .  .  .  The  words  of  command  are  strictly  proper.  .  .  .  He  has  shown 
a  knowledge  of  the  new  improvements,  as  well  as  the  doubtful  points  of  seamanship. 

Capt.  Glascock,  R.  N.,  says: 

The  Boatswain,  in  The  Tempest,  delivers  himself  in  the  true  vernacular  of  the 
forecastle. 

All  this  would,  indeed,  be  most  extraordinary  in  a  man  who  had 

never  been  at  sea.     Bacon,  on  the   other  hand,  we   know   to   have 

made   two   voyages  to  France;    we  know   how  close  and  accurate 

were  his   powers  of  observation;  and  in  The  Natural  History  of  the 

Winds '  he  gives,  at.  great  length,  a  description  of   the   masts  and 

sails  of  a   vessel,   with   the   dimensions   of  each  sail,  the  mode  of 

handling  them,  and  the  necessary  measures  to  be  taken  in  a  storm. 

XI.     Conclusions. 

It  seems,  then,  to  my  mind,  most  clear,  that  there  is  not  a  single 
passage  in  the  Plays  which  unquestionably  points  to  any  locality 
associated  with  the  life  of  the  man  of  Stratford,  while,  on  the 
other  hand,  there  are  numerous  allusions  to  scenes  identified  with 
the  biography  of  Bacon;  and,  more  than  this,  that  the  place  of  Bacon's 
birth  and  the  place  of  his  residence  are  both  made  the  subjects  of 
scenes  in  the  Plays,  and  nearly  all  the  historical  Plays  turn  about 
St.  Albans  as  a  common  center. 

The  geography  of  the  Plays  would  all  indicate  that  Francis 
Bacon  wrote  them. 

1  Section  29. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

THE  POLITICS  OF  THE  PIA  VS. 

I  love  the  people, 
But  do  not  like  to  stage  me  to  their  eyes; 
Though  it  do  well,  I  do  not  relish  well 
Their  loud  applause,  and  aves  vehement, 
Nor  do  I  think  the  man  of  safe  discretion 
That  does  affect  it. 

Measure  for  Measure,  i\  i. 

WE  know  what  ought  to  have  been  the  politics  of  William 
Shakspere,  of  Stratford. 
He  came  of  generations  of  peasants;  he  belonged  to  the  class 
which  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  social  scale.  If  he  were  a  true  man, 
with  a  burning  love  of  justice,  he  would  have  sympathized  with  his 
kind.  Like  Burns,  he  would  have  poured  forth  bis  soul  in  protests 
against  the  inequalities  and  injustice  of  society;  he  would  have 
asserted  the  great  doctrine  of  the  brotherhood  of  man;  he  would 
have  anticipated  that  noble  utterance: 

The  rank  is  but  the  guinea's  stamp, 
The  man's  the  gold  for  a'  that. 

If  he  painted,  as  the  writer  of  the  Plays  did,  an  insurrection  of 
the  peasants,  of  his  own  class,  he  would  have  set  forth  their  cause  in 
the  most  attractive  light,  instead  of  burlesquing  them.  Such  a 
genius  as  is  revealed  in  the  Plays,  if  he  really  came  from  the  com- 
mon people  and  was  rilled  with  their  spirit,  would  have  prefigured 
that  great  social  revolution  which  broke  out  twenty  years  after  his 
death,  and  which  brought  a  king's  head  to  the  block.  We  should 
have  had,  on  every  page,  passages  breathing  love  of  equality,  of 
liberty;  and  other  passages  of  the  mockery  of  the  aristocracy  that 
would  have  burned  like  fire.  He  would  have  anticipated  Pym. 
Hampden  and  Milton. 

A  man  of  an  ignorant,  a  low,  a  base  mind  may  refuse  to  sym- 
pathize with  his  own  caste,  because  it  is  oppressed  and  down- 
trodden, and  put  himself  in  posture  of  cringe  and  conciliation  to 
those  whose  whips  descend  upon  his  shoulders;  but  a  really  great 

173 


I74  FRANCIS  BACON    THE  AUTHOR   OF   THE    PLAYS. 

and  noble  soul,  a  really  broad  and  comprehensive  mind,  never  would 
dissociate  himself  from  his  brethren  in  the  hour  of  their  affliction. 
No  nobler  soul,  no  broader  mind  ever  existed  than  that  revealed  in 
the  Plays.  Do  the  utterances  of  the  writer  of  those  Plays  indicate 
that  he  came  of  the  common  people  ?     Not  at  all. 

I.     The  Writer  of  the  Plays  was  an  Aristocrat. 

Appleton  Morgan  says: 

He  was  a  constitutional  aristocrat  who  believed  in  the  established  order  of 
things,  and  wasted  not  a  word  of  all  his  splendid  eulogy  upon  any  human  right 
not  in  his  day  already  guaranteed  by  charters  or  by  thrones. 

Swinburne  says- 

With  him  the  people  once  risen  in  revolt,  for  any  just  or  unjust  cause,  is 
always  the  mob,  the  unwashed  rabble,  the  swinish  multitude.1 

And  again: 

For  the  drovers,  who  guide  and  misguide  at  will  the  turbulent  flocks  of  their 
mutinous  cattle,  his  store  of  bitter  words  is  inexhaustible;  it  is  a  treasure-house  of 
obloquy  which  can  never  be  drained  dry.2 

Walt  Whitman  says: 

Shakespeare  is  incarnated,  uncompromising  feudalism  in  literature.3 

Richard  Grant  White  says: 

He  always  represents  the  laborer  and  the  artisan  in  a  degraded  position,  and 
often  makes  his  ignorance  and  his  uncouthness  the  butt  of  ridicule.4 

Dowden  says: 

Shakspere  is  not  democratic.  When  the  people  are  seen  in  masses  in  his  Plays 
they  are  nearly  always  shown  as  factious,  fickle  and  irrational.5 

Walter  Bagehot  says: 

Shakespeare  had  two  predominant  feelings  in  his  mind.  First,  the  feeling  of 
loyalty  to  the  ancient  polity  of  this  country,  not  because  it  was  good,  but  because 
it  existed.  The  second  peculiar  tenet  is  a  disbelief  in  the  middle  classes.  We  fear 
he  had  no  opinion  of  traders.  You  will  generally  find  that  when  "a  citizen"  is 
mentioned  he  does  or  says  something  absurd.  .  .  .  The  author  of  Coriolanus  never 
believed  in  a  mob,  and  did  something  towards  preventing  anybody  else  from  doing  so. 

We  turn  to  Bacon  and  we  find  that  he  entertained  precisely  the 

same  feelings. 

Dean  Church  says: 

Bacon  had  no  sympathy  with  popular  wants  and  claims;  of  popularity,  of  all 
that  was  called  popular,  he  had  the  deepest  suspicion  and  dislike;  the  opinions  and 

1  Swinburne,  Study  of S/iak.,  p.  54.  3  Democratic  Vistas,  p.  81. 

a  Ibid.,  p.  54  4  White's  Genius  of  Shak.,  p.  298. 

*Shak.  Mind  and  Art,   p.  284. 


THE   POLITICS   OF    THE   PLAYS.  ,— 

the  judgment  of  average  men  he  despised,  as  a  thinker,  a  politician  and  a  courtier; 
the  "malignity  of  the  people"  he  thought  great.  "  I  do  not  love,"  he  said,  "the 
word  people."     But  he  had  a  high  idea  of  what  was  worthy  of  a  king. 

II.     He  Despised  the  Class  to  which  Shakspere  Belonged. 

Shakespeare  calls  the  laboring  people: 

Mechanic  slaves.1 

The  fool  multitude  that  choose  by  showr, 

Not  learning,  more  than  the  fond  eye  doth  teach.2 

The  inundation  of  mistempered  humor.' 

The  rude  multitude.* 

The  multitude  of  hinds  and  peasants.5 

The  base  vulgar.  • 

O  base  and  obscure  vulgar.7 

Base  peasants.8 

A  habitation  giddy  and  unsure 

Hath  he  that  buildeth  on  the  vulgar  heart.1 

A  sort  of  vagabonds,  rascals  and  run-aways, 

A  scum  of  Bretagnes,  and  base  lackey  peasants."1 

The  blunt  monster  with  uncounted  heads. 
The  still  discordant,  wavering  multitude.11 

We  shall  see  hereafter  that  nearly  every  one  of  the  Shakespeare 

Plays  was  written   to  inculcate  some  special  moral  argument;  to 

preach  a  lesson  to  the  people  that  might  advantage  them.     Coriolanus 

seems  to  have  been  written  to  create  a  wall  and  barrier  of  public 

opinion  against  that  movement  towards  popular  government  which 

not  long  after  his  death  plunged  England  into  a  long  and  bloody  civil 

wrar.     The  whole  argument  of  the  play  is  the  unfitness  of  a  mob  to 

govern  a  state.     Hence  all  through  the  play  we  find  such  expressions 

as  these: 

The  plebeian  multitude. ,a 

You  common  cry  of  curs.18 

The  mutable,  rank-scented  many.14 

You  are  they 

That  made  the  air  unwholesome,  when  you  cast 
Your  stinking,  greasy  caps,  in  hooting  at 
Coriolanus'  exile.15 

^■Antony  and  Cleopatra,  v,  2.  6  Loves  Labor  Lost,  i,  2.  n  2d  Henry  IV.,  Ind. 

2  Merchant  of  Venice,  ii,  9.  '  Ibid.,  iv,  1.  12  Coriolanus,  ii,  1. 

3  King  John,  v,  1.  B  2d  Henry  VI.,  iv,  8.  13  Ibid.,  iii,  3. 

4  2d  Henry  VI.  iii,  2.  9  2d  Henry  IV.,  i,  3.  u  Ibid.,  iv,  8. 

5  Ibid.,  iv,  4.  10  Richard  III.,  v,  3.  1S  Coriolanus.  iv,  6. 

OF  THE 

*iVER8nry 

\  or 


I76  FRANCIS   BACON    THE   AUTHOR    OF    THE    PLAYS. 

Again  he  alludes  to  the  plebeians  as  "those  measles"  whose 
contact  would  " tetter"  him. 

III.     He  Despises  Tradesmen  of  All  Kinds. 

Hut  this  contempt  of  the  writer  of  the  Plays  was  not  confined 
to  the  mob.     It  extended  to  all  trades-people.     He  says: 

Let  me  have  no  lying;  it  becomes  none  but  tradesmen.1 

We  turn  to  Bacon,  and  we  find  him  referring  to  the  common 

people  as  a  scum.     The  same  word  is  used  in  Shakespeare.     Bacon 

speaks  of 

The  vulgar,  to  whom  nothing  moderate  is  grateful.3 

This  is  the  same  thought  we  find  in  Shakespeare  : 

What  would  you  have,  you  curs, 
That  like  nor  peace  nor  war?3 

Who  deserves  greatness, 
Deserves  your  hate;  and  your  affections  are 
A  sick  man's  appetite,  who  desires  most  that 
Which  would  increase  his  evil.4 

Again  Bacon  says: 

The  ignorant  and  rude  multitude.5 

If  fame  be  from  the  common  people,  it  is  commonly  false  and  naught.6 

This  is  very  much  the  thought  expressed  in  Shakespeare: 


The  fool  multitude  that  choose  by  show, 

Not  learning,  more  than  the  fond  eye  doth  teach.7 


And  also  in 


He's  loved  of  the  distracted  multitude, 

Who  like  not  in  their  judgments,  but  their  eyes.8 

Bacon  says: 

For  in  all  times,  in  the  opinion  of  the  multitude,  witches  and  old  women  and 
impostors  have  had  a  competition  with  physicians.9 

And  again  he  says: 

The  envious  and  malignant  disposition  of  the  vulgar,  for  when  fortune's  favor- 
ites and  great  potentates  come  to  ruin,  then  do  the  common  people  rejoice,  setting, 
as  it  were,  a  crown  upon  the  head  of  revenge.10 

1  Winter  s  Tale,  iv,  3.  6  Essay  Of  Praise. 

3  Wisdom  0/  the  Ancients  —  Diomedes.  '  Merchant  of  Venice,  ii,  9. 

3  Coriolanus,  i,  1.  *  Hamlet,  iv,  3. 

4  Ibid.,  i,  1.  9  Advancement  0/ Learning,  book  ii. 
6  Wisdom  0/  the  A  ncients.  10  Wisdom  0/ the  A  ncients  —  Nemesis. 


THE   POLITICS   OF    THE   PLAYS.  ,77 

And  again  he  says: 

The  nature  of  the  vulgar,  always  swollen  and  malignant,  still  broaching  new 
scandals  against  superiors;  .  .  .  the  same  natural  disposition  of  the  people  still 
leaning  to  the  viler  sort,  being  impatient  of  peace  and  tranquillity.1 

Says  Shakespeare: 

That  like  not  peace  nor  war.'2 

And  Bacon  says  again: 

He  would,  never  endure  that  the  base  multitude  should  frustrate  the  authority 
of  Parliament.3 

See  how  the  same  words  are  employed  by  both.     Bacon  says- 

The  base  multitude. 

Shakespeare  says: 

The  rude  multitude — the  base  vulgar.4 

And  the  word  malignant  is  a  favorite  with  both.  Shakespeare 
says: 

Thou  liest,  malignant  thing  ! 

Malignant  death.5 

A  malignant  and  turbaned  Turk.6 
Bacon  says: 

The  envious  and  malignant  disposition. 
The  vulgar  always  swollen  and  malignant. 

Shakespeare  says: 

The  swollen  surge.7 

Such  swollen  and  hot  discourse.8 

But  it  must  be  remembered  that  Bacon  was  brought  up  as  an 
aristocrat  —  connected  by  blood  with  the  greatest  men  of  the  king- 
dom; born  in  a  royal  palace,  York  Place;  son  of  Elizabeth's  Lord 
Chancellor.  And  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that  the  populace  of 
London  of  that  day  had  but  lately  emerged  from  barbarism; 
they  were  untaught  in  habits  of  self-government;  worshiping  the 
court,  sycophantic  to  everything  above  them;  unlettered,  rude, 
and  barbarous;  and  were,  indeed,  very  different  from  the  popu- 
lace of  the  civilized  world  to-day.  They  doubtless  deserved 
much  of  the  unlimited  contempt  which  Bacon  showered  upon 
them. 

1  Wisdom  of  the  Ancients.  4  Tempest,  i,  2.  7  Tempest,  ii,  1- 

2  Coriolanus,  i,  1.  5  Richard  III.,  ii,  a  8  Troilus  and  Cressiu^.    ..    3. 

3  History  of  Henry  VII.  «  Othello,  v,  2. 


j78  FRANCIS   HA  COX    THE  AUTHOR   OF    THE  PLAYS. 

IV.     Hk  was    \i    the  Same  Time   a  Philanthropist. 

But  while  the  writer  of  the  Plays  feared  the  mob  and  despised 
the  trades-people,  with  the  inborn  contempt  of  an  aristocrat,  he  had  a 
broad  philanthropy  which  took  in  the  whole  human  family,  and  his 
heart  went  out  with  infinite  pity  to  the  wretched  and  the  suffering. 

Swinburne  says: 

In  Lear  we  have  evidence  of  a  sympathy  with  the  mass  of  social  misery  more 
wide  and  deep  and  direct  and  bitter  and  tender  than  Shakespeare  has  shown  else- 
where. ...  A  poet  of  revolution  he  is  not,  as  none  of  his  country  in  that  genera- 
ation  could  have  been ;  but  as  surely  as  the  author  of  Julius  Ccesar  has  approved 
himself  in  the  best  and  highest  sense  of  the  word  at  least  potentially  a  republican, 
so  surely  has  the  author  of  King  Lear  avowed  himself,  in  the  only  good  and 
rational  sense  of  the  word,  a  spiritual  if  not  a  political  democrat  and  socialist.1 

While  Bacon's  intellect  would  have  revolted  from  such  a  hell- 
dance  of  the  furies  as  the  French  Reign  of  Terror,  whose  excesses 
were  not  due  to  anything  inherent  in  self-government,  but  to  the 
degeneration  of  mankind,  caused  by  ages  of  royal  despotism;  and 
while  he  abominated  the  acrid  bigotry  of  the  men  of  his  own  age, 
with  whom  liberty  meant  the  right  to  burn  those  who  differed  from 
them:  his  sympathies  were  nevertheless  upon  the  side  of  an  orderly, 
well-regulated,  intelligent  freedom,  and  strongly  upon  the  side  of 
everything  that  would  lift  man  out  of  his  miseries. 

Says  Swinburne: 

Brutus  is  the  very  noblest  figure  of  a  typical  and  ideal  republican  in  all  the 
literature  of  the  world. - 

Bacon  was  ready  to  stand  up  against  the  whole  power  of  Queen 

Elizabeth,  and,  as  a  member  of  Parliament,  defended  the  rights  of 

that  great  body,  even  to  the  detriment  of  his  own  fortunes;  but  he 

did  not  believe,  as  he  says  in  his  History  of  Henry  VII.,  that  "  the 

base  multitude   should   control   Parliament  "  any    more    than    the 

Queen.     And  he  gives  us  the  same  sentiment  in   Coriolanus.     Men- 

enius  Agrippa,  after  telling  the  incensed  Roman  populace  the  fable 

of   The  Belly  and  the  Members,  draws  this  moral: 

The  senators  of  Rome  are  this  good  belly, 
And  you  the  mutinous  members.   .   .   . 
You  shall  find 
No  public  benefit  which  you  receive 
But  it  proceeds,  or  comes,  from  them  to  you, 
I  nd  no  way  from  yourselves. 3 

1  Swinburne,  A  Stwx    of  Shak.,  p.  175.  >  Ibid.,  p.  1 59.  3  Coriotanus,  i,  1. 


THE   POLITICS   OF    THE   PLAYS.  179 

And  he  teaches  us  an  immortal  lesson  in  Troilus  and  Cressida; 

Then  everything  includes  itself  in  power, 
Power  into  will,  will  into  appetite: 
And  appetite,  an  universal  wolf. 
So  doubly  seconded  with  will  and  power, 
Must  make  perforce  an  universal  prey, 
And  last,  eat  up  itself. 

And  in  Hamlet  he  says: 

By  the  Lord,  Horatio,  these  three  years  I  have  taken  notice  of  it;  the  age  is 
grown  so  picked,  that  the  toe  of  the  peasant  comes  so  near  the  heel  of  the  courtier 
that  he  galls  his  kibe.1 

Here  we  have  one  of  Bacon's  premonitions  of  the  coming  tem- 
pest which  so  soon  broke  over  England;  or,  as  he  expresses  it  in 
Richard  III.: 

Before  the  days  of  change,  still  it  is  so; 
By  a  divine  instinct,  men's  minds  mistrust 
Ensuing  danger;  as,  by  proof,  we  see 
The  water  swell  before  a  boisterous  storm. ■ 

And  again: 

And  in  such  indexes,  although  small  pricks 
To  their  subsequent  volumes,  there  is  seen 
The  baby  figure  of  the  giant  mass 
Of  things  to  come  at  large.3 

Here,  then,  was  indeed  a  strange  compound:  —  an  aristocrat 
that  despised  the  mob  and  the  work-people,  but  who,  nevertheless, 
loved  liberty;  who  admired  the  free  oligarchy  of  Rome,  and  hated 
the  plebeians  who  asked  for  the  same  liberty  their  masters  en- 
joyed; and  who,  while  despising  the  populace,  grieved  over  their 
miseries  and  would  have  relieved  them.     We  read  in  Lear: 

Take  physic,  pomp; 
Expose  thyself  to  feel  what  wretches  feel: 
So  may  st  thou  shake  the  super jlux  to  them, 
And  show  the  heavens  more  just. 

And  again: 

Heavens,  deal  so  still ! 
Let  the  superfluous  and  lust-dieted  man, 
That  slaves  your  ordinance,  that  will  not  see 
Because  he  does  not  feel,  feel  your  power  quickly;    • 
So  distribution  should  undo  excess. 
And  each  man  have  enough. 

And  we  turn  to  Bacon,  and  we  find  that  through  his  whole  life 
the  one  great  controlling  thought  which  directed  all  his  labors  was 

1  Hamlet,  v,  i.  2  Richard  III.,  ii,  3.  3  Troilus  and  Cressida,  i,  3. 


180  FRANCIS  BACON    THE   AUTHOR    OF    THE   PLAYS. 

a    belief    that   God    had    created    him    to    help  his    fellow-men    U> 

greater  comfort  and  happiness. 

He  says: 

Believing  that  1  was  born  for  the  service  of  mankind,  and  regarding  the  care  of 
the  commonwealth  as  a  kind  of  common  property,  which,  like  the  air  and  water, 
belongs  to  everybody,  I  set  myself  to  consider  in  what  way  mankind  might  be  best 
served.* 

Again  he  says: 

This  work,  which  is  for  the  bettering  of  men's  bread  and  wine,  which  are  the 
characters  of  temporal  blessings  and  sacraments  of  eternal,  I  hope,  by  God's  holy 
providence,  may  be  ripened  by  Caesar's  star.2 

Again  he  says: 

The  state  and  bread  of  the  poor  and  oppressed  have  been  precious  in  mine 
eyes:  I  have  hated  all  cruelty  and  hardness  of  heart.3 

And  in  one  of  his  prayers  he  says: 

To  God  the  Father,  God  the  Word,  God  the  Holy  Ghost,  I  address  my  most 
humble  and  ardent  prayers,  that,  mindful  of  the  miseries  of  man,  and  of  this  pil- 
grimage of  life,  of  which  the  days  are  few  and  evil,  they  would  open  up  yet  new 
sources  of  refreshment  from  the  fountains  of  good  for  the  alleviation  of  our 
sorrows.* 

He  also  says  that  any  man  who  "  kindleth  a  light  in  nature," 
by  new  thoughts  or  studies,  "  seems  to  me  to  be  a  propagator  of 
the  empire  of  man  over  the  universe,  a  defender  of  liberty,  a  con- 
queror of  necessities."  5 

It  would  be  indeed  strange  if  two  men  in  the  same  age  should 
hold  precisely  the  same  political  views,  with  all  these  peculiar 
shadings  and  modifications.  It  would  be  indeed  strange  if  the 
butcher's  apprentice  of  Stratford  should  be  filled  with  the  most 
aristocratic  prejudices  against  the  common  people;  if  the  "vassal 
actor,"  who  was  legally  a  vagabond,  and  liable  to  the  stocks  and 
to  branding  and  imprisonment,  unless  he  practiced  his  degraded 
calling  under  the  shadow  of  some  nobleman's  name,  should  bubble 
over  with  contempt  for  the  tradesmen  who  were  socially  his 
superiors.  And  it  would  be  still  stranger  if  this  butcher's  appren- 
tice, while  cringing  to  a  class  he  did  not  belong  to,  and  insulting 
the  class  he  did  belong  to,  would  be  so  filled  with  pity  for  the 
wretchedness  of  the  many,  that  he  was  ready  to  advocate  a  redis- 

1  Preface  to  The  Interpretation  of  Nature.  4  The  Masculine  Birth  of  Time. 

2  Letter  to  the  King.  5  The  Interpretation  of  Nature. 

3  Prayer  while  Lord  Chancellor. 


THE   POLITICS   OF    THE    PLAYS.  !8T 

tribution  of  the  goods  of  the  world,  so  that  each  man  might  have 
enough! 

V.     The  Writer  of  the  Plays  Belonged,  like  Bacon,  to  the 

Essex  Faction. 

But  we  go  a  step  farther.  While  we  find  this  complete  identity 
between  the  views  of  Bacon  and  the  writer  of  the  Plays  as  to  the 
generalities  of  political  thought,  we  will  see  that  they  both  belonged 
to  the  same  political  faction  in  the  state. 

It  is  well  known  that  Bacon  was  an  adherent  of  the  Essex  party 
and  opposed  to  the  party  of  his  uncle  Burleigh,  who  had  suppressed 
him  all  through  the  reign  of  Elizabeth.  These  two  factions 
divided  the  politics  of  the  latter  portion  of  Elizabeth's  reign. 
The  first  gathered  to  itself  all  the  discontented  elements  of 
the  kingdom,  the  young  men,  the  able,  the  adventurous,  who  flocked 
to  Essex  as  to  the  cave  of  Adullam.  They  were  in  favor  of  brilliant 
courses,  of  wars,  of  adventures;  as  opposed  to  "  the  canker  of  a  calm 
world  and  a  long  peace,"  advocated  by  the  great  Lord  Treasurer. 
Bacon  was  undoubtedly  for  years  the  brains  of  this  party. 

The  writer  of  the  Plays  belonged  to  this  party  also.  He  was  a 
member  of  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  company  of  actors.  The  Lord 
Chamberlain's  theater  represented  the  aristocratic  side  of  public 
questions;  the  Lord  Admiral's  company  (Henslowe's)  the  plebeian 
side:  the  one  was  patronized  by  the  young  bloods,  the  gallants;  the 
other  by  the  tradesmen  and  'prentices.  It  was  a  time  when,  in  the 
words  of  Simpson, 

The  civil  and  military  elements  were  pleading  for  precedence  at  the  national 
bar:  the  one  advocating  age  and  wisdom  in  council  and  industry  and  obedience  in 
the  nation;  the  other  crying  out  for  youthful  counsel,  a  dashing  policy,  a  military 
organization  and  an  offensive  war.  The  one  was  the  party  of  the  Cecils,  the  other 
that  of  the  Earl  of  Essex. ' 

Riimelin  argues  that 

Shakespeare  wrote  f or  the  jeunesse  dore'e  of  the  Elizabethan  theater,  and  that  he 
already  saw  the  Royalist  and  Roundhead  parties  in  process  of  formation,  and  was 
opposed  to  the  Puritan  bourgeoisie.  Shakespeare  was  a  pure  Royalist,  and  an 
adherent  of  the  purest  water  to  the  court  party  and  the  nobles. 

The  relations  of  Shakespeare  to  Essex,  as  manifested  in  the 
Plays,  were  as  close  as  those  of  Bacon.     Simpson  says  of  the  play 

1  School  of  Sh a k..  vol.  i,  p.  155. 


!82  FRANCIS  BACON    THE   AUTHOR   OF    THE  PLAYS. 

of  Sir  Thomas  Stuckley,  which   he  believes  to  have  been  an  early 

work  of  Shakspere: 

The  play  is  a  glorification  of  Stuckley  as  an  idol  of  the  military  or  Essex  party, 
to  which  Shakspere  is  known  to  have  leant.  .  .  .  The  character  of  Lord  Sycophant, 
contained  therein,  is  a  stinging  satire  on  Essex '  (Shakspere's  hero  and  patron)  great 
enemy,  Lord  Cobham.1 

Speaking  of  the  Plays  which  appeared  at  Shakspere's  theater, 

Simpson  says: 

When  we  regard  them  as  a  whole,  those  of  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  company 
are  characterized  by  common  sense,  moderation,  naturalness,  and  the  absence  of 
bombast,  and  by  a  great  artistic  liberty  of  form,  of  matter  and  of  criticism;  at  the 
same  time  they  favor  liberty  in  politics  and  toleration  in  religion,  and  are  consist- 
ently opposed  to  the  Cecilian  ideal  in  policy,  while  they  as  consistently  favor  that 
school  to  which  Essex  is  attached.  2 

And  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that  these  striking  admissions  are 
made  by  one  who  had  not  a  doubt  that  Shakspere  was  Shake- 
speare. 

When  we  turn  to  the  Plays  we  find  a  distinct  attempt  to  glorify 
Essex.     Camden  says: 

About  the  end  of  March  (1599)  the  Earl  of  Essex  set  forward  for  Ireland,  and 
was  accompanied  out  of  London  with  a  fine  appearance  of  nobility  and  gentry, 
and  the  most  cheerful  huzzas  of  the  common  people. 

Essex    returned    to  London  on  the   28th  of    September  of  the 

same  year;  and  in  the  meantime  appeared  the  play  of  Henry   V.r 

and  in  the  chorus  of  the  fifth  act  we  have  these  words: 

But  now  behold, 
In  the  quick  forge  and  working-house  of  thought, 
How  London  doth  pour  out  her  citizens  ! 
The  mayor  and  all  his  brethren,  in  best  sort  — 
Like  to  the  senators  of  antique  Rome, 
With  the  plebeians  swarming  at  their  heels  — 
Go  forth  and  fetch  their  conquering  Caesar  in: 
As,  by  a  lower  but  by  loving  likelihood, 
Were  now  the  general  of  our  gracious  empress, 
(As  in  good  time  he  may),  from  Ireland  coming, 
Bringing  rebellion  broached  on  his  sword, 
How  many  would  the  peaceful  city  quit 
To  welcome  him  ? 

The  play  of  2d  Henry  IV.  and  that  of  Henry  V.  constitute  a  deifi- 
cation of  military  greatness;  and  the  representation  of  that  splen- 
did English  victory,  Agincourt —  the  Waterloo  of  the  olden  age  — 
was  meant  to  fire  the  blood  of  the  London  audiences  with  admira- 

1  School 0/  S/iak.,  vol.  i,  p.  10.  3Ibid.,  vol.  i,  p.  19. 


THE    TO  LI  TICS   Of    THE    TLA  VS. 


83 


tion  for   that  spirit  of   military  adventure  of   which  Essex   was  the 
type  and  representative. 

Neither  must  it  be  forgotten  that  it  was  Southampton,  the 
bosom  friend  of  Essex,  who  shared  with  him  in  his  conspiracy  to 
seize  the  person  of  the  Queen,  and  who  nearly  shared  the  block 
with  him,  remaining  in  the  Tower  until  after  the  death  of  Eliza- 
beth. And  it  was  to  Southampton  that  Shakespeare  dedicated 
Venus  and  Adonis  and  The  Rape  of  Lucrece.  Bacon  was  the  inti- 
mate friend  and  correspondent  of  Southampton  ;  they  were  both 
members  of  the  law-school  of  Gray's  Inn,  and  Shakespeare  dedi- 
cated his  poems  to  him. 

VI.     The  Writer  of  the  Plays,  like  Bacon,  Hated  Coke. 

If  there  was  any  one  man  whom,  above  all  others,  Bacon  despised 
and  disliked  it  was  that  great  but  brutal  lawyer,  Coke.  And  in  the 
Plays  we  find  a  distinct  reference  to  Coke: 

Sir  Toby.  Go  write  it  in  a  martial  hand,  be  curst  and  brief;  .  .  .  taunt  him 
with  the  license  of  ink:  if  thou  thou  st  him  some  thrice  it  shall  not  be  amiss.  .  .  . 
Let  there  be  gall  enough  in  thy  ink  though  thou  write  with  a  goose  pen,  no  matter.1 

Theobald  and  Knight,  and  all  the  other  commentators,  agree 
that  this  is  an  allusion  to  Coke's  virulent  speech  against  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh,  on  the  trial  for  treason.  The  Attorney-General  exclaimed 
to  Sir  Walter: 

All  he  did  was  by  thy  instigation,  thou  viper;  for  I  thou  thee,  thou  traitor. 

Here  is  the  thou  thrice  used.  Theobald  says  it  shows  Shake- 
speare's "detestation  of  Coke." 

Let  us  pass  to  another  consideration. 

VII.     The  Writer   of   the   Plays,   like   Bacon,    Disliked   Lord 

Cobham. 

Lord  Cobham  was  one  of  the  chief  enemies  of  Essex.  Spedding 
says: 

About  the  same  time  another  quarrel  arose  upon  the  appointment  of  the  ward- 
enship  of  the  Cinque  Ports,  vacant  by  the  death  of  Lord  Cobham,  whose  eldest 
son,  an  enemy  of  the  Earl,  was  one  of  the  competitors.  Essex  wished  Sir  Robert 
Sydney  to  have  the  place,  but,  finding  the  Queen  resolute  in  favor  of  the  new  Lord 
Cobham,  and  "  seeing  he  is  likely  to  carry  it  away,  I  mean  (said  the  Earl)  resolutely 
to  stand  for  it  myself  against  him.   .   .  .  My  Lord  Treasurer  is  come  to  court,  and 

» 

1  Twelfth  Xight,  iii,  1. 


!84  FRANCIS  BACON    THE   AUTHOR   OF    THE  PLAYS. 

we  sat  in  council  this  afternoon  in  his  chamber.  I  made  it  known  unto  them 
that  I  had  just  cause  to  hate  the  Lord  Cobham,  for  his  villainous  dealing  and  abus- 
ing of  me;  that  he  hath  been  my  chief  persecutor  most  unjustly;  that  in  him  there 
is  no  worth." ' 

This  was  in  the  year  1597. 

And  when  we  turn  to  the  Plays  we  find  that  the  writer  sought 
to  cover  the  family  of  Lord  Cobham  with  disgrace  and  ridicule. 
Halliwell-Phillipps  says: 

The  first  part  of  Henry  IV.,  the  appearance  of  which  on  the  stage  may  be  con- 
fidently assigned  to  the  spring  of  the  year  1397,  was  followed  immediately,  or  a  few 
months  afterward,  by  the  composition  of  the  second  part.  It  is  recorded  that  both 
these  plays  were  very  favorably  received  by  Elizabeth;  the  Queen  especially  relish- 
ing the  character  of  Falstaff,  and  they  were  most  probably  amongst  the  dramas 
represented  before  that  sovereign  in  the  Christmas  holidays  of  1597-8.  At  this 
time,  or  then  very  recently,  the  renowned  hero  of  the  Boar's  Head  Tavern  had 
been  introduced  as  Sir  John  Oldcastle,  but  the  Queen  ordered  Shakespeare  to  alter 
the  name  of  the  character.  This  step  was  taken  in  consequence  of  the  representa- 
tions of  some  member  or  members  of  the  Cobham  family,  who  had  taken  offense  at 
their  illustrious  ancestor,  Sir  John  Oldcastle,  Lord  Cobham,  the  Protestant  martyr, 
being  disparagingly  introduced  on  the  stage;  and,  accordingly,  in  or  before  the  Feb- 
ruary of  the  following  year,  Falstaff  took  the  place  of  Oldcastle,  the  former  being 
probably  one  of  the  few  names  invented  by  Shakespeare.  .  .  .  The  subject,  how- 
ever, was  viewed  by  the  Cobhams  in  a  very  serious  light.  This  is  clearly  shown, 
not  merely  by  the  action  taken  by  the  Queen,  but  by  the  anxiety  exhibited  by 
Shakespeare,  in  the  Epilogue  to  the  second  part,  to  place  the  matter  beyond  all 
doubt,  by  the  explicit  declaration  that  there  was  in  Falstaff  no  kind  of  association, 
satirical  or  otherwise,  with  the  martyr  Oldcastle.2 

The  language  of  the  Epilogue  is: 

One  word  more,  I  beseech  you.  If  you  be  not  too  much  cloyed  with  fat  meat, 
our  humble  author  will  continue  the  story,  with  Sir  John  in  it,  and  make  you 
merry  with  fair  Katharine  of  France,  where,  for  anything  I  know,  Falstaff  shall 
die  of  a  sweat,  unless  already  he  be  killed  with  your  hard  opinions;  for  Oldcastle 
died  a  martyr,  and  this  is  not  the  man. 

And  yet,  there  seems  to  have  been  a  purpose,  despite  this 
retraction,  to  affix  the  stigma  of  Falstaff's  disreputable  career  to 
the  ancestor  of  the  Cobham  family;  for  in  the  first  part  of  Henry 
IV.  we  find  this  expression: 

Falstaff.  Thou  say'st  true,  lad.  And  is  not  my  hostess  of  the  tavern  a  most 
sweet  wench? 

Prince  Henry.     As  the  honey  of  Hybla,  my  old  lad  of  the  Castle.3 

Says  Knight,  as  a  foot-note  upon  this  sentence: 

The  passage  in  the  text  has  given  rise  to  the  notion  that  Sir  John  Oldcastle 
was  pointed  at  in  the  character  of  Falstaff. 

1  Letters  and  Life,  vol.  ii,  p.  48.  2  Outlines  Life  0/  Shak.,  p.  98.  3  Act  ii,  scene  2. 


THE    POLITICS    OF    THE    PLAYS. 


185 


Oldvs  remarks: 


Upon  whom  does  the  horsing  of  a  dead  corpse  on  Falstaff's  back  reflect? 
Whose  honor  suffers,  in  his  being  forced,  by  the  unexpected  surprise  of  his  armed 
plunderers,  to  surrender  his  treasure?  Whose  policy  is  impeached  by  his  creeping 
into  a  bucking  basket  to  avoid  the  storms  of  a  jealous  husband? 

Fuller  says,  in  his  Church  History: 

Stage-poets  have  themselves  been  very  bold  with,  and  others  very  merry  at, 
the  memory  of  Sir  John  Oldcastle,  whom  they  have  fancied  a  boon  companion, 
a  jovial  royster,  and  a  coward  to  boot.  The  best  is,  Sir  John  Falstaff  hath 
relieved  the  memory  of  Sir  John  Oldcastle,  and  of  late  is  substituted  buffoon 
in  his  place. 

It  seems  to  me,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  author  of  the 
Plays  disliked  the  Cobham  family,  and  sought  to  degrade  them,  by- 
bringing  their  ancestor  on  the  stage,  in  the  guise  of  a  disreputable, 
thieving,  cowardly  old  rascal,  who  is  thumped,  beaten  and  cast 
into  the  Thames  "like  a  litter  of  blind  puppies."  And  even  when 
compelled  by  the  Queen  to  change  the  name  of  the  character,  the 
writer  of  the  Plays  puts  into  the  mouth  of  Prince  Hal  the  expres- 
sion, "My  old  lad  of  the  castle,"  to  intimate  to  the  multitude  that 
Falstaff  was  still,  despite  his  change  of  name,  Sir  John  Oldcastle, 
the  ancestor  of  the  enemy  of  Bacon's  great  friend  and  patron,  the 
Earl  of  Essex. 

VIII.      The    Writer    of    the    Plays    was    Hostile    to    Queen 

Elizabeth. 

Let  us  turn  to  another  point. 

We  have  seen  that  the  writer  of  the  Plays  was,  by  his  family 
traditions  and  alliances,  and  his  political  surroundings,  a  Protest- 
ant. Being  such,  it  would  follow  that  he  would  be  an  admirer 
of  Elizabeth,  the  representative  and  bulwark  of  Protestantism  in 
England  and  on  the  continent.  But  we  find  that,  for  some 
reason,  this  Protestant  did  not  love  Elizabeth;  and  although  he 
sugars  her  over  with  compliments  in  Henry  VIII.,  just  as  Bacon 
did  in  his  letters,  and  probably  in  his  sonnets,  yet  there  was 
beneath  this  fair  show  of  flattery  a  purpose  to  deal  her  most 
deadly  blows. 

If  the  divorce  of  Henry  VIII.  was  based  on  vicious  and  adulter- 
ous motives,  the  marriage  of  the  King  with  Anne  Boleyn  was  dis- 
creditable, to  say  the  least.     And  remembering  this  we  find  that 


,86  FRANCIS  BACON    THE   AUTHOR    OF    THE   PLAYS. 

the  play  represents  Anne  as  a  frivolous  person  to  whom  the  King 

was  drawn  by  his  passions. 

We  read: 

Suffolk.     How  is  the  King  employed  ? 

Chamberlain.     I  left  him  private, 

Full  of  sad  thoughts  and  troubles. 

Norfolk.     What's  the  cause  ? 

Chamberlain.     It  seems,  the  marriage  with  his  brother's  wife 

Has  crept  too  near  his  conscience. 

Suffolk.     No,  his  conscience 

Has  crept  too  near  another  lady. 

Norfolk.  Tis  so; 

This  is  the  Cardinal's  doing.1 

Birch  says: 

The  scene  between  the  Old  Lady  and  Anne  Boleyn  seems  introduced  to  make 
people  laugh  at  the  hypocrisy  and  Protestant  conscience  of  Anne,  mixed  up  with 
the  indecency  abjured  in  the  prologue.2 

The  Old  Lady  says: 

And  so  would  you 
For  all  this  spice  of  your  hypocrisy: 
You  that  have  so  fair  parts  of  woman  on  you, 
Have  too  a  woman's  heart;  which  ever  yet 
Affected  eminence,  wealth,  sovereignty; 
Which,  to  say  sooth,  are  blessings;  and  which  gifts, 
(Saving  your  mincing),  the  capacity 
Of  your  soft  cheveril  conscience  would  receive 
If  you  might  please  to  stretch  it.3 

Knight  argues  that  the  play  could  not  have  been  produced  dur- 
ing the  reign  of  Elizabeth.     He  says: 

The  memory  of  Henry  VIII.,  perhaps,  was  not  cherished  by  her  with  any  deep 
affection;  but  would  she,  who  in  her  dying  hour  is  reported  to  have  said,  "My 
seat  has  been  the  seat  of  kings,"  allow  the  frailties,  and  even  the  peculiarities  of  her 
father,  to  be  made  a  public  spectacle?  Would  she  have  borne  that  his  passion  for 
her  mother  should  have  been  put  forward  in  the  strongest  way  by  the  poet  —  that 
is,  in  the  sequence  of  the  dramatic  action  —  as  the  impelling  motive  for  the  divorce 
from  Katharine?  Would  she  have  endured  that  her  father  .  .  .  should  be  repre- 
sented in  the  depth  of  his  hypocrisy  gloating  over  his  projected  divorce  with — 

But  conscience,  conscience,  — 
Oh!  'tis  a  tender  place,  and  I  must  leave  her? 

Would  she  have  been  pleased  with  the  jests  of  the  Old  Lady  to  Anne,  upon  her 
approaching  elevation  —  her  title  —  her  "thousand  pound  a  year" — and  all  to  be 
instantly  succeeded  by  the  trial-scene  —  that  magnificent  exhibition  of  the  purity, 
the  constancy,  the  fortitude,  the  grandeur  of  soul,  the  self-possession  of  the  "most 
poor  woman  and  a  stranger"  that  her  mother  had  supplanted  ? 

'  Act  ii,  scene  2.  3  Philosophy  and  Religion  0/  Shah.,  p.  346.  *  Henry  I  7/7.,  ii,  3. 


THE   POLITICS   OF    THE   PLA  VS. 


187 


Nothing  could  be  grander  than  the  light  in  which  Katharine  is 
set.     Henry  himself  says: 

Thou  art,  alone, 
(If  thy  rare  qualities,  sweet  gentleness, 
Thy  meekness  saint-like,  wife-like  government  — 
Obeying  in  commanding — and  thy  parts 
Sovereign  and  pious  else,  could  speak  thee  out), 
The  queen  of  earthly  queens.1 

Anne  is  made  to  say  of  her: 

Here's  the  pang  that  pinches. 
His  highness  having  lived  so  long  with  her;  and  she 
So  good  a  lady,  that  no  tongue  could  ever 
Pronounce  dishonor  of  her  —  by  my  life 
She  never  knew  harm-doing  .   .   .  after  this  process 
To  give  her  the  avaunt !  it  is  a  pity 
Would  move  a  monster? 

And  then  we  have  that  scene,  declared  by  Dr.  Johnson  to 
be  the  grandest  Shakespeare  ever  wrote,  in  which  angels  come 
upon  the  stage,  and,  in  the  midst  of  heavenly  music,  crown 
Katharine  with  a  garland  of  saintship,  the  angelic  visitors  bow- 
ing to  her: 

Katharine.     Saw  you  not,  even  now,  a  blessed  troupe 

Invite  me  to  a  banquet,  whose  bright  faces 

Cast  thousand  beams  upon  me  like  the  sun  ? 

They  promised  me  eternal  happiness, 

And  brought  me  garlands,  Griffith,  which  I  feel 

I  am  not  worthy  yet  to  wear;  I  shall 

Assuredly.3 

In  the  epilogue  Shakespeare  says: 

I  fear 
All  the  expected  good  we're  like  to  hear 
For  this  play  at  this  time,  is  only  in 
The  merciful  construction  of  good  women, 
For  such  a  one  we  showed  them. 

Upon  this  Birch  says: 

This  was  honest  in  Shakespeare.  He  did  not  put  the  success  of  the  play  upon 
the  flattery  of  the  great  or  of  Protestant  prejudices,  but  upon  the  exhibition  of  one 
good  woman,  of  the  opposite  party,  a  Roman  Catholic,  a  Spaniard,  and  the 
mother  of  bloody  Mary. 

In  fact,  Shakespeare,  strange  to  say,  introduces   into   the  play 

high  praise  of  this  same  "  bloody  Mary,"  long  after  she  was  dead 

and  her  sect  powerless.     He  puts  it  in  the  mouth  of  Queen  Kath- 

1  Henry  VIII..  ii,  4.  2  Ibid.,  ii,  3.  :I  Act  iv,  scene  2. 


i88  FRANCIS   BACON    THE   AUTHOR   OF    THE    PE4YS. 

arine,  who,  telling  Capucius  the  contents  of  her  last  letter  to  the 

King,  says: 

In  which  I  have  commended  to  his  goodness 

The  model  of  our  chaste  loves,  his  young  daughter: 

The  dews  of  heaven  fall  thick  in  blessings  on  her ! 

Beseeching  him  to  give  her  virtuous  breeding; 

(She  is  young  and  of  a  noble,  modest  nature; 

I  hope  she  will  deserve  well);  and  a  little 

To  love  her  for  her  mother's  sake,  that  loved  him 

Heaven  knows  how  dearly. 

The  words  of  praise  of  Mary  are  not  found  in  the  letter  which 
Katharine  actually  sent  to  the  King:  they  are  an  interpolation  of  the 
poet ! 

If  Henry  put  away  his  true  wife,  not  for  any  real  scruples  of 
conscience,  but  simply  from  an  unbridled,  lustful  desire  to  possess 
the  young  and  beautiful  but  frivolous  Anne;  and  if  to  reach  this  end 
he  overrode  the  limitations  of  the  church  to  which  he  belonged, 
then,  indeed,  Elizabeth  was  little  more  than  the  bastard  which  her 
enemies  gave  her  out.  A  play  written  to  make  a  saint  of  Katharine, 
and  a  sensual  brute  of  Henry,  could  certainly  bring  only  shame 
and  disgrace  to  Anne  and  her  daughter. 

What  motive  could  the  man  of  Stratford  have  to  thus  contrive 
debasement  for  Elizabeth's  memory?  Why  should  he  follow  her 
beyond  the  grave  for  revenge  ?  What  wrongs  had  she  inflicted  on 
him?  He  came  to  London  a  poor  outcast;  during  her  reign  he 
had  risen  to  wealth  and  respectability.  If  tradition  is  to  be 
believed,  she  had  noticed  and  honored  him.  What  grievance 
could  he  carry  away  with  him  to  Stratford  ?  Why  should  it  be 
noticed  by  contemporaries  that  when  Elizabeth  died  the  muse  of 
Shakespeare  breathed  not  one  mournful  note  of  divine  praise  over 
her  tomb  ?  Chettle,  in  his  England's  Mourning  Garment,  thus  re- 
proaches Shakespeare  that  his  verse  had  not  bewailed  his  own  and 
England's  loss: 

Nor  doth  the  silver-tongued  Melicert 

Drop  from  his  honied  muse  one  sable  tear, 

To  mourn  her  death  that  graced  his  desert, 

And  to  his  lines  opened  her  royal  eare. 

Shepherd,  remember  our  Elizabeth, 

And  sing  her  rape,  done  by  the  Tarquin,  Death. 

But  as  soon  as  the  Tarquin  Death  had  taken  Elizabeth,  Shake- 
speare proceeded  to  show  that  she  was  conceived  in  lust  and  born 


THE   POLITICS   OF    THE    PLA  VS. 


89 


in  injustice;  that  her  father  was  a  powerful  and  hypocritical  brute; 
her  mother  an  ambitious  worldling;  and  that  the  woman  she  had 
supplanted  was  a  saint,  who  passed,  upon  the  wings  of  cherishing 
angels,  directly  to  the  portals  of  eternal  bliss. 

And  it  will  be  noted  that,  although  Bacon  wrote  an  essay  called 
The  Felicities  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  it  was  rather,  as  its  name  implies, 
a  description  of  the  happy  circumstances  that  conjoined  to  make 
her  reign  great  and  prosperous,  than  a  eulogy  of  her  character  as 
admirable  or  beautiful.     He  mentions  the  fact  that  she 

Was  very  willing  to  be  courted,  wooed  and  to  have  sonnets  made  in  her  com- 
mendation,  and  that  she  continued  this  longer  than  was  decent  for  her  years. 

And  he  says,  in  anticipation  of  such  a  criticism  as  I  make: 

Now,  if  any  man  shall  allege  that  against  me,  which  was  once  said  to  Caesar,, 
"we  see  what  we  may  admire,  but  we  would  fain  see  what  we  could  commend;" 
certainly,  for  my  part,  I  hold  true  admiration  to  be  the  highest  degree  of  com- 
mendation. 

But  he  did  not  commend  her. 

And  if  we  turn  to  the  career  of  Bacon,  we  shall  find  that  he  had 
ample  cause  to  hate  Elizabeth. 
Macaulay  says: 

To  her  it  was  owing  that,  while  younger  men,  not  superior  to  him  in  extrac- 
tion, and  far  inferior  to  him  in  every  kind  of  personal  merit,  were  filling  the  high- 
est offices  of  the  state,  adding  manor  to  manor,  rearing  palace  after  palace,  he  was 
lying  at  a  sponging-house  for  a  debt  of  three  hundred  pounds  ' 

So  long  as  Elizabeth  lived,  Bacon  was  systematically  repressed 
and  kept  in  the  most  pitiful  poverty.  The  base  old  woman,  know- 
ing his  condition,  would  see  him  embarrass  himself  still  further 
with  costly  gifts,  given  her  on  her  birthdays,  and  rewarded  him 
with  empty  honors  that  could  not  keep  bread  in  his  mouth,  or  the 
constable  from  his  door.  Beneath  the  poor  man's  placid  exterior 
of  philosophical  self-control,  there  was  a  very  volcano  of  wrath  and 
hate  ready  to  burst  forth. 

Dean  Church  says: 

But  she  still  refused  him  promotion.  He  was  without  an  official  position  in 
the  Queen's  service,  and  he  never  was  allowed  to  have  it.2 

And  again: 

Burleigh  had  been  strangely  niggardly  in  what  he  did  to  help  his  brilliant 
nephew But  it  is  plain  that  he  [his  son]  early  made  up  his  mind  to  keep 

1  Macaulay1  s  Essays,  Bacon,  p.  254.  2  Bacon,  p.  52. 


,9o  FRANCIS   BACON    THE   AUTHOR    OF    THE    PLAYS. 

Bacon  in  the  background.  .  .  .  Nothing  can  account  for  Bacon's  strange 
failure  for  so  long  a  time  to  reach  his  due  place  in  the  public  service,  but  the  secret 
hostility,  whatever  may  be  the  cause,  of  Cecil.1 

This  adverse  influence  kept  Bacon  in  poverty  and  out  of  place 
as  long  as  Cecil  lived,  which  was  for  some  years  after  the  death  of 
Elizabeth.  Bacon  writes  to  the  King  upon  Cecil's  death  a  letter, 
of  which  Dean  Church  says: 

Bacon  was  in  a  bitter  mood,  and  the  letter  reveals,  for  the  first  time,  what  was 
really  in  Bacon's  heart  about  "the  great  subject  and  great  servant,"  of  whom  he 
had  just  written  so  respectfully,  and  with  whom  he  had  been  so  closely  connected 
for  most  of  his  life.  The  fierceness  which  had  been  gathering  for  years  of  neglect 
and  hindrance,  under  that  placid  and  patient  exterior,  broke  out.2 

How  savagely  does  Bacon's  pent-up  wrath  burst  from  him  when 
writing  to  King  James  about  his  cousin's  death: 

I  protest  to  God,  though  I  be  not  superstitious,  when  I  saw  your  Majesty's 
book  against  Vorstius  and  Arminius,  and  noted  your  zeal  to  deliver  the  majesty  of 
God  from  the  vain  and  indign  comprehensions  of  heresy  and  degenerate  philos- 
ophy, as  you  had  by  your  pen  formerly  endeavored  to  deliver  kings  from  the 
usurpations  of  Rome,  perculsit  illico  anitnum  that  God  would  set  shortly  upon  you 
some  visible  favor,  and  let  me  not  live  if  I  thought  not  of  the  taking  away  of  that 
man.z 

The    Cecils    ruled    Elizabeth,    and    we    may   judge    from    this 

passionate    outburst    how    deeply    and    bitterly,   for    many    years, 

Bacon  hated  the  Virgin  Queen  and  her  advisers;  how  much  more 

bitterly  and  deeply  because  his  wretched  poverty  had  constrained 

him    to    cringe    and    fawn    upon    the    objects    of    his    contempt 

and  wrath.     He  expressed  his  own  inmost  feelings  when  he  put 

into    the    mouth   of   Hamlet   as   the   strongest   of   provocations   to 

suicide: 

The  law's  delay, 
The  insolence  of  office,  and  the  spurns 

That  patient  merit  of  the  unworthy  takes. 

How  bitterly  does  he  break  forth  in  Lear  : 

Behold  the  great  image  of  authority  !  A  dogs  obeyed  in  office  ! 

And   again,  in  Measure   for  Measure  .« 

Man,  proud  man, 
Drest  in  a  little  brief  authority, 

.   .   .   Like  an  angry  ape, 
Plays  such  fantastic  tricks  before  high  heaven, 
As  make  the  angels  weep. 

1  Ibid.,  p.  59.  2  Ibid.,  p.  90.  »  Letter  to  the  King,  1612. 


Of  THE 

VN/YERSJTy 

]FQ**\h*S  THE   POLITICS  OF    THE   PLAYS. 


191 


And  we  seem  to  hear  the  cry  of  his  own  long  disappointed  heart 

in  the  words  of  Wolsey: 

O,  how  wretched 
Is  that  poor  man,  that  hangs  on  princes'  favors! 
There  is,  between  that  smile  he  would  aspire  to, 
That  sweet  aspect  of  princes,  and  their  ruin, 
More  pangs  and  fears  than  wars  or  women  have. 

And  Hamlet,  his  alter  ego,  expresses  the  self-loathing  with  which 
he  contemplated  the  abasements  of  genius  to  power: 

No;  let  the  candied  tongue  lick  absurd  pomp, 
And  crook  the  pregnant  hinges  of  the  knee, 
Where  thrift  may  follow  fawning. 

These  words  never  came  from  the  smooth  surface  of  a  prosper- 
ous life:  they  were  the  bitter  outgrowth  of  a  turbulent  and  suffering 
heart.  When  you  would  find  words  that  sting  like  adders  —  exple- 
tives of  immortal  wrath  and  hate  —  you  must  seek  them  in  the 
depths  of  an  outraged  soul. 

What  was  there  in  the  life  of  the  Stratford  man  to  justify  such 
expressions  ?  He  had  his  bogus  coat-of-arms  to  make  him  respect- 
able; he  owned  the  great  house  of  Stratford,  and  could  brew  beer 
in  it,  and  sue  his  neighbors,  to  his  heart's  content.  He  fled  away 
from  the  ambitions  of  the  court  to  the  odorous  muck-heaps  and 
the  pyramidal  dung-hills  of  Stratford;  and  if  any  grief  settled  upon 
his  soul  he  could  (as  tradition  tells  us)  get  drunk  for  three  days  at 
a  time  to  assuage  it. 

IX.     Richard  III.  Represented  Robert  Cecil. 

There  is  another  very  significant  fact. 

The  arch-enemy  of  Bacon  and  of  Essex  was  Sir  Robert  Cecil, 
Bacon's  first  cousin,  the  child  of  his  mother's  sister.  He  was  the 
chief  means  of  eventually  bringing  Essex'  head  to  the  block.  We 
have  just  seen  how  intensely  Bacon  hated  him,  and  with  what  good 
reason. 

He  was  a  man  of  extraordinary  mental  power,  derived,  in  part, 
from  the  same  stock  (the  stock  of  Sir  Anthony  Cook,  tutor  to  King 
Edward  IV.)  from  which  Bacon  had  inherited  much  of  his  ability. 
But,  in  his  case,  the  blood  of  Sir  Anthony  had  been  crossed  by  the 
shrewd,  cunning,  foxy,  cold-blooded,  selfish,  persistent  stock  of  his 
father,    Sir   William    Burleigh,    Elizabeth's    Lord    Treasurer;    and 


,92  FRANCIS   BACON    THE  AUTHOR    OF    THE  PLAYS. 

hence,  instead  of  a  great  poet  and  philosopher,  as  in  Bacon's  case, 
the  outcome  was  a  statesman  and  courtier  of  extraordinary  keen- 
ness and  ability,  and  a  very  sleuth-hound  of  dissembling  persist- 
ency and  cunning. 

He  had  the  upper  hand  of  Bacon,  and  he  kept  it.  He  sat  on  his 
neck  as  long  as  he  lived.  Even  after  the  death  of  Elizabeth  and 
the  coming-in  of  the  new  King,  he  held  that  mighty  genius  in  the 
mire.  He  seemed  to  have  possessed  some  secret  concerning  Bacon, 
discreditable  to  him,  which  he  imparted  to  King  James,  and  this 
hindered  his  advancement  after  the  death  of  the  Queen,  notwith- 
standing the  fact  that  Bacon  had  belonged  to  the  faction  which, 
prior  to  Elizabeth's  death,  was  in  favor  of  James  as  her  successor. 
This  is  intimated  by  Dean  Church;  he  says: 

Cecil  had,  indeed,  but  little  claim  on  Bacon's  gratitude;  he  had  spoken  him  fair 
in  public,  and  no  doubt  in  secret  distrusted  and  thwarted  him.  But  to  the  last  Bacon 
did  not  choose  to  acknowledge  this.  Had  James  disclosed  something  of  his  dead  servant 
[Cecil],  who  left  some  strange  secrets  behind  him,  which  showed  his  hostility  to  Bacon  ?  l 

Was  it  for  this  that  Bacon  rejoiced  over  his  death?  Was  the 
secret  an  intimation  to  King  James  that  Bacon  was  the  real  author 
of  the  Plays  that  went  about  in  the  name  of  Shakespeare  ?  What- 
ever it  was,  there  was  something  potent  enough  to  suppress  Bacon 
and  hold  him  down,  even  for  some  time  after  Cecil's  death. 

Dean  Church  says: 

He  was  still  kept  out  of  the  inner  circle  of  the  council,  but  from  the  moment 
of  Salisbury's  [Cecil's]  death,  he  became  a  much  more  important  person.  He  still 
sued  for  advancement,  and  still  met  with  disappointment;  the  "mean  men"  still 
rose  above  him.  .  .  .  But  Bacon's  hand  and  counsel  appear  more  and  more  in 
important  matters.2 

Now  it  is  known  that  Cecil  was  a  man  of  infirm  health,  and 
that  he  was  a  hump-back. 

We  turn  to  the  Shakespeare  Plays,  and  we  ask:  What  is  the 
most  awful  character,  the  most  absolutely  repulsive  and  detestable 
character,  the  character  without  a  single  redeeming,  or  beautify- 
ing, or  humanizing  trait,  in  all  the  range  of  the  Plays  ?  And  the 
answer  is:  The  crook-backed  monster,  Richard  III. 

Richard  III.  was  a  satire  on  Bacon  s  cousin^  Robert  Cecil. 

To  make  the  character  more  dreadful,  the  poet  has  drawn  it  in 
colors  even  darker  than  historical  truth  would  justify. 

1  Bacon,  p.  02.  2  Ibid.,  p.  93. 


THE   POLITICS   OF    THE   TLA  VS.  ,  93 

Like  Cecil,  Richard  is  able,  shrewd,  masterful,  unscrupulous, 
ambitious;  determined,  rightly  or  wrongly,  to  rule  the  kingdom. 
Like  Cecil,  he  can  crawl  and  cringe  and  dissemble,  when  it  is  neces- 
sary, and  rule  with  a  rod  of  iron  when  he  possesses  the  power. 

Here  we  have  a  portrait  of  Cecil. 


Sir   Robert  Cecil. 

Was  the  expression  of  that  face  in  Bacon's  mind  when  he  wrote 
those  lines,  which  I  have  just  quoted  ? 

Man,  proud  man, 
I) rest  in  a  little  brief  authority, 

.   .   .   like  an  angry  ape. 
Plays  such  fantastic  tricks  before  high  heaven 
As  makes  the  angels  weep. 

The  expression  of  Cecil's  countenance  is,  to  my  mind,  actually 
ape-like. 

The  man  who  has  about  him  any  personal  deformity  never  ceases 
to  be  conscious  of  it.  Byron  could  not  forget  his  club-foot.  What  a 
terrible  revenge  it  was  when  Bacon,  under  the  disguise  of  the  irre- 
sponsible play-actor,  Shakspere,  set  on  the  boards  of  the  Curtain  The- 
ater the  all-powerful  courtier  and  minister,  Sir  Robert  Cecil,  in  the 
character  of  that  other  hump-back,  the  bloody  and  loathsome  Duke 
of  Gloster?  How  the  adherents  of  Essex  must  have  whispered  it 
among  the  multitude,  as  the  crippled  Duke,  with  his  hump  upon  his 


1 94 


FRANCIS  BACON    THE   AUTHOR   OF    THE  PLAYS. 


shoulder,  came  upon  the  stage — "That's  Cecil!"     And  how  they 
must  have  applied  Richard's  words  of  self-description  to  another? 

I  that  am  curtailed  of  this  fair  proportion. 

Cheated  of  feature  by  dissembling  nature. 

Deformed,  unfinished,  sent  before  my  time 

Into  this  breathing  world,  scarce  half  made  up, 

And  that  so  lamely  and  unfashionable 

That  dogs  bark  at  me  as  I  halt  by  them  — 

Why  I,  in  this  weak  piping  time  of  peace, 

Have  no  delight  to  pass  away  the  time, 

Unless  to  spy  my  shadow  in  the  sun, 

And  descant  on  mine  own  deformity. 

And  therefore,  since  I  cannot  prove  a  lover 

To  entertain  these  fair,  well-spoken  days, 

I  am  determined  to  prove  a  villain, 

And  hate  the  idle  pleasures  of  these  days. 

And  these  last  lines  express  the  very  thought  with  which  Bacon 
opens  his  essay  On  Deformity. 

Deformed  persons  are  commonly  even  with  nature;  for  as  nature  hath  done  ill 
by  them,  so  do  they  by  nature,  being  for  the  most  part  (as  the  Scripture  saith)  "  void 
of  natural  affection; "  and  so  they*have  their  revenge  of  nature. 

And  we  seem  to  see  the  finger  of  Bacon  pointing  toward  his 
cousin,  in  these  words: 

Whoever  hath  any  thing  fixed  in  his  person  that  doth  induce  contempt,  hath 
also  a  perpetual  spur  in  himself  to  rescue  and  deliver  himself  from  scorn;  therefore 
all  deformed  persons  are  extreme  bold,  first,  as  in  their  own  defense,  as  being 
exposed  to  scorn,  but  in  process  of  time  by  a  general  habit.  Also  it  stirreth  in 
them  industry,  and  especially  of  this  kind,  to  watch  and  observe  the  weaknesses  of 
others,  that  they  may  have  somewhat  to  repay.  Again,  in  their  superiors  it 
quencheth  jealousy  towards  them,  as  persons  that  they  think  they  may  at  pleasure 
despise;  and  it  layeth  their  competitors  and  emulators  asleep,  as  never  believing 
they  should  be  in  possibility  of  advancement  till  they  see  them  in  possession,  so 
that  upon  the  matter,  in  a  great  wit,  deformity  is  an  advantage  to  rising, 

Speaking  of  the  death  of  Cecil,  Hepworth  Dixon  says: 

And  when  Cecil  passes  to  his  rest,  a  new  edition  of  the  Essays,  under  cover  of 
a  treatise  on  Deformity,  paints  in  true  and  bold  lines,  but  without  one  harsh  touch, 
the  genius  of  the  man.  .  .  .  Every  one  knows  the  portrait;  yet  no  one  can  pro- 
nounce this  picture  of  a  small,  shrewd  man  of  the  world,  a  clerk  in  soul,  without 
a  spark  of  fire,  a  dart  of  generosity  in  his  nature,  unfair  or  even  unkind,1 

One  can  conceive  how  bitterly  the  dissembling,  self-controlled 
Cecil  must  have  writhed  under  the  knowledge  that  the  Essex  party, 
in  the  Essex  theater,  occupied  by  the  Essex  company  of  actors,  and 
filled   daily  with   the  adherents  of  Essex,  had   placed  him  on   the 

1  Personal  History  of  Lord  Baron,  pp.  193,  204. 


THE   POLITICS   OF    THE   PLAYS. 


*95 


boards,  with  all  his  deformity  upon  his  back,  and  made  him  the  object 
of  the  ribald  laughter  of  the  swarming  multitude,  "the  scum"  of 
London.  As  we  will  find  hereafter  Queen  Elizabeth  saying,  "  Know 
ye  not  I  am  Richard  the  Second?"  so  we  may  conceive  Cecil  say- 
ing to  the  Queen:  "Know  ye  not  that  I  am  Richard  the  Third?" 

And  if  he  knew,  or  shrewdly  suspected,  that  his  cousin,  Francis 
Bacon,  was  the  real  author  of  the  Plays,  and  the  man  who  had  so 
terribly  mocked  his  physical  defects,  we  can  understand  why  he 
used  all  his  powers,  as  long  as  he  lived,  to  hold  him  down;  and,  as 
Church  suspects,  even  blackened  him  in  the  King's  esteem,  so  that  his 
revenge  might  transcend  the  limits  of  his  own  frail  life.  And  we  can 
understand  the  exultation  of  Bacon  when,  at  last,  death  loosened 
from  his  throat  the  fangs  of  his  powerful  and  unforgiving  adversary. 

In  conclusion  and  recapitulation  I  would  say  that  I  find  the 
political  identities  between  Bacon  and  the  writer  of  the  Plays  to  be 
as  follows: 

Both  were  aristocrats. 

Both  despised  the  mob. 

Both  contemned  tradesmen. 

Both  loved  liberty. 

Both  loved  feudalism. 

Both  pitied  the  miseries  of  the  people. 

Both  desired  the  welfare  of  the  people. 

Both  foresaw  and  dreaded  an  uprising  of  the  lower  classes. 

Both  belonged  to  the  military    party. 

Both  hated  Lord  Cobham. 

Both  were  adherents  of  Essex. 

Both  tried  to  popularize  Essex. 

Both  were  friends  of  Southampton. 

Both  hated  Coke. 

Both,  although  Protestant,  had  some  strong  antipathy  against 
Queen  Elizabeth. 

Both  refused  to  eulogize  her  character  after  death. 

Both,  though  aristocratic,  were  out  of  power  and  bitter  against 
those  in  authority. 

Both  hated  Robert  Cecil. 

Surely,  surely,  we  are  getting  the  two  heads  under  one  hat  — 
and  that  the  hat  of  the  great  philosopher  of  Verulam. 


CHAPTER   V. 

THE  RELIGION  OE    THE  PLA  VS. 

I  sometimes  do  believe,  and  sometimes  do  not. 

A s  You  Like  It,  v,  4, 

THE  religious  world  of  Elizabeth  was  divided  into  two  great 
and  antagonistic  sects:  Catholics  and  Protestants;  and  the 
latter  were,  in  turn,  separated  into  the  followers  of  the  state  relig- 
ion and  various  forms  of  dissent. 

Religion  in  that  day  was  an  earnest,  palpable  reality:  society 
was  set  against  itself  in  hostile  classes;  politics,  place,  government, 
legislation  —  all  hinged  upon  religion.  In  this  age  of  doubt  and 
indifference,  we  can  hardly  realize  the  feelings  of  a  people  to  whom: 
the  next  world  was  as  real  as  this  world,  and  who  were  ready  to  die 
agonizing  deaths,  in  the  flames  of  Smithfield,  for  their  convictions 
upon  questions  of  theology. 

We  are  told  that  William  Shakspere  of  Stratford  died  a  Catholic. 
We  have  this  upon  the  authority  of  Rev.  Mr.  Davies,  who  says,  writ- 
ing after  1688,  "  he  died  a  Papist."  Upon  the  question  of  the  politics 
of  a  great  man,  the  leader  of  either  one  of  the  political  parties  of  his 
neighborhood  is  likely  to  be  well  informed;  it  is  in  the  line  of  his 
interests  and  thoughts.  Upon  the  question  of  the  religion  of  the  one 
great  man  of  Stratford,  we  may  trust  the  testimony  of  the  clergyman 
of  the  parish.  He  could  hardly  be  mistaken.  There  Can  be  little 
doubt  that  William  Shakspere  of  Stratford-on-Avon  died  a  Catholic. 

But  of  what  religion  was  the  man  who  wrote  the  Plays  ? 

This  question  has  provoked  very  considerable  discussion.  He 
has  been  claimed  alike  by  Protestants  and  Catholics. 

To  my  mind  it  is  very  clear  that  the  writer  of  the  Plays  was  a 

Protestant.     And  this  is  the  view  of  Dowden.     He  says: 

Shakespeare  has  been  proved  to  belong  to  each  communion  to  the  satisfaction  of 
contending  theological  zealots.  .  .  .  But,  tolerant  as  his  spirit  is,  it  is  certain  that 
the  spirit  of  Protestantism  animates  and  breathes  through  his  writings.1 

What  are  the  proofs  ? 

1  Dowden,  Shah.  Mind  and  Art,  p.  33. 

196 


THE  RELIGION   OE    I'HE   PLA  VS.  I97 

I.     He  is  Opposed  to  the  Papal  Supremacy. 

The  play  of  King  John  turns  largely  upon  the  question  of  patri- 
otic resistance  to  the  temporal  power  of  the  Pope;  and  this  is  not 
a  necessary  incident  of  the  events  of  the  time,  for  the  poet,  to  point 
his  moral,  antedates  the  great  quarrel  between  John  and  the  Pope 
by  six  years. 

He  represents  King  John,  upon  Ascension  Day,  yielding  up  his 

crown  to  Pandulph,  the  Pope's  legate,  and  receiving  it  back,  with 

these  words: 

Take  again 
From  this,  my  hand,  as  holding  of  the  Pope, 
Your  sovereign  greatness  and  authority.1 

In  scene  3  of  act  iii,  he  makes  Pandulph  demand  of  the  King 
why  he  keeps  Stephen  Langton,  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  out  of 
his  see;   and  King  John  replies: 

What  earthly  name  to  interrogatories 

Can  task  the  free  breath  of  a  sacred  king? 

Thou  canst  not,  Cardinal,  devise  a  name 

So  slight,  unworthy  and  ridiculous, 

To  charge  me  to  an  answer,  as  the  Pope. 

Tell  him  this  tale;  and  from  the  mouth  of  England 

Add  this  much  more:    That  no  Italian  priest 

Shall  tithe  or  toll  in  our  dominions; 

But  as  we  under  heaven  are  supreme  head, 

So  under  him,  that  great  supremacy, 

Where  we  do  reign,  we  will  alone  uphold, 

Without  the  assistance  of  a  mortal  hand: 

So  tell  the  Pope;  all  reverence  set  apart, 

To  him  and  his  usurped  authority. 

King  Philip.     Brother  of  England,  you  blaspheme  in  this. 

King  John.     Though  you,  and  all  the  kings  of  Christendom, 

Are  led  so  grossly  by  this  meddling  priest, 

Dreading  the  curse  that  money  may  buy  out; 

And,  by  the  merit  of  vile  gold,  dross,  dust, 

Purchase  corrupted  pardon  of  a  man, 

Who,  in  that  sale,'  sells  pardon  from  himself; 

Though  you,  and  all  the  rest,  so  grossly  led, 

This  juggling  witchcraft  with  revenue  cherish; 

Yet  I,  alone,  alone  do  me  oppose, 

Against  the  Pope,  and  count  his  friends  my  foes. 

It  is  scarcely  to  be  believed  that  a  Catholic  could  have  written 

-these  lines. 

1 

1  King  John,  v,  i. 


,98  FRANCIS,  BACON    THE   AUTHOR    OF    THE   PLAYS. 

And  it  must  be  remembered  that  King  John  is  depicted  in  the 
play  as  a  most  despicable  creature;  and  his  eventual  submission  of 
the  liberties  of  the  crown  and  the  country,  to  the  domination  of  a 
foreign  power,  is  represented  as  one  of  the  chief  ingredients  in 
making  up  his  shameful  character. 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  Bacon  had  very  strong  views  upon  this 

question  of  the  Pope's  sovereignty  over  England.     He  says  in  the 

Charge  against  Talbot : 

Nay  all  princes  of  both  religions,  for  it  is  a  common  cause,  do  stand,  at  this 
day  [in  peril],  by  the  spreading  and  enforcing  of  this  furious  and  pernicious  opinion 
of  the  Pope's  temporal  power. 

II.     He  Honored  and  Respected  Cranmer. 

But  it  is  in  the  play  of  Henry  VIII.  that  the  religious  leanings 
of  the  writer  are  most  clearly  manifested. 

It  is  to  be  remembered  that  it  was  in  this  reign  that  Protestant- 
ism was  established  in  England,  and  the  man  who  above  all  others 
was  instrumental  in  bringing  about  the  great  change  was  Thomas 
Cranmer,  the  first  Protestant  Archbishop  of  Canterbury.  He, 
above  all  other  men,  was  hated  by  the  Catholics.  He  it  was  who 
had  sanctioned  the  divorce  of  Henry  from  Katharine;  he  it  was  who 
had  delivered  the  crown  to  Anne  upon  the  coronation;  he  had  sup- 
ported the  suppression  of  the  monasteries;  he  had  persecuted  the 
Catholic  prelates  and  people,  sending  numbers  to  the  stake;  and 
when  the  Catholics  returned  to  power,  under  Mary,  one  of  the  first 
acts  of  the  government  was  to  burn  him  alive  opposite  Baliol  Col- 
lege. It  is  impossible  that  a  Catholic  writer  of  the  next  reign  could 
have  gone  out  of  his  way  to  defend  and  praise  Cranmer,  to  repre- 
sent him  as  a  good  and  holy  man,  and  even  as  an  inspired  prophet. 
And  yet  all  this  we  find  in  the  play  of  Henry  VIII. ;  the  play  is,  in 
fact,  in  large  part,  an  apotheosis  of  Cranmer. 

In  act  fifth  we  find  the   King  sending  for  him.     He  assures  hin. 

that  he  is  his  friend,  but  that  grave  charges  have  been  made  against 

him,  and  that  he  must  go  before  the  council  for  trial,  and  he  gives 

him  his  ring,  to  be  used  in  an  appeal,  in  case  the  council  find  him 

guilty.     The  King  says: 

Look,  the  good  man  weeps  ! 
He's  honest  on  mine  honor.     God's  blest  mother! 
I  swear  he  is  true-hearted;  and  a  soul 
None  better  in  my  kingdom. 


THE   RELIGION  OF    THE   PLA  VS.  ,  q() 

The  council  proceed  to  place  Cranmer  under  arrest,  with  intent 
to  send  him  to  the  Tower,  when  he  exhibits  the  King's  ring  and 
makes  his  appeal.  The  King  enters  frowning,  rebukes  the  perse- 
cutors of  Cranmer,  and  says  to  him: 

Good  man,  sit  down.     Now  let  me  see  the  proudest, 

He  that  dares  most,  but  wag  his  finger  at  thee.  .   .   . 

Was  it  discretion,  lords,  to  let  this  man, 

This  good  man  (few  of  you  deserve  that  title), 

This  honest  man,  wait  like  a  lousy  foot-boy 

At  chamber-door?  .   .   . 

Well,  well,  my  lords,  respect  him. 

Take  him  and  use  him  well,  he's  worthy  of  it. 

I  will  say  thus  much  for  him,  if  a  prince 

May  be  beholden  to  a  subject,  I 

Am,  for  his  love  and  service,  so  to  him. 

All  this  has  no  necessary  coherence  with  the  plot  of  the  play, 
but  is  dragged  in  to  the  filling  up  of  two  scenes. 

And,  in  the  last  scene  of  the  play,  Cranmer  baptizes  the  Princess 

Elizabeth,  and  is  inspired  by  Heaven  to  prophesy: 

Let  me  speak,  sir, 
For  Heaven  now  bids  me. 

And  he   proceeds   to   foretell    her    future   long  life  and   greatness. 

He  says: 

In  her  days,  every  man  shall  eat  in  safety, 
Under  his  own  vine,  what  he  plants;  and  sing 
The  merry  songs  of  peace  to  all  his  neighbors; 
God  shall  be  truly  known. 

It  is  not  conceivable  that  one  who  was  a  Catholic,  who  regarded 
with  disapproval  the  establishment  of  the  new  religion,  and  who 
looked  upon  Cranmer  as  an  arch-heretic,  worthy  of  the  stake  and 
of  hell,  could  have  written  such  scenes,  when  there  was  nothing  in 
the  plot  of  the  play  itself  which  required  it. 

The   passages   in   the   play  which   relate  to  Cranmer  are  drawn 

from    Fox's   Book  of  Martyrs,  and    the    prose  version  is    followed 

almost  literally  in    the  drama;  but,  strange  to   say,  there  is  in  the 

historical  work  no  place  wherein  the  King  speaks  of  Cranmer  as  a 

"good  "  man.     All   this  is  interpolated  by  the  dramatist.     We  have  in 

the  play: 

Good  man,  sit  down. 

This  good  man. 

This  honest  man. 

Good  man,  those  joyful  tears  show  thy  true  heart.     Etc. 


200  FRANCIS  BACON   THE   AUTHOR    OF    THE   PLAYS. 

There  is  not  in  Fox's  narrative  one  word  of  indorsement,  by 
the  King,  of  Cranmer's  goodness  or  honesty. 

A  Catholic  writing  a  play  based  on  Protestant  histories  might 
have  followed  the  text,  even  against  his  own  prejudices,  but  it  is 
not  to  be  believed  that  he  would  alter  the  text,  and  inject  words  of 
compliment  of  a  man  who  held  the  relations  to  the  Catholics  of 
England  that  Cranmer  did. 

We  cannot  help  but  believe  that  the  man  who  did  this  was  a 
Protestant,  educated  to  believe  that  the  Reformation  was  right 
and  necessary,  and  that  Cranmer  was  a  good  and  holy  man,  the 
inspired  instrument  of  Heaven  in  a  great  work. 

The  family  of  Bacon  was  Protestant.  They  rose  out  of  the 
ranks,  on  the  wave  of  the  Reformation.  His  father  was  an  officer 
of  Henry  VIII.;  his  grandfather  was  tutor  to  the  Protestant  King 
Edward.  During  the  reign  of  Mary,  the  Bacons  lived  in  retire- 
ment; they  conformed  to  the  Catholic  Church  and  heard  mass 
daily;  but,  upon  the  coming  in  of  Elizabeth,  they  emerged  from 
their  hiding-place,  and  Bacon's  father  and  uncle,  Burleigh,  were  at 
the  head  of  the  Protestant  party  of  England  during  the  rest  of 
their  lives.  All  the  traditions  of  the  family  clustered  around  the 
Reformation.  They  faithfully  believed  that  "God  was  truly 
known "  in  the  religion  of  Elizabeth,  and  they  were  as  violently 
opposed   to  the  Papal   supremacy  as  King  John   or  the   Bastard. 

It  is  a  curious  fact  that  Bacon  alludes,  in  his  prose  works,  to 
the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  in  words  very  similar  to  those  placed  in  the 
mouth  of  Cranmer.     He  says: 

This  part  of  the  island  never  had  forty-five  years  of  better  times.  .  .  .  For  if 
there  be  considered  of  the  one  side  the  truth  of  religion  established,  the  constant 
peace  and  security,  the  good  administration  of  justice,  etc.1 

III.     The  Writer  of  the  Plays  was  Tolerant  of  Catholicity. 

But  how  does  it  come  to  pass  that  in  the  face  of  such  evidence 
it  has  been  claimed  that  the  writer  of  the  Plays  was  a  Catholic  ? 

Because,  in  an  age  of  violent  religious  hatreds,  when  the  Cath- 
olics were  helpless,  suspected  and  persecuted,  the  author  of  the 
Plays  never  uttered  a  word,  however  pleasing  it  might  be  to  the 
court  and  the  time-serving  multitude,  to  fan  the  flame  of  animosity 

1  Advancement  of ' J, earning,  book  i. 


THE   RELIGION   OE    THE   PLA  VS.  201 

against  the  Catholics.  On  the  other  hand,  whenever  a  Catholic 
priest  is  introduced  on  the  scene,  he  is  represented  as  honest, 
benevolent  and  venerable. 

"His  friars,"  says  one  of  his  commentators,  "are  all  wise,  holy 
and  in  every  respect  estimable  men.  Instance  Friar  Lawrence,  in 
Romeo  and  Juliet,  and  the  friar  in  Much  Ado  About  Nothing." 

When  we  turn  to  the  writings  of  Bacon,  we  find  the  same 
broad  spirit  of  religious  liberality,  as  contradistinguished  from  the 
bigotry  of  the  age. 

Bacon's  mind  was  too  great  to  be  illiberal.  Bigotry  is  a  burst 
of  strong  light,  through  the  crevice  of  a  narrow  mind,  lighting  only 
<me  face  of  its  object  and  throwing  all  the  rest  into  hideous  and 
grotesque  shadows.  Bacon's  mind,  like  the  sun  in  the  tropics, 
illuminated  all  sides  of  the  object  upon  which  it  shone,  with  a 
comprehensive  and  vivifying  light. 

Macaulay  says  of  him: 

In  what  he  wrote  on  church  government,  he  showed,  as  far  as  he  dared,  a  tol- 
erant and  charitable  spirit.  .  .  .  He  was  in  power  at  the  time  of  the  Synod  of 
Dort,  and  must  for  months  have  been  deafened  with  talk  about  election,  reproba- 
tion and  final  perseverance.  Yet  we  do  not  remember  a  line  in  his  works  from 
which  it  can  be  inferred  that  he  was  either  a  Calvinist  or  an  Armenian.1 

Speaking  of  Shakespeare,  White  says: 

Nowhere  does  he  show  leaning  toward  any  form  of  church  government,  or 
toward  any  theological  tenet  or  dogma.     No  church  can  claim  him.2 

Bacon  looked  with  pity  upon  the  differences  that  distracted  the 

religious   world  of  his   time.     He   says,  speaking  of  a  conspiracy 

against  the  crown,  organized  by  Catholics: 

Thirdly,  the  great  calamity  it  bringeth  upon  Papists  themselves,  of  which  the 
more  moderate  sort,  as  men  misled,  are  to  be  pitied. 

Again  he  says: 

A  man  that  is  of  judgment  and  understanding  shall  sometimes  hear  ignorant 
men  differ,  and  know  well  within  himself  that  those  which  so  differ  mean  one 
thing,  and  yet  they  themselves  would  never  agree.  And  if  it  came  to  pass  in  that 
distance  of  judgment  which  is  between  man  and  man,  shall  we  not  think  that 
God  above,  that  knows  the  heart,  doth  not  discern  that  frail  men,  in  some  of  their 
contradictions,  intend  the  same  thing,  and  accepteth  of  both.3 

He  turned  with  abhorrence  from  the  burnings  of  men  for  con- 
science' sake.     He  said: 

1  Essays,  Bacon,  p.  280.         2  Life  and  Genius  0/  S/tak.,  p.  188.         3  Essay  Of  Unity  in  Religion. 


202  FRANCIS  BACON    THE   AUTHOR    OF   THE  PLAYS. 

We  may  not  take  up  the  third  sword,  which  is  Mahomet's  sword,  or  like  unto 
it,  that  is,  to  propagate  religion  by  wars,  or  by  sanguinary  persecutions  to  force  con- 
sciences: .  .  .  much  less  to  authorize  conspiracies  and  rebellions;  to  put  the  sword 
into  the  people's  hands,  and  the  like,  tending  to  the  subversion  of  all  government.1 

And  we  find  the  same  sentiment  in  Shakespeare: 

It  is  an  heretic  that  makes  the  fire, 
Not  she  which  burns  in  it.2 

IV.     The  Writer  of  the  Plays  Disliked  the  Puritans. 

In  both  writers  we  find  a  profound  dislike  of  the  Puritans. 

"Shakespeare,"  says  one  of  his  commentators,  "  never  omits  an 
opportunity  of  ridiculing  the  Puritan  sect." 

He  says: 

There  is  but  one  Puritan  among  them,  and  he  sings  songs  to  hornpipe     :; 

Sir  Andrew  Aguecheek  says: 

I  would  as  lief  be  a  Brownist  as  a  politician.4 

And  again: 

Though  honesty  be  no  Puritan,  yet  it  will  do  no  hurt.'' 

The  mocking  Falstaff  tells  the  Chief  Justice  that  he  lost  his 
voice  "  singing  of  anthems." 

Says  one  commentator: 

In  the  introduction  of  Sir  Oliver  Mar-text  our  poet  indulges  in  a  sly  hit  against 
the  Puritan  and  itinerant  ministers,  whom  he  appears  to  have  regarded  with 
aversion. 

The  play  of  Measure  for  Measure  is  an  attempt  to  burlesque  the 
virtue-loving  principles  of  the  Puritans;  and  in  the  cross-gartered 
Malvolio  of  Twelfth  Night  we  have  the 

Sharp,  cross-gartered  man, 
Whom  their  loud  laugh  may  nickname  Puritan. 

And  the  immortal  question, 

Dost  thou  think  because  thou  art  virtuous  there  shall  be  no  more  cakes 
and  ale? 

is  universally  accepted  as  a  sneer  at  the  asceticism   of   that  grave 
sect. 

Wherever  Shakespeare  introduces  a  Dissenting  preacher  he 
makes  him  an  ignoramus  or  a  mountebank. 

i  Essay  Of  Unity  in  Religion.  ■  Ibid.,  iv,  i.  6  All's  Well  thai  Ends  Well,  i,  3- 

3  Winter's  Tale,  ii,  3.  4  Twelfth  Night,  iii,  2. 


THE   RELIGION   OE    THE   PLAYS.  203 

Similar  views  we  find  in  Bacon.     He  says: 

For  as  the  temporal  sword  is  to  be  drawn  with  great  circumspection  in  cases  of 
religion,  so  it  is  a  thing  monstrous  to  put  it  into  the  hands  of  the  common  people; 
let  that  be  left  unto  the  Anabaptists  and  other  furies} 

In  another  place  he  says: 

Besides  the  Roman  Catholics,  there  is  a  generation  of  sectaries,  the  Anabap- 
tists, Brownists  and  others  of  their  kinds;  they  have  been  several  times  very  busy 
in  this  kingdom  under  the  color  of  zeal  for  reformation  of  religion;  the  King  your 
master  knows  their  disposition  very  well;  a  small  touch  will  put  him  in  mind  of 
them;  he  had  experience  of  them  in  Scotland.  I  hope  he  will  beware  of  them  in 
England;  a  little  countenance  or  connivancy  sets  them  on  fire.'2 

And,  like  Shakespeare,  he  ridicules  the  manners  of  the  Puritans. 
He  says: 

There  is  a  master  of  scoffing  that  in  his  catalogue  of  books  of  a  feigned  library  sets 
down  this  title  of  a  book,  The  Morris-Dance  of  the  Heretics;  for,  indeed,  every  sect 
of  them  hath  a  diverse  posture,  or  cringe,  by  themselves,  which  cannot  but  move 
derision  in  worldlings  and  depraved  politics,  who  are  apt  to  contemn  holy  things. :i 

Bacon  looked  with  the  profoundest  apprehension  upon  the 
growing  numbers  and  power  of  that  grave,  sour,  serious  sect, 
with  its  strong  anti-royal  tendencies  and  its  anti-social  feelings. 
"  They  love  no  plays,  as  you  do,  Anthony."  They  threatened,  in 
his  view,  by  their  malignant  intolerance,  the  very  existence  of 
civilization.     He  says: 

Nor  am  I  discouraged  from  it  because  I  see  signs  in  the  times  of  the  decline 
and  overthrow  of  that  knowledge  and  erudition  which  is  now  in  use.  .  .  .  But  the 
civil  wars  which  may  be  expected,  I  think  (judging  from  certain  fashions  which 
have  come  in  of  late),  to  spread  through  many  countries,  together  with  the  malig- 
nity of  sects,  .  .  .  seem  to  portend  for  literature  and  the  sciences  a  tempest  not  less 
fatal,  and  one  against  which  the  printing-office  will  be  no  effectual  security.4 

He  clearly  foresaw  the  coming  revolution  which  broke  out,  not 
long  after  his  death,  under  the  lead  of  Cromwell.  He  wrote  the 
King,  when  he  had  been  overthrown  by  the  agitations  in  Parlia- 
ment, that  — 

Those  who  strike  at  your  Chancellor  will  yet  strike  at  your  crown.  ...  I  wish 
that,  as  I  am  the  first,  so  I  may  be  the  last  of  sacrifices  in  your  times. 

Wise  as  he  was,  he  could  not  see  beyond  the  tempest  which  he 
felt  was  coming,  but  he  feared  that  the  literature  of  England  would 
perish  in  the  storm;  and  he  was  of  course  unable  to  do  justice  to 

1  Essay  Of  Unity  in  Religion.  3  Essay  Of  I  Tnity  in  Religion. 

2  Advice  to  George  Villiers.  4  Preface  to  Interpretation  of  X  at  are. 


■204  FRANCIS  BACON    THE  AUTHOR   OF    THE    PLAYS. 

the  real  merits  of  the  sect  to  whom  England  owes  so  much  of  Par- 
liamentary liberty  and  moral  greatness. 

His  premonitions  of  the  immediate  effects  of  the  religious  revo- 
lution were  well  founded.     Birch  says: 

The  Bacons  and  the  Shakespeares,  the  philosophers  and  scoffers,  as  well  as  the 
Papists,  were  extinguished  by  the  Puritans.  The  theater  gave  way  to  the  pulpit, 
the  actor  and  dramatist  to  the  preacher.  The  philosophical  and  political  school  of 
infidelity  had  no  chance  against  the  fanaticism  of  Cromwell,  at  the  head  of  the 
religious  spirit  of  the  age.1 

V.     The  Writer  of  the  Plays  a  Free-Thinker. 

But  there  was  a  deeper  reason  for  the  indifference  of  the  real 
author  of  the  Plays  to  the  passions  and  quarrels  of  Catholics  and 
Protestants.    It  was  this:  he  did  not  believe  in  the  doctrines  of  the 
Christian  religion.     This  fact  has  not  escaped  the  notice  of  com 
mentators. 

Swinburne  says: 

That  Shakespeare  was  in  the  genuine  sense  —  that  is,  in  the  best  and  highest 
and  widest  meaning  of  the  term  —  a  free-thinker,  this  otherwise  practically  and 
avowedly  superfluous  effusion  of  all  inmost  thought  appears  to  me  to  supply  full 
and  sufficient  evidence  for  the  conviction  of  every  candid  and  rational  man.2 

DowTden  says: 

Thus  all  through  the  play  he  wanders  between  materialism  and  spiritualism, 
between  belief  in  immortality  and  disbelief,  between  reliance  upon  Providence  and 
a  bowing  under  fate.  In  presence  of  the  ghost,  a  sense  of  his  own  spiritual  exist- 
ence and  the  immortal  life  of  the  soul  grows  strong  within  him.  In  presence  of  a 
spirit  he  is  himself  a  spirit: 

I  do  not  set  my  life  at  a  pin's  fee; 

And  for  my  soul,  what  can  it  do  to  that, 

Being  a  thing  immortal  as  itself? 

When  left  to  his  private  thoughts,  he  wavers  uncertainly  to  and  fro;  death  is  a 
sleep  —  a  sleep,  it  may  be,  troubled  with  dreams.  In  the  graveyard,  in  the  presence 
of  human  dust,  the  base  affinities  of  our  bodily  nature  prove  irresistibly  attractive 
to  the  curiosity  of  Hamlet's  imagination;  and  he  cannot  choose  but  pursue  the  his- 
tory of  human  dust  through  all  its  series  of  hideous  metamorphoses.3 

West  says: 

Though  there  is  no  reason  to  think  that  there  was  any  paganism  in  Shake- 
speare's creed,  yet  we  cannot  help  feeling  that  the  spirit  of  his  art  is  in  many 
respects  pagan.  In  his  great  tragedies  he  traces  the  workings  of  noble  or  lovely 
human  characters  on  to  the  point  —  and  no  farther  —  where  they  disappear  into  the 
darkness  of  death,  and  ends  with  a  look  back,  never  on  toward  anything  beyond.4 

1  Philosophy  and  Religion  oj  Shah.,  p.  9.  *  E,    B.    West,   Browning  as    a    Preacher,  Dark 

8  A  Study  of  Shah.,  p.  165.  Blue  Magazine,  Oct.  and  Nov.,  1871. 

3  Shah.  Mind  and  Art,  p.  118. 


THE   RELIGIOX  OF    THE    FLA  VS. 


205 


He    seems    to    have    been   a   fatalist.     Take    these    passages    as 

proof: 

But,  O  vain  boast ' 
Who  can  control  his  fate?1 

Our  wills  and  fates  do  so  contrary  run. 

That  our  devices  still  are  overthrown; 

Our  thoughts  are  ours,  their  ends  none  of  our  own.2 

Whom  destiny 
That  hath  to  instrument  this  lower  world 
And  what  is  in  it.3 

All  unavoided  is  the  doom  of  destiny.4 

'Tis  destiny  unshunnable,  like  death.5 

But  apart  from  this  predestinarian  bent  there  does  not  seem  to 
be  in  the  Plays  any  theological  preference  or  purpose.  All  the 
plays  which  preceded  the  Shakespearean  era  were  of  a  religious 
character  —  they  were  miracle  plays,  or  moralities,  in  which  Judas 
an4  the  devil  and  the  several  vices  shone  conspicuously.  Some  of 
these  plays  continued,  side  by  side  with  the  Shakespeare  Plays, 
down- to  the  end  of  the  sixteenth  century,  and  into  the  beginning  of 
the  seventeenth.  In  Lupton's  "  moral  and  pitiful  comedy,"  All  for 
Money\  the  catastrophe  represents  Judas  "like  a  damned  soul  in 
black,  painted  with  flames  of  fire  and  a  fearful  visard,  followed  by 
Dives,  'with  such  like  apparel  as  Judas  hath,'  while  Damnation 
(another  of  the  dramatis  persona) ,  pursuing  them,  drives  them  before 
him,  and   they  pass  away,  'making  a  pitiful  noise,'  into  perdition." 

The  mouth  of  hell,  painted  to  represent  flames  of  fire,  was  a  very 
common  scene  at  the  back  of  the  stage. 

Birch  says: 

What  a  transition  to  the  Plays  of  Shakespeare,  while  these  miracle  and  moral 
plays  were  fresh  in  the  recollection  of  the  people,  and  might  still  be  seen.  These 
supernatural,  historical  and  allegorical  personages  superseded  by  a  material  and 
philosophical  explanation  of  things  /6 

VI.     The  Causes  of  Infidelity  in  that  Age. 

The  "malignity  of  sects"  drove  many  men  to  infidelity.  They 
saw  in  religion  only  monstrous  and  cruel  forces,  which  lighted  hor- 
rible fires  in  the  midst  of  great  cities,  and  filled  the  air  with  the 
stench  of  burning  flesh  and  the  shrieks  of  the  dying  victims.     They 

1  Othello,  v,  2.  3  Tempest,  iv,  3.  3  Othello,  iii,  3. 

•  Hamlet,  iii,  2.  4  Richard  III.,  iv,  4  *  Birch,  Philosophy  and  Religion  of  Shah.,  p.  11. 


206  FRANCIS  B  A  CO  IV   THE  A  U  Til  OK    OF    THE  EI  A  VS. 

held  religion  to  account  for  those  excesses  of  fanaticism  in  a  semi- 
barbarous  age,  and  they  doubted  the  existence  of  a  God  who  could 
permit  such  horrors.  They  were  ready  to  exclaim  with  Macduff, 
when  told  that  "the  hell-kite,"  Macbeth,  had  killed  all  his  family, 
"all  his  pretty  ones,"  at  one  fell  swoop: 

Did  heaven  look  on, 
And  would  not  take  their  part? 

They  came  to  conceive  of  God  as  a  cruel  monster  who  relished 

the  sufferings  of  his  creatures.     Shakespeare  puts  this  thought  into 

the  mouth  of  Lear: 

As  flies  to  wanton  boys  are  we  to  the  gods: 
They  kill  us  for  their  sport.1 


Mankind  could  only  endure  this  divine  injustice: 

Arming  myself  with  patience, 
To  stay  the  providence  of  some  high  powers 
That  govern  us  below.2 

But,  whatever  conclusions  men  might  reach  on  these  questions, 
it  was  perilous  to  express  them.  The  stake  and  the  scaffold 
awaited  the  skeptical.  If  their  thoughts  were  to  reach  the  light 
it  must  be  through  the  mouths  of  madmen,  like  Lear  or  Hamlet; 
and  to  fall,  as  Bacon  said,  like  seeds,  that,  by  their  growth  in  the 
minds  of  generations  to  come,  would  mitigate  the  wrath  of  sects 
and  prepare  the  way  for  an  age  of  toleration. 

Birch  says: 

The  spectacle  of  Brownists,  among  the  Protestants,  and  of  Papists,  suffering 
capital  punishment  for  opinion's  sake,  alternately  presented  to  the  eyes  of  the  pub- 
lic, would  create  a  party  hostile  to  all  religion;  whilst  an  occasional  atheist  burnt 
would  teach  the  irreligious  to  keep  their  opinions  to  themselves,  or  caution  them  in 
administering  infidelity  as  "  medicinable."3 

However  strongly  we  may  be  convinced  of  the  great  and  funda- 
mental truths  of  religion,  it  must  be  conceded  that  freedom  of  con- 
science and  governmental  toleration  are  largely  the  outgrowth  of 
unbelief  and  indifference. 

In  an  age  that  realized,  without  doubt  or  question,  that  life  was 
but  a  tortured  hour  between  two  eternities;  a  thread  of  time  across 
a  boundless  abyss;  that  hell  and  heaven  lay  so  close  up  to  this 
breathing  world  that  a  step  would,  in  an  instant,  carry  us  over  the 
shadowy  line  into  an  ocean  of  flame  or  a  paradise  of  endless  de- 

1  Lear    iv,  i  2  Julius  Cwsar,  V,  t.  >  Birch,  Philosophy  and  Religion  of Shak.,  p.  8. 


THE   RELIGION   OF   THE   PLA  VS.  20y 

lights,  it  followed,  as  a  logical  sequence,  that  it  was  an  act  of  the 
greatest  kindness  and  humanity  to  force  the  skeptical,  by  any  tor- 
ture inflicted  upon  them  during  this  temporary  and  wretched  exist- 
ence, to  avoid  an  eternal  hell  and  obtain  an  eternal  heaven.  But 
so  soon  as  doubt  began  to  enter  the  minds  of  men;  so  soon  as  they 
said  to  one  another,  "Perchance  these  things  may  not  be  exactly 
as  we  have  been  taught;  perchance  the  other  world  may  be  but  a 
dream  of  hope;  perchance  this  existence  is  all  there  is  of  it,"  the 
fervor  of  fanaticism  commenced  to  abate.  Not  absolutely  positive 
in  their  own  minds  as  to  spiritual  things,  they  were  ready  to  make 
some  allowance  for  the  doubts  of  others.  Thus  unbelief  tamed  the 
fervor  even  of  those  who  still  believed,  and  modified,  in  time,  public 
opinion  and  public  law. 

But  in  Bacon's  era  every  thoughtful  soul  that  loved  his  fellow- 
man,  and  sought  to  advance  his  material  welfare,  would  instinct- 
ively turn  away  from  a  system  of  belief  which  produced  such  holo- 
causts of  martyrs,  and  covered  the  face  of  the  earth  with  such  cruel 
and  bloody  wars. 

I  have  no  doubt  that  Bacon  in  his  youth  was  a  total  disbeliever 
in  Christianity.     He  himself  said: 

A  little  philosophy  inclineth  man's  mind  to  atheism,  but  depth  in  philosophy 
bringeth  men's  minds  about  to  religion. 

There  was  found  among  his  writings  a  curious  essay,  called 
The  Characters  of  a  Believing  Christian,  in  Paradoxes  and  Seeming  Con- 
tradictions. It  is  a  wholesale  burlesque  of  Christianity,  so  cunningly 
put  together  that  it  may  be  read  as  a  commendation  of  Christians. 

I  give  a  few  extracts: 

1.  A  Christian  is  one  that  believes  things  his  reason  cannot  comprehend;  he 
hopes  for  things  which  neither  he  nor  any  man  alive  ever  saw;  he  labors  for  that 
which  he  knoweth  he  shall  never  obtain;  yet,  in  the  issue,  his  belief  appears  not  to 
be  false;  his  hopes  make  him  not  ashamed;  his  labor  is  not  in  vain. 

2.  He  believes  three  to  be  one  and  one  to  be  three;  a  father  not  to  be  elder 
than  his  son;  a  son  to  be  equal  with  his  father,  and  one  proceeding  from  both  to 
be  equal  with  both;  he  believing  three  persons  in  one  nature  and  two  natures  in 
one  person.   .   .   . 

ii.  ...  He  knoweth  if  he  please  men  he  cannot  be  the  servant  of  Christ,  yet 
for  Christ's  sake  he  pleaseth  all  men  in  all  things.  He  is  a  peace-maker,  yet  is  a 
continual  fighter,  and  an  irreconcilable  enemy. 

18.  .  .  .  He  professeth  he  can  do  nothing,  yet  as  truly  professeth  he  can  do 
all  things;  he  knoweth  that  flesh  and  blood  cannot  inherit  the  kingdom  of  God,  yet 
belie veth  he  shall  go  to  heaven,  both  body  and  soul. 


208  FRANCIS  PA  CON    THE  AUTHOR   OF   THE  PLAYS. 

1Q>.  ...  He  knovveth  he  shall  not  be  saved  by  or  for  his  good  works,  yet  he 
doth  all  the  good  works  he  can. 

21.  ...  He  believes  beforehand  that  God  hath  purposed  what  he  shall  be 
and  that  nothing  can  make  him  alter  his  purpose;  yet  prays  and  endeavors  as  if 
he  would  force  God  to  save  him  forever. 

24.  ...  He  is  often  tossed  and  shaken,  yet  is  as  Mount  Zion;  he  is  a  serpent 
and  a  dove,  a  lamb  and  a  lion,  a  reed  and  a  cedar.  He  is  sometimes  so  troubled 
that  he  thinks  nothing  to  be  true  in  religion,  yet  if  he  did  think  so  he  could  not  at 
all  be  troubled. 

We  turn  to  Shakespeare  and  we  find  in  Richard  II.  a  similar 
unbelieving  playing  upon  seeming  contradictions  in  Christianity. 
It  reads  like  a  continuation  of  the  foregoing  put  into  blank  verse- 
Richard  is  in  prison.     He  says: 

I  have  been  studying  how  to  compare 

This  prison,  where  I  live,  unto  the  world: 

And,  for  because  the  world  is  populous, 

And  here  is  not  a  creature  but  myself 

I  cannot  do  it:  yet  I'll  hammer  't  out. 

My  braine,  I'll  prove  the  female  to  my  soul, 

My  soul,  the  Father:  and  these  two  beget 

A  generation  of  still  breeding  thoughts; 

And  these  same  thoughts  people  this  little  world, 

In  humors,  like  the  people  of  this  world, 

For  no  thought  is  contented.     The  better  sort, 

As  thoughts  of  things  divine,  are  intermixt 

With  scruples,  and  do  set  the  Faith  itself 

Against  the  Faith: 

As  thus — "Come,  little  ones;"  and  then  again, 

"  It  is  as  hard  to  come  as  for  a  camel 

To  thread  the  postern  of  a  needle's  eye." 

No  one  can  doubt  that  these  thoughts,  showing  the  same  irre- 
ligious belief,  and  the  same  subtle  way  of  propounding  it,  came 
from  the  same  mind.  And  observe  the  covert  sarcasm  of  this, 
among  many  similar  utterances  of  Bacon: 

For  those  bloody  quarrels  for  religion  were  unknown  to  the  ancients,  the 
heathen  gods  not  having  so  much  as  a  touch  of  that  jealousy  which  is  an  attribute 
of  the  true  God.2 

Through  all    the  Shakespeare  Plays  we  find  the  poet,   by  the 

mouths  of  all  sorts  of  people,  representing  death  as  the  end  of  alL 

things.     Macbeth  says: 

Duncan  is  in  his  grave; 
After  life's  fitful  fever,  he  sleeps  well; 
Treason  has  done  his  worst;   nor  steel,  nor  poison, 
Malice  domestic,  foreign  levy,  nothing 
Can  touch  him  further. 

1  Richard  //.,  v,  5.  -  //  'isdom  of  the  A  ncients  —  Diomedes. 


THE  RELIGION   OF    THE  PLAYS. 


209 


Titus  Andronicus  thus  speaks  of  the  grave: 

Here  lurks  no  treason,  here  no  envy  swells; 
Here  grow  no  damned  grudges,  here  no  storms; 
No  noise,  but  silence  and  eternal  sleep. 

In  the  sonnets,  Shakespeare  speaks  of 
Death's  dateless  night. 

We  are  also  told  in  the  sonnets  that  we  leave  "this  vile  world" 
"with  vilest  worms  to  dwell."  In  The  Tempest  we  are  reminded 
that  "our  little  life  is  rounded  by  a  sleep";  that  is  to  say,  we  are 
surrounded  on  all  sides  by  total  oblivion  and  nothingness.  Iachimo 
sees  in  sleep  only  "the  ape  of  death." 

The  Duke  says,  in  Measure  for  Measure: 

Thy  best  of  rest  is  sleep, 
And  that  thou  oft  provok'st,  yet  grossly  fear'st 
Thy  death,  which  is  no  more. 

Dr.  Johnson  says: 

I  cannot,  without  indignation,  find  Shakespeare  saying  that  death  is  only 
sleep,  lengthening  out  his  exhortation  by  a  sentence  which  in  the  friar  is  impious,  in 
the  reasoner  is  foolish,  and  in  the  poet  trite  and  vulgar. 

In  the  same  play  the  writer  mocks  at  the  idea  of  an  immortal 

soul: 

But  man,  proud  man  ! 
Drest  in  a  little  brief  authority, 
Most  ignorant  of  what  he  s  most  assured. 
His  glassy  essence,  like  an  angry  ape, 
Plays  such  fantastic  tricks  before  high  heaven, 
As  make  the  angels  weep.1 

In  this  same  play  of  Measure  for  Measure,  while  he  gives  us  the 
pagan  conception  of  the  future  of  the  soul,  he  directly  slaps  in  the 
face  the  Christian  belief  in  hell.     Speaking  of  death,  he  says: 

The  delighted  spirit 
To  bathe  in  fiery  floods,  or  to  reside 
In  thrilling  regions  of  thick-ribbed  ice; 
To  be  imprisoned  in  the  viewless  winds, 
And  blown  with  restless  violence  round  above 
The  pendant  world;   or  to  be  worse  than  worst 
Of  those,  that  lawless  and  incertain  thoughts 
Imagine  howling/'2 

This  is  not  the  language  of  one  who  believed  that  God  had  said: 
"Depart  from  me,  ye  accursed,  into  everlasting  fire  !  " 

1  Measure  for  Measure,  ii,  2.  2  Ibid.,  iii,  1. 


2ro  FRANCIS   BACON    THE   AUTHOR   OF    THE   FLAYS. 

And,  we  find  the  mocking  Falstaff  talking,  in  a  jesting  fashion, 
about  the  "primrose  way  to  the  everlasting  bonfire  !" 

No  wonder  Birch  says,  speaking  of  Measure  for  Measure : 

There  are  passages  of  infidelity  in  this  play  that  staggered  Warburton,  made 
Johnson  indignant,  and  confounded  Coleridge  and  Knight.1 

VII.     Conclusions. 

Thus,  then,  I  decipher  the  religion  of  the  Plays: 

i.  They  were   written   by   a   man   of   Protestant   training,  who 

believed  in  the  political  changes  brought  about  by  Cranmer  and 

the  Reformation.     Such  a  man  was  Bacon. 

2.  They  were  written  by  one  who  was  opposed  to  the  temporal 
power  of  the  Pope  in  England.  As  I  have  shown,  this  was  Bacon's 
feeling. 

3.  They  were  written  by  one  who,  while  a  Protestant  in  poli- 
tics, did  not  feel  bitterly  toward  the  Catholics,  and  had  no  desire 
to  mock  or  persecute  them.  We  have  seen  that  Bacon  advocated 
the  most  liberal  treatment  of  the  followers  of  the  old  faith;  he  was 
opposed  to  the  marriage  of  the  clergy;  he  labored  for  the  unity  of 
all  Christians. 

4.  They  were  written  by  one  whom  the  world  in  that  age  would 
have  called  "an  infidel."  Such  a  man,  we  have  reason  to  believe, 
was  Bacon. 

I   shall  not  say  that  as  he  advanced  in  life  his  views  did  not 

change,   and   that  depth   of    philosophy   did    not,   to   use   his   own 

phrase,   "bring  his   mind   about   to   religion,"   even    to    the   belief 

in  the  great  tenets  of  Christianity.     Certain  it  is  that  no  man  ever 

possessed  a  profounder  realization  of  the  existence  of  God  in  the 

universe.     How  sublime,  how  unanswerable  is  his  expression: 

I  would  rather  believe  all  the  fables  in  the  Ta Imud  and  the  Koran  than  that 
this  universal  frame  is  without  a  mind ! 

Being  himself  a  mighty  spirit,  he  saw  through  "  the  muddy 
vesture  of  decay  "  which  darkly  hems  in  ruder  minds,  and  beheld 
the  shadowy  outlines  of  that  tremendous  Spirit  of  which  he  was 
himself,  with  all  created  things,  but  an  expression. 

He  believed  that  God  not  only  was,  but  was  all-powerful,  and 
all -merciful;  and   that  he  had   it  in   his   everlasting  purposes   to 

Philosophy  and  Religion  0/  Shah.,  p.  353. 


THE  RELIGION  OF    THE   PLAYS.  211 

lift  up  man  to  a  state  of  perfection  and  happiness  on  earth;  and  (as 
I  have  shown)  he  believed  that  he  had  created  him  —  even  him, 
Francis  Bacon  —  as  an  instrument  to  that  end;  and  to  accomplish 
that  end  he  toiled  and  labored  almost  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave. 

He  was  —  in  the  great  sense  of  the  words  —  a  priest  and 
prophet  of  God,  filled  with  the  divine  impulses  of  good.  If  he 
erred  in  his  conceptions  of  truth,  who  shall  stand  between  the 
Maker  and  his  great  child,  and  take  either  to  account  ? 

We  breathe  an  air  rendered  sweeter  by  his  genius;  we  live  in  a 
world  made  brighter  by  his  philosophy;  his  contributions  to  the 
mental  as  well  as  to  the  material  happiness  of  mankind  have  been 
simply  incalculable.  Let  us,  then,  thank  God  that  he  sent  him  to 
us  on  this  earth;  let.  us  draw  tenderly  the  mantle  of  charity  over  his 
weaknesses,  if  any  such  are  disclosed  by  the  unpitying  hand  of  his- 
tory; let  us  exult  that  one  has  been  born  among  the  children  of 
men  who  has  removed,  on  every  side  for  a  thousand  miles,  the 
posts  that  experience  had  set  up  as  the  limitations  of  human 
capacity. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE   PURPOSES   OF    THE    PLAYS. 

i  have,  though  in  a  despised  weed,  procured  the  good  of  all  men. 

Bacon. 

THE  first  question  asked  by  every  thoughtful  mind,  touching 
the  things  of  sense,  is:  Who  made  this  marvelous  world? 
The  second  is:      Why  did  He  make  it  ? 

The  purpose  of  the  thing  must  always  be  greater  than  the  thing 
itself  :  it  encloses,  permeates  and  maintains  it.  The  result  is  but 
a  small  part  of  the  preexistent  intention.  All  things  must  stand  or 
fall  by  their  purposes,  and  every  great  work  must  necessarily  be 
the  outgrowth  of  a  great  purpose. 

Were  these  wonderful,  these  oceanic  Shakespeare  Plays  the 
unconscious  outpourings  of  an  untutored  genius,  uttered  with  no- 
more  method  than  the  song  of  a  bird;  or  were  they  the  production 
of  a  wise,  thoughtful  and  profound  man,  who  wrote  them  with 
certain  well-defined  objects  in  view? 

I.     Bacon's  Aims  and  Objects. 

We  are  first  to  ask  ourselves,  If  Francis  Bacon  wrote  the  Plays,, 
what  were  the  purposes  of  his  life  ?  For,  as  the  Plays  constitute  a 
great  part  of  his  life-work,  the  purposes  of  his  life  must  envelop 
and  pervade  them. 

No  man  ever  lived  upon  earth  who  possessed  nobler  aims  than 
Francis  Bacon.  He  stands  at  the  portal  of  the  opening  civilization 
of  modern  times,  a  sublime  figure  —  his  heart  full  of  love  for  man, 
his  busy  brain  teeming  with  devices  for  the  benefit  of  man;  with 
uplifted  hands  praying  God  to  bless  his  work,  the  most  far-extend- 
ing human  work  ever  set  afoot  on  the  planet. 

He  says: 

I  am  a  servant  of  posterity;  for  these  things  require  some  ages  for  the  ripen- 
ing of  them.1 

1  Letter  to  Father  Fulgentio,  the  Venetian. 

21-2 


THE  PURPOSES  OE    THE  PLAYS.  2I3 

Again  he  says,  speaking  of  himself: 

Always  desiring,  with  extreme  fervency  (such  as  we  are  confident  God  puts  into 
the  minds  of  men),  to  have  that  which  was  never  yet  attempted,  now  to  be  not 
attempted  in  vain,  to-wit:  to  release  men  out  of  their  necessities  and  miseries.1 

Again  he  says: 

This  work  [the  Novum  Organuni]  is  for  the  bettering  of  men's  bread  and  wine, 
which  are  the  characters  of  temporal  blessings  and  sacraments  of  eternal.2 

Macaulay  says: 

The  end  which  Bacon  purposed  to  himself  was  the  multiplying  of  human 
enjoyments  and  the  mitigating  of  human  sufferings.  .  .  .  This  was  the  object  of 
his  speculations  in  every  department  of  science  —  in  natural  philosophy,  in  legisla- 
tion, in  politics,  in  morals.3 

And,  knowing  the  greatness  of  God  and  the  littleness  of  man, 

he  prays  the  source  of  all  goodness  for  aid: 

God,  the  maker,  preserver  and  renewer  of  the  universe,  guide  and  protect  this 
work,  both  in  its  ascent  to  his  own  glory,  and  in  its  descent  to  the  good  of  man, 
through  his  good  will  toward  man,  by  his  only  begotten  son,  God  with  us.4 

And,  speaking  of  his  own  philosophy,  he  says: 

I  am  thus  persuaded  because  of  its  infinite  usefulness ;  for  which  reason  it  may 
be  ascribed  to  divine  encouragement.5 

He  speaks  of  himself  as  "a  servant  of  God."  He  seems  to  have 
had  some  thought  of  founding,  not  a  new  religion,  but  a  new  sys- 
tem of  philosophy,  which  should  do  for  the  improvement  of  man's 
condition  in  this  world  what  religion  strove  to  do  for  the  improve- 
ment of  his  condition  in  the  next  world. 

And  Birch  says  of  Shakespeare: 

He  had  a  system,  which  may  be  drawn  from  his  works,  which  he  contrasts 
with  the  notions  of  mankind  taken  from  Revelation,  and  which  he  represents  as 
doing  what  revelation  and  a  future  state  purpose  to  do  for  the  benefit  of  mankind, 
and  which  he  thinks  sufficient  to  supply  its  place.6 

In  his  prayer,  written  at  the  time  of  his  downfall,  Bacon  says: 

Remember,  O  Lord,  how  thy  servant  hath  walked  before  thee,  remember  what 
I  have  first  sought,  and  what  hath  been  principal  in  mine  intentions.  .  .  .  The 
state  and  bread  of  the  poor  and  oppressed  have  been  precious  in  mine  eyes:  I  have 
hated  all  cruelty  and  hardness  of  heart;  I  have,  though  in  a  despistd  weed,  procured 
the  good  of  all  men.7 

How  did  he  "at  first"  (that  is  to  say  in  his  youth)  seek  and  pro- 
cure the  good  of  all  men?     And  what  was  the  "despised weed" ? 

1  Exper.  History.  *  Exper.  History. 

2  Letter  to  King  James,  October  19,  1620.  5  Letter  to  Father  Fulgentio. 

*  Essays,  Bacon,  p.  370.  •  Philosophy  and  Religion  of  Shak.,  p.  10. 

7  Life  and  Works,  Spedding,  etc.,  vol.  vii,  p.  229. 


2i4  FRANCIS  BACON    THE   AUTHOR    OF    THE   PLAYS. 

II.     Did  he  Regard    the  Drama    as  a  Possible  Instrumental- 
ity eor  Good? 

Do  we  find  any  indications  that  Bacon,  with  this  intent  in 
his  heart  to  benefit  mankind,  regarded  the  stage  as  a  possible 
instrumentality  to  that  end  ?  That  it  was  capable  of  being  so 
used  —  in  fact  was  so  used  —  there  can  be  no  doubt.  Simpson 
says: 

During  its  palmy  days  the  English  stage  was  the  most  important  instrument 
for  making  opinions  heard,  its  literature  the  most  popular  literature  of  the  age,  and 
on  that  account  it  was  used  by  the  greatest  writers  for  making  their  comments  on 
public  doings  and  public  persons.  As  an  American  critic  says,  "it  was  news- 
paper, magazine,  novel  —  all  in  one."1 

A  recent  English  writer,  W.  F.  C.  Wigston,  says: 

Sir  Philip  Sidney,  in  his  Defense  of  Poesy,  maintains  that  the  old  philosophers 
disguised  or  embodied  their  entire  cosmogonies  in  their  poetry,  as,  for  example, 
Thales,  Empedocles,  Parmenides,  Pythagoras,  and  Phocyclides,  who  were  poets  and 
Philosophers  at  once."1 

But  did  Bacon  entertain  any  such  views  ?  Unquestionably.  He 
says: 

Dramatic  Poesy  is  as  History  made  visible  ;  for  it  represents  actions  as  if  they 
were  present,  whereas  History  represents  them  as  past.  Parabolical  Poesy  is 
typical  History,  by  which  ideas  that  are  objects  of  the  intellect  are  represented  in 
forms  that  are  objects  of  the  sense.   .   .   . 

Dramatic  Poesy,  which  has  the  theater  for  its  world,  would  be  of  excellent  use 
if  well  directed.  For  the  stage  is  capable  of  no  small  influence,  both  of  discipline 
and  of  corruption.  Now,  of  corruptions  in  this  kind  we  have  enough;  but  the  dis- 
cipline has,  in  our  times,  been  plainly  neglected.  And  though  in  modern  states 
play-acting  is  esteemed  but  as  a  toy,  except  when  it  is  too  satirical  and  biting;  yet 
among  the  ancients  it  was  used  as  a  means  of  educating  mens  minds  to  virtue. 
Nay,  it  has  been  regarded  by  learned  men  and  great  philosophers  as  a  kind  of 
musician's  bow  by  which  mens  minds  may  be  played  upon.  And  certainly  it  is 
true,  and  one  of  the  great  secrets  of  nature,  that  the  minds  of  men  are  more 
open  to  impressions  and  affections  when  many  are  gathered  together  than  when 
they  are  alone.3 

The    reader  will   note   some  suggestive  phrases    in   the  above: 

"dramatic  poesy,  which  has  the  theater  for  its  world."     We  are 

reminded  of  Shakespeare's  "  All  the  world's  a  stage."     "A  kind  of 

musician's    bow,   by   which    men's    minds    may   be    played   upon." 

This  recalls  to  us  Hamlet's : 

Why,  do  you  think  that  I  am  easier  to  be  played  on  than  a  pipe?  Call  me  what 
instrument  you  will,  though  you  can  fret  me,  you  cannot  play  upon  »ie.A 

1  School  of  Shak.,  vol.  i,  p.  xviii.  8  De  Augment  is,  book  ii,  chap.  13. 

a  A  New  Study  of  Shak.,  p.  42.  *  Hamtet,  iii,  2. 


THE   PURPOSES   OF    THE  PLAYS.  215 

III.     Was  he  Associated  with  Plays  and  Players? 

But  it  may  be  said:  These  are  the  utterances  of  a  philosopher 
who  contemplates  these  things  with  an  aloofness,  and  Bacon  may 
have  taken  no  interest  in  play-houses  or  plays. 

Let  us  see. 

His  loving  and  religious  mother,  writing  of  her  sons,  Anthony 
and  Francis,  in  1594,  says: 

I  trust  they  will  not  mum,  nor  mask,  nor  sinfully  revel.1 

In  1594  his  brother  Anthony  had  removed  from  Gray's  Inn  to  a 
house  in  Bishopsgate  Street,  "much  to  his  mother's  distress,"  says 
Spedding,  "who  feared  the  neighborhood  of  the  Bull  Inn,  where 
plays  and  interludes  were  acted."' 

Bacon  took  part  in  the  preparation  of  many  plays  and  masks, 
for  the  -entertainment  of  the  court,  some  of  which  were  acted  by 
Shakspere  s  company  of  players. 

The  Queen  seemed  to  have  some  suspicion  of  Bacon  being  a 
poet  or  writer  of  plays.  The  Earl  of  Essex  writes  him,  May  18, 
1594  —  the  Earl  then  urging  Bacon  for  some  law  office  in  the  gift  of 
the  crown: 

And  she  did  acknowledge  you  had  a  great  wit,  and  an  excellent  gift  of  speech, 
and  much  other  good  learning.  But  in  law  she  rather  thought  you  could  make 
show  to  the  uttermost  of  your  knowledge,  than  that  you  were  deep.3 

And  Bacon  himself  acknowledges  that  his  mind  is  diverted 
from  his  legal  studies  to  some  contemplations  of  a  different  sort, 
and  more  agreeable  to  his  nature.     He  says,  in  a  letter  to  Essex: 

Your  Lordship  shall  in  this  beg  my  life  of  the  Queen;  for  I  see  well  the  bar  will 
be  my  bier. 

And  he  writes  to  his  uncle,  Lord  Burleigh,  in  1594: 

To  speak  plainly,  though  perhaps  vainly,  I  do  not  think  that  the  ordinary 
practice  of  the  law  will  be  admitted  for  a  good  account  of  the  poor  talent  that  God 
hath  given  me.4 

Montagu  says: 

Forced  by  the  narrowness  of  his  fortune  into  business,  conscious  of  his  own 
powers,  aware  of  the  peculiar  quality  of  his  mind,  and  disliking  his  pursuits,  his 
heart  was  often  in  his  study,  while  he  lent  his  person  to  the  robes  of  office.5 

1  Spedding's  Life  and  Letters,  vol.  i,  p.  326.  *  Letter  to  Burleigh,  1594. 

%Life  and  Works,  vol.  i,  p.  314.  6  Montagu,  Life  and  Works,  vol.  i,  p.  117. 

3  Life  and  Works,  Spedding,  vol.  i,  p.  297. 


216  FN  AX  CIS  BACON    THE  AUTHOR    OF   THE   PLAYS. 

If,  then,  it  is  conceded  that  Bacon  had  great  purposes  for  the 
benefit  of  mankind,  purposes  to  be  achieved  by  him,  not  by  the 
sword  or  by  the  powers  which  flow  from  high  positions,  but  by 
the  pen,  by  working  on  "the  minds  of  men;"  and  if  it  is  con- 
ceded, as  it  must  be,  that  he  recognized  the  stage  as  an  instru- 
mentality that  could  be  made  of  great  force  for  that  end,  by 
which  the  minds  of  men  could  "be  played  upon;"  and  if  it  is  con- 
ceded that  he  was  the  author  of  masks  and  the  getter-up  of 
other  dramatic  representations;  and  that  his  mind  was  not  de- 
voted to  the  dry  details  of  his  profession;  and  if  it  is  conceded, 
as  I  think  it  must  be,  that  he  had  the  genius,  the  imagination, 
the  wit  and  the  industry  to  have  prepared  the  Shakespeare  Plays, 
what  is  there  to  negative  the  conclusion  that  he  did  so  prepare 
them  ? 

And  does  he  not  seem  to  be  pointing  at  the  stage,  in  these 
words,  when,  speaking  of  the  obstructions  to  the  reception  of  truth 
caused  by  the  ignorance  and  bigotry  of  the  age,  he  says,  in  The 
Masculine  Birth  of  Time: 

"And  what,"  you  will  say,  "is  this  legitimate  method?  Have  done  with 
artifice  and  circumlocution;  show  me  the  naked  truth  of  your  design,  that  I  may 
be  able  to  form  a  judgment  for  myself."  I  would,  my  dearest  son,  that  matters 
were  in  such  a  state  with  you  as  to  render  this  possible.  Do  you  suppose  that, 
when  all  the  entrances  and  passages  to  the  mind  of  all  men  are  infested  and 
obstructed  with  the  darkest  idols,  and  these  seated  and  burned  in,  as  it  were,  into 
their  substance,  that  clear  and  smooth  places  can  be  found  for  receiving  the  true 
and  natural  rays  of  objects?  A  new  process  must  be  instituted  by  which  to  insinu- 
ate ourselves  into  minds  so  entirely  obstructed.  For,  as  the  delusions  of  the  insane 
are  removed  by  art  and  ingenuity,  but  aggravated  by  opposition,  so  must  we  adapt 
ourselves  to  the  universal  insanity. 

And  again  he  says: 

So  men  generally  taste  well  knowledges  that  are  drenched  in  flesh  and  blood, 
civil  history,  morality,  policy  about  which  men's  affections,  praises,  fortunes  do 
turn  and  are  conversant.1 

He  not  only  discusses  in  his  philosophical  works  dramatic  litera- 
ture and  the  influence  of  the  stage,  but  he  urges  in  the  translation  of 
the  second  book  of  the  Advancement  of  Learning  (but  not  in  the 
English  copy),  "that  the  art  of  acting  (actio  theatralis)  should  be 
made  a  part  of  the  education  of  youth."2  "The  Jesuits,"  he  says, 
"do  not  despise  it;  "  and  he  thinks  they  are  right,  for,  "though  it 

1  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  li.  9  Works  of Bacon,  vol.  vi,  p.  307. 


THE   PURPOSES   OF    THE   PLAYS.  2Iy 

be  of  ill  repute  as  a  profession,  yet  as  a  part  of  discipline  it  is  of 
excellent  use." 
Spedding  adds: 

In  Bacon's  time,  when  masks  acted  by  young  gentlemen  of  the  universities 
or  inns  of  court  were  the  favorite  entertainment  of  princes,  these  things  were 
probably  better  attended  to  than  they  are  now. 

And  Bacon  seemed  to  feel  that  there  ought  to  be  some  great 
writings  to  show  the  affections  and  passions  of  mankind.     He  says: 

And  here  again  I  find  it  strange  that  Aristotle  should  have  written  divers 
volumes  of  ethics  and  never  handled  the  affections,  which  is  the  principal  subject 
thereof.  .  .  .  But  the  poets  and  writers  of  histories  are  the  best  doctors  of  this 
knowledge:  where  we  may  find  painted  forth,  with  great  life,  how  affections  are 
kindled  and  incited,  and  how  pacified  and  refrained;  and  how  again  contained 
from  act  and  further  degree;  how  they  disclose  themselves;  how  they  work;  how 
they  vary;  how  they  gather  and  fortify;  how  they  are  inwrapped,  one  within 
another,  and  how  they  do  fight  and  encounter  one  with  another,  and  other  like 
particulars.1 

And  Barry  Cornwall  says,  as  if  in  echo  of  these  sentiments: 

If  Bacon  educated  the  reason,  Shakespeare  educated  the  heart. 

The  one  work  was  the  complement  of  the  other,  and  both  came 
out  of  the  same  great  mind.  They  were  flowers  growing  from  the 
stalk  of  the  same  tremendous  purpose. 

IV.     His  Poverty. 

But  the  reader  may  be  fencing  the  truth  out  of  his  mind  with 
the  thought  that  BacOn  was  a  rich  man's  son,  and  had  not  the  in- 
centive to  literary  labor.  Richard  Grant  White  puts  this  argument 
in  the  following  form.  Speaking  of  the  humble,  not  to  say  vile, 
circumstances  which  surrounded  Shakspere  in  his  youth,  he  says: 

If  Shakespeare  had  been  born  at  Charlecote,  he  would  probably  have  had  a 
seat  in  Parliament,  not  improbably  a  peerage;  but  we  should  have  had  no  plays, 
only  a  few  formal  poems  and  sonnets,  most  likely,  and  possibly  some  essays,  with 
all  of  Bacon's  wisdom,  set  forth  in  a  style  more  splendid  than  Bacon's,  but  hardly 
-so  incisive. 

It  is  curious  how  the  critical  mind  can  hardly  think  of  Shake- 
speare without  being  reminded  of  Bacon. 

But  was  Bacon  above  the  reach  of  poverty?  Was  he  above  the 
necessity  of  striving  to  eke  out  his  income  with  his  pen  ?  No. 
Hepworth  Dixon  says: 

1  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii. 


2l8  FRANCIS   HA  COX    THE   AUTHOR    OF    THE   PLAYS. 

Lady  Anne  and  her  sons  are  poor.  Anthony,  the  loving  and  beloved,  with 
whom  Francis  had  been  bred  at  Cambridge  and  in  France,  has  now  come  home. 
.  .  .  The  two  young  fellows  have  little  money  and  expensive  ways.  .  .  .  Lady 
Anne  starves  herself  at  Gorhambury  that  she  may  send  to  Gray's  Inn  ale  from  the 
cellar,  pigeons  from  her  dove-cote,  fowls  from  her  farm-yard  —  gifts  which  she  sea- 
sons with  a  good  deal  of  motherly  love,  and  not  a  little  of  her  best  motherly 
advice.1 

In  1612  Bacon  writes  King  James: 

My  good  old  mistress  [Queen  Elizabeth]  was  wont  to  call  me  her  watch-candle, 
because  it  pleased  her  to  say  I  did  continually  burn  (and  yet  she  suffered  me  to 
ivciste  almost  to  nothing),  so  I  much  more  owe  like  duty  to  your  Majesty.2 

In  a  letter  to  Villiers,  Bacon  says: 

Countenance,  encourage  and  advance  able  men.  For  in  the  time  of  the  Cecils, 
the  father  and  son,  able  men  were  by  design  and  of  purpose  suppressed. 

The  same  story  runs  through  all  the  years  during  which  the 
Shakespeare  Plays  were  written.     Spedding  says: 

Michaelmas  term  [1593]  passed,  and  still  no  solicitor  appointed.  Meanwhile, 
the  burden  of  debt  and  the  difficulty  of  obtaining  necessary  supplies  was  daily 
increasing.  Anthony's  correspondence  during  this  autumn  is  full  of  urgent  appli- 
cations to  various  friends  for  loans  of  money,  and  the  following  memorandum 
shows  that  much  of  his  own  necessity  arose  from  his  anxiety  to  supply  the  necessi- 
ties of  his  brother.3 

Here  Mr.  Spedding  inserts  the  memorandum,  showing  ^5 
loaned  Francis  September  12,  1593;  £1  loaned  him  October  23, 
1593;  £$  loaned  him  November  19,  1593,  with  other  loans  of  ;£io, 
^20  and  ;£ioo. 

Falstaff  expressed  Bacon's  own  experience  when  he  said: 

I  can  get  no  remedy  against  this  consumption  of  the  purse:  borrowing  only 
lingers  and  lingers  it  out,  but  the  disease  is  incurable.4 

In  the  year  1594  Bacon  describes  himself,  in  a  letter,  as  "poor 
and  sick ,  working  for  bread." 

In  1597  it  is  the  same  story.     Spedding  says: 

Bacon's  fortunes  are  still  as  they  were,  only  with  this  difference:  that  as  the 
calls  on  his  income  are  increasing,  in  the  shape  of  interest  for  borrowed  money,  the 
income  itself  is  diminishing  through  the  sale  of  lands  and  leases.5 

His  grief  and  perplexity  are  so  great  that  he  cries  out  in  a  letter 

to  his  uncle,  the  Lord  Treasurer,  written  in  that  year: 

I  stand  indifferent  whether  God  call  me  or  her  Majesty. 

1  Personal  History  of  Lord  Bacon,  p.  32.  4  2d  Henry  IV. ,  i,  2. 

2  Letter  to  King  James,  May  31,  1612.  »  Spedding,  Life  and  Works,  vol.  ii,  p.  53. 

3  Spedding,  Life  and  Works,  vol.  i,  p.  321. 


THE   PURPOSES   OF    THE   PLAYS.  219 

In  1598  he  is  arrested  for  debt  by  Sympson,  the  goldsmith;  in 
1603  he  is  again  in  trouble  and  petitions  the  Secretary,  Cecil,  to- 
intercede  and  prevent  his  creditors  taking  more  than  the  principal 
of  his  bond,  for,  he  adds,  "a  Jew  can  take  no  more." 

He  was  constantly  annoyed  and  pestered  by  his  creditors.  He 
writes  Mr.  Michael  Hicks,  January  21,  1600,  that  he  proposes  to 
clear  himself  from  "the  discontent,  speech  or  danger  of  others"  of 
his  creditors.  "Some  of  my  debts,  of  most  clamor  and  importunity, 
I  have  paid." 

Again  he  says:  "I  do  use  to  pay  my  debts  in  time"  —  not  in 
money. 

July  3,  1603,  he  writes  his  cousin  Robert,  Lord  Cecil: 

I  shall  not  be  able  to  pay  the  money  within  the  time  by  your  Lordship  under- 
taken, which  was  a  fortnight.  Nay,  money  I  find  so  hard  to  come  by  at  this  time, 
as  I  thought  to  have  become  an  humble  suitor  to  your  Honor  to  have  sustained  me, 
.   .   .   with  taking  up  three  hundred  pounds  till  I  can  put  away  some  land. 

He  hopes,  by  selling  off  "the  skirts  of  my  living  in  Hertford- 
shire," to  have  enough  left  to  yield  him  three  hundred  pounds  per 
annum  income. 

V.     The  Profit  of  Play-writing. 

The  price  paid  for  a  new  play  was  from  ^5  to  ,£20.  This, 
reduced  to  dollars,  is  $25  to  $100.  But  money,  it  is  agreed,  pos- 
sessed a  purchasing  power  then  equal  to  twelve  times  what  it 
has  now;  so  that  Bacon,  for  writing  a  new  play,  would  receive 
what  would  be  the  equivalent  of  from  $300  to  $1,200  to-day.  But 
in  addition  to  this  the  author  was  entitled  to  all  the  receipts  taken 
in,  above  expenses,  on  the  second  or  third  day  of  the  play,1  and 
this,  in -the  case  of  a  successful  play,  might  be  a  considerable  sum. 
And  probably  in  the  case  of  plays  as  popular  as  were  the  Shake- 
speare Plays,  special  arrangements  were  made  as  to  the  division  of 
the  profits.  It  was  doubtless  from  dividing  with  Bacon  these  sums 
that  Shakspere  acquired  his  large  fortune. 

Such  sums  as  these  to  a  man  who  was  borrowing  one  pound  at 
a  time  from  his  necessitous  brother,  Anthony,  and  who  was  more 
than  once  arrested  and  put  in  sponging-houses  for  debt,  were  a 
matter  of  no  small  moment. 

'  See  Collier's  Annah  of  the  Stage,  vol.  iii,  pp.  224,  229,  230,  etc. 


220  FRANCIS  BACON    THE   AUTHOR   OF   THE   FLAYS. 

He  seems,  from  a  letter  to  Essex,  to  have  had  some  secret  means 

of  making  money.     He  says: 

For  means  I  value  that  most:  and  the  rather  because  I  am  purposed  not  to  fol- 
low the  practice  of  the  law;  .  .  .  and  my  reason  is  only  because  it  drinketh  too 
much  time,  which  I  have  dedicated  to  better  purposes.  But,  even  for  that  point  of 
estate  and  means,  I  partly  lean  to  Thales'  opinion,  "  that  a  philosopher  may  be  rich 
if  he  will" 

This  is  very  significant.     Even  Spedding  perceives  the  traces  of 

a  mystery.     He  says: 

So  enormous  were  the  results  which  Bacon  anticipated  from  such  a  renovation 
of  philosophy  as  he  had  conceived  the  possibility  of,  that  the  reluctance  which  he 
felt  to  devote  his  life  to  the  ordinary  practice  of  a  lawyer  cannot  be  wondered  at. 
It  is  easier  to  understand  why  he  was  resolved  not  to  do  that,  than  what  other  plan 
he  had  to  clear  himself  of  the  difficulties  which  were  accumulating  upon  him,  and  to 
obtain  means  of  living  and  -working.  .  .  .  What  course  he  betook  himself  to  at  the 
crisis  at  which  he  had  now  arrived,  I  cannot  positively  say.  I  do  not  find  any 
letter  of  his  which  can  be  probably  assigned  to  the  winter  of  1596;  nor  have  I  met 
among  his  brother's  papers  anything  which  indicates  what  he  zvas  about.  .  .  . 
I  presume,  however,  that  he  betook  himself  to  his  studies.1 

In  the  last  years  of  the  sixteenth  century  and  the  first  of  the 
seventeenth  Bacon  seems  to  have  given  up  all  hope  of  rising  to 
office  in  the  state.     He  was  under  some  cloud.     He  says: 

My  ambition  is  quenched.  .  .  .  My  ambition  now  I  shall  only  put  upon  my  pen, 
whereby  I  shall  be  able  to  maintain  memory  and  merit  of  the  times  succeeding.'2 

He  was  hopeless;  he  was  powerless;  he  was  poor.     He  had  felt 

The  whips  and  scorns  of  time, 
The  oppressor's  wrong,  the  poor  man's  contumely, 

.   .   .  the  law's  delay, 
The  insolence  of  office,  and  the  spurns 
That  patient  merit  of  the  unworthy  takes. 

He  wrote  to  the  Queen  that  he  had  suffered 
The  contempt  of  the  contemptible,  that  measure  a  man  by  his  estate.3 
What  could  he  make  money  at  ?  There  was  no  great  novel- 
reading  public,  as  at  present.  There  were  no  newspapers  to 
employ  ready  and  able  pens.  There  was  little  sale  for  the  weight- 
ier works  of  literature.  There  was  but  one  avenue  open  to  him  — 
the  play-house. 

Did  he  combine  the  more  sordid  and  pressing  necessity  for 
money  with  those  great,  kindly,  benevolent  purposes  toward  man- 

1  Spedding,  Works  of  Bacon  —  Letters  and  Life,  vol.  ii,  p.  1. 

2  Letter  to  R.  Cecil,  July  3,  1603. 

3  Letter  to  the  Queen,  1 599-1 600  —  Life  and  Works,  vol.  ii,  p.  166. 


THE   PURPOSES   OF    THE   PLAYS.  221 

kind  which  filled  his  heart  ?     Did  he  try  to  use  the  play-house  as  a 
school  of  virtue  and  ethics  ?     Let  us  see. 

VI.     Great  Moral  Lessons. 

In  the  first  place,  the  Plays  are  great  sermons  against  great 
evils.     They  are  moral  epics. 

What  lesson  does  Macbeth  leave  upon  the  mind  ?  It  teaches 
every  man  who  reads  it,  or  sees  it  acted,  the  horrors  of  an  unscru- 
pulous ambition.  It  depicts,  in  the  first  place,  a  brave  soldier  and 
patriot,  defending  his  country  at  the  risk  of  his  life.  Then  it  shows 
the  agents  of  evil  approaching  and  suggesting  dark  thoughts  to 
his  brain.  Then  if  shows  us,  as  Bacon  says,  speaking  of  the  passions 
as  delineated  by  the  poets  and  writers  of  histories: 

Painted  forth,  with  great  life,  how  affections  (passions)  are  kindled  and  incited; 
and  how  pacified  and  refrained;  and  how  again  contained  from  act  and  further 
degree;  how  they  disclose  themselves;  how  they  work;  how  they  vary;  how  they 
gather  and  fortify;  how  they  are  inwrapped  one  within  another;  and  how  they  do 
fight  and  encounter  one  with  another. 

All  this  is  revealed  in  Macbeth.     We  see  the   seed  of  ambition 

taking  root;  we  see  it  "disclosed;"  we  see   self-love  and  the  sense 

of  right  warring  with  each  other.     We  see  his  fiendish  wife  driving 

him  forward  to  crime  against  the  promptings  of  his  better  nature. 

It  depicts,  with  unexampled  dramatic  power,  a  cruel  and  treacherous 

murder.     Then  it  shows  how  crime  begets  the  necessity  for  crime: 

To  be  thus  is  nothing, 
But  to  be  safely  thus. 

It  shows  one  horror  treading  fast  upon  another's  heels:  the 
usurper  troubled  with  the  horrible  dreams  that  "  shake  him 
nightly;"  the  mind  of  the  ambitious  woman  giving  way  under  the 
strain  her  terrible  will  had  put  upon  it,  until  we  see  her  seeking  peace 
in  suicide;  while  Macbeth  falls  at  last,  overthrown  and  slaughtered. 

Have  all  the  pulpits  of  all  the  preachers  given  out  a  more  ter- 
rible exposition  and  arraignment  of  ambition  ?  Think  of  the 
uncountable  millions  who,  in  the  past  three  hundred  years,  have 
witnessed  this  play  !  Think  of  the  illimitable  numbers  who  will 
behold  it  during  the  next  thousand  years  ! 

What  an  awful  picture  of  the  workings  of  a  guilty  conscience  is 
that  exhibited  when  Macbeth  sees,  even  at  the  festal  board,  the 
blood-boltered  Banquo  rising  up  and  regarding  him  with  glaring 


2  22  FRANCIS   BACON    THE   AUTHOR    OF    THE    PLAYS. 

and  soulless  eyes.     And  how  like  the  pitiful  cry  of  a  lost  soul  is  this 

utterance  ? 

I  have  lived  long  enough:  my  way  of  life 

Is  fallen  into  the  sear,  the  yellow  leaf: 

And  that  which  should  accompany  old  age, 

As  honor,  love,  obedience,  troops  of  friends, 

I  must  not  look  to  have;  but,  in  their  stead, 

Curses,  not  loud  but  deep,  mouth-honor,  breath 

Which  the  poor  heart  would  fain  deny,  and  dare  not. 

Call  the  roll  of  all  your  pulpit  orators  !  Where  is  there  one 
that  has  ever  preached  such  a  sermon  as  that  ?  Where  is  there  one 
that  has  ever  had  such  an  audience  —  such  an  unending  succession 
of.  million-large  audiences  —  as  this  man,  who,  in  a  "  despised 
weed,  sought  the  good  of  all  men"? 

And,  remember,  that  it  was  not  the  virtuous  alone,  the  church- 
goers, the  elect,  who  came  to  hear  this  marvelous  sermon,  but  the 
high,  the  low;  the  educated,  the  ignorant;  the  young,  the  old;  the 
good,  the  vicious;  the  titled  lord,  the  poor  'prentice;  the  high-born 
dame,  the  wretched  waste  and  wreck  of  womankind. 

A  sermon  preached  almost  nightly  for  nigh  three  hundred 
years  !  Not  preached  with  robe  or  gown,  or  any  pretense  of  vir- 
tue, but  in  those  living  pictures,  "that  history  made  visible,"  of  the 
mighty  philanthropist.  Not  coming  with  the  ostentation  and 
parade  of  holiness,  with  swinging  censer  and  rolling  organ,  but 
conveyed  into  the  minds  of  the  audience  insensibly,  insinuated 
into  them,  through  the  instrumentality  of  a  lot  of  poor  players. 
Precisely  as  we  have  seen  Bacon  suggesting  that,  by  "  a  new  process," 
truth  should  be  insinuated  into  minds  obstructed  and  infested  —  a 
process  "  drenched in  flesh  and  blood"  as  surely  Macbeth  is;  a  process 
that  the  ancients  used  to  "educate  men's  minds  to  virtue;"  by  which 
the  minds  of  men  might  be  "played  upon,"  as  if  with  a  "musician's 
bow,"  with  the  greater  force  because  (as  he  had  observed  a  thou- 
sand times  in  the  Curtain  Theater)  the  minds  of  men  are  more  acted 
upon  when  they  are  gathered  in  numbers  than  when  alone. 

VII.  Ingratitude. 

Turn  to  Lear.  What  is  its  text?  Ingratitude.  Another  mighty 
sermon. 

The  grand  old  man  who  gave  all,  with  his  heart  in  it.  The 
viciousness  of  two  women;  the  nobleness  of  a  third  —  for  the  gentle 


THE   PURPOSES   OF    THE   PLAYS.  22, 

heart  of  the  poet  would  not  allow  him  to  paint  mankind  altogether 
bad;  he  saw  always  'the  soul  of  goodness  in  things  evil."  And 
mark  the  moral  of  the  story.  The  overthrow  of  the  wicked,  who 
yet  drag  down  the  good  and  noble  in  their  downfall. 

VIII.    Jealousy  and   Intemperance. 

Turn  to  Othello.  What  is  the  text  here?  The  evils  of  jealousy 
and  the  power  for  wrong  of  one  altogether  iniquitous.  The 
overthrow  of  a  noble  nature  by  falsehood;  the  destruction  of 
a  pure  and  gentle  woman  to  satisfy  the  motiveless  hate  of  a 
villain.  And  there  is  within  this  another  moral.  The  play  is 
a  grand  plea  for  temperance,  expressed  with  jewels  of  thought 
set  in  arabesques  of  speech.  Can  all  the  reformers  match  that 
expression  : 

0  thou  invisible  spirit  of  wine  !  If  thou  hast  no  name  to  be  known  by,  let  us 
call  thee  devil ! 

The  plot  of  the  play  turns  largely  on  Cassio's  drunkenness;  for 
it  is  Desdemona's  intercession  for  poor  Cassio  that  arouses  Othel- 
lo's suspicions.     And  how  pitiful  are  Cassio's  exclamations: 

Oh,  that  men  should  put  an  enemy  in  their  mouths  to  steal  away  their  brains  ! 
that  we  should,  with  joy,  pleasance,  revel  and  applause,  transform  ourselves  into 
beasts.  .  .  .  To  be  now  a  sensible  man,  by  and  by  a  fool,  and  presently  a  beast ! 
O  strange  '.     Every  inordinate  cup  is  unblessed,  and  the  ingredient  is  a  devil. 

It  is  impossible  to  sum  up  a  stronger  appeal  in  behalf  of  a  tem- 
perate use  of  the  good  things  of  this  world  than  these  words  con- 
tain. And,  remember,  they  were  written,  not  in  the  nineteenth 
century,  but  in  an  age  of  universal  drunkenness,  practiced  by  both 
men  and  women;  and  uttered  at  first  to  audiences  nine-tenths  of 
whom  probably  had  more  ale  and  sack  in  them  than  was  good  for 
them,  even  while  they  witnessed  the  play. 

And  we  find  the  great  teacher  always  preaching  the  same  lesson 
of  temperance  to  the  people,  and  in  much  the  same  phrases.  He 
says : 

When  he  is  best,  he  is  little  worse  than  a  man;  and  when  he  is  worst  he  is 
little  better  than  a  beast.1 

And  again  he  says: 

A  howling  monster;   a  drunken  monster.2 

1  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  i,  2.  '  Tempest,  iii,  2. 


224  FkANCIS  BACON   THE  AUTHOR   OF   THE  PLAYS.       . 

And   in  the  introduction  to  The  Taming  of  the  Shrew,  his  Lord- 
ship, looking  at  the  drunken  Christopher  Sly,  says: 
Oh,  monstrous  beast!   how  like  a  swine  he  lies. 

IX.     Timon  of  Athens. 

In  this  play,  the  moral  is  the  baseness  of  sycophants  and  mam- 
mon-worshipers. Its  bitterness  and  wrath  came  from  Bacon's 
own  oppressed  heart,  in  the  day  of  his  calamities;  when  he  had  felt 
all  "the  contempt  of  the  contemptible,  who  measure  a  man  by  his 
estate." 

Mr.  Hallam  says: 

There  seems  to  have  been  a  period  of  Shakespeare's  life  when  his  heart  was  ill 
at  ease,  and  ill  content  with  the  world  or  his  own  conscience;  the  memory  of  hours 
mis-spent,  the  pang  of  affection  misplaced  or  unrequited,  the  experience  of  man's 
worser  nature,  which  intercourse  with  ill-chosen  associates  by  choice  or  circum- 
stance peculiarly  teaches;  —  these,  as  they  sank  down  into  the  depths  of  his  great 
mind,  seem  not  only  to  have  inspired  into  it  the  conception  of  Lear  and  Timon, 
but  that  of  one  primary  character,  the  censurer  of  mankind.1 


X.     Shylock  the  Usurer. 

In  1594  Bacon  was  the  victim  of  a  Jew  money-lender.     In  1595 

appeared  The  Merchant  of  Venice,  in  which,  says  Mrs.  Pott: 

Shylock  immortalizes  the  hard  Jew  who  persecuted  Bacon;  and  Antonius  the 
generous  brother  Anthony  who  sacrificed  himself  and  taxed  his  credit  in  order  to 
relieve  Francis.     Antonio  in  Twelfth  Night  is  of  the  same  generous  character. 

And  it  will  be  observed  that  both  Bacon  and  the  writer  of  the 
Plays  were  opposed  to  usury. 

Says  Bacon: 

It  is  against  nature  for  money  to  breed  money.2 

And  again  he  speaks  of 

The  devouring  trade  of  usury.3 

While  in  Shakespeare  we  have  the  conversation  between 
Shylock  and  Antonio,  the  former  justifying  the  taking  of  interest 
on  money  by  the  case  of  Jacob,  who  "grazed  his  uncle  Laban's 
sheep"  and  took  "all  the  yearlings  which  were  streaked  and  pied." 
Says  Antonio: 

Was  this  inserted  to  make  interest  good  ? 
Or  is  your  gold  and  silver  ewes  and  rams? 
Shylock.     I  cannot  tell.     I  make  it  breed  as  fast. 

1  Literature  of  Europe,  vol.  iii,  p.  508.  2  Essay  Of  Usury.  3  Essay  Of  Seditions. 


THE   PURPOSES   OF    THE   PLAYS.  '  225 

And   again  we  have   the   same   idea  of   money  breeding  money, 

used  by  Bacon,  repeated  in  this  conversation.     Antonio  says: 

I  am  as  like  to  call  thee  so  again. 

To  spit  on  thee  again,  to  spurn  thee,  too. 

If  thou  wilt  lend  this  money,  lend  it  not 

As  to  thy  friends;  for  when  did  friendship  take 

A  breed  of  barren  metal  from  his  friend? 

And  it  will  be  remembered  that  the  whole  play  turns  on  the  sub- 
ject of  usury.     The  provocation  which  Antonio  first  gave  Shylock 

was  that 

He  lends  out  money  gratis,  and  brings  down 
The  rate  of  usance  here  with  us  in  Venice. 

And  again: 

Signior  Antonio,  many  a  time  and  oft 
In  the  Rialto  you  have  rated  me 
About  my  monies  and  my  usances. 

The  purpose  of  the  play  was  to  stigmatize  the  selfishness  mani- 
fested in  the  taking  of  excessive  interest;  which  is,  indeed,  to  the 
poor  debtor,  many  a  time  the  cutting-out  of  the  very  heart.  And 
hence  the  mighty  genius  has,  in  the  name  of  Shylock,  created  a 
synonym  for  usurer,  and  has  made  in  the  Jew  money-lender  the 
most  terrible  picture  of  greed,  inhumanity  and  wickedness  in  all 
literature. 

Bacon  saw  the  necessity  for  borrowing  and  lending,  and  hence  of 
moderate  compensation  for  the  use  of  money.  But  he  pointed  out, 
in  his  essay  Of  Usury,  the  great  evils  which  resulted  from  the  prac- 
tice. He  contended  that  if  the  owners  of  money  could  not  lend  it 
out,  they  would  have  to  employ  it  themselves  in  business;  and  hence, 
instead  of  the  "lazy  trade  of  usury,"  there  would  be  enterprises  of 
all  kinds,  and  employment  for  labor,  and  increased  revenues  to  the 
kingdom.     And  his  profound  wisdom  was  shown  in  this  utterance: 

It  [usury]  bringeth  the  treasures  of  a  realm  or  state  into  a  few  hands;  for  the 
usurer  being  at  certainties,  and  others  at  uncertainties,  at  the  end  of  the  game 
most  of  the  money  will  be  in  his  box;  and  ever  a  state  flourisheth  most  when 
wealth  is  more  equally  spread. 

XI.      MOBOCRACY. 
The  moral  of  Coriolanus  is  that  the  untutored  multitude,  as  it 
existed  in  Bacon's  day,  the  mere  mob,  was  not  capable  of  self-gov- 
ernment.    The  play  was   written,  probably,  because  of  the  many 
indications  which   Bacon  saw  that   "the  foot  of  the   peasant  was 


226  FRANCIS  BACOX    THE   AUTHOR    OF    THE   PLAYS. 

treading  close  on  the  kibe  of  the  courtier,"  as  Hamlet  says;  and 
that  a  religious  war,  accompanied  by  an  uprising  of  the  lower 
classes,  was  at  hand,  which  would,  as  he  feared,  sweep  away  all 
learning  and  civility  in  a  deluge  of  blood.  The  deluge  came 
shortly  after  his  death,  but  the  greatness  and  self-control  of  the 
English  race  saved  it  from  ultimate  anarchy.  At  the  same  time 
Bacon,  in  his  delineation  of  the  patriot  Brutus,  showed  that  he  was 
not  adverse  to  a  republican  government  of  intelligent  citizens. 

XII.  The  Deficiencies  of  the  Man  of  Thought. 

Hamlet  is  autobiographical.  It  is  Bacon  himself.  It  is  the  man 
of  thought,  the  philosopher,  the  poet,  placed  in  the  midst  of  the 
necessities  of  a  rude  age. 

Bacon  said: 

I  am  better  fitted  to  hold  a  book  than  to  play  a  part. 

He  is  overweighted  with  the  thought-producing  faculty:  in  his 
case  the  cerebrum  overbalances  the  cerebellum.  He  laments  in  his 
old  age  that,  being  adapted  to  contemplation  and  study,  his  for- 
tune forced  him  into  parts  for  which  he  was  not  fitted.  He  makes 
this  his  apology  to  posterity: 

This  I  speak  to  posterity,  not  out  of  ostentation,  but  because  I  judge  it  may 
somewhat  import  the  dignity  of  learning,  to  have  a  man  born  for  letters  rather  than 
anything  else,  who  should,  by  a  certain  fatality,  and  against  the  bent  of  his  own 
genius,  be  compelled  into  active  life} 

This  is  Hamlet.  He  comes  in  with  book  in  hand,  speculating 
where  he  should  act.  He  is  "  holding  a  book  "  where  he  should 
"  play  a  part." 

Schlegel  says  of  Hamlet  ; 

The  whole  is  intended  to  show  that  a  calculating  consideration,  which  exhausts 
all  the  relations  and  possible  consequences  of  a  deed,  must  cripple  the  power  of 
acting. 

Coleridge  says  of  Hamlet : 

We  see  a  great,  an  enormous  intellectual  activity,  and  a  proportionate  aver- 
sion to  real  action  consequent  upon  it. 

Dowden  says: 

When  the  play  opens  he  has  reached  the  age  of  thirty  years  —  the  age,  it  has 
been  said,  when  the  ideality  of  youth  ought  to  become  one  with  and  inform  the 
practical  tendencies  of  manhood  —  and  he   has   received   culture   of  every  kind 

1  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  viii,  p.  3. 


THE   PURPOSES  OF   THE  PLAYS. 


U"'^*8/T, 


227 


except  the  culture  of  active  life.  He  has  slipped  on  into  years  of  full  manhood  still  a 
haunter  of  the  university,  a  student  of  philosophies,  an  amateur  in  art,  a  ponderer  on 
the  things  of  life  and  death,  who  has  never  formed  a  resolution  or  executed  a  deed. 

These  descriptions  fit  Bacon's  case  precisely.  His  ambition 
drags  him  into  the  midst  of  the  activities  of  the  court;  his  natural 
predisposition  carries  him  away  to  St.  Albans  or  Twickenham 
Park,  to  indulge  in  his  secret  " contemplations;  "  and  to  compose 
the  "works  of  his  recreation"  and  "the  works  of  the  alphabet." 
He  was,  as  it  were,  two  men  bound  in  one.  He  aspired  to  rule 
England  and  to  give'  a  new  philosophy  to  mankind.  He  would 
rival  Cecil  and  Aristotle  at  the  same  time. 

And   this  play  seems  to  be  autobiographical   in  another  sense. 

Hamlet  was   robbed   of  his   rights  by  a  relative  —  his  uncle.     He 

"  lacked  advancement."     Bacon,  who  might  naturally  hope  to  rise  to 

a  place  in  Elizabeth's  court  similar  to  that  held  by  his  father,  "lacks 

advancement;"  and  it  is  his  uncle  Burleigh  and  his  uncle's  son  who 

hold  him  down.     Hamlet  is  a  philosopher.     So  is  Bacon.     Hamlet 

writes  verses  to  Ophelia.     Bacon  is  a  poet.     Hamlet  writes  a  play, 

or  part  of  one,  for  the  stage.     So,  we  assert,  did  Bacon.     Hamlet 

puts   forth   the   play  as  the  work  of  another.     So,  we  think,  did 

Bacon.     Hamlet  cries  out: 

The  play's  the  thing 
Wherewith  I'll  catch  the  conscience  of  the  King. 

And  it  is  our  theory  that  Bacon  sought  with  his  plays  to 
catch  the  conscience  of  mankind.  Hamlet  has  one  true,  trusted 
friend,  Horatio,  to  whom  he  opens  the  secrets  of  his  heart,  and  to 
whom  he  utters  a  magnificent  essay  on  friendship.  Bacon  has  an- 
other such  trusted  friend,  Sir  Tobie  Matthew,  to  whom  he  opened 
his  heart,  and  for  whom,  we  are  told,  he  wrote  his  prose  essay  Of 
Friendship.  Hamlet  is  supposed  to  be  crazy.  Bacon  is  charged 
by  his  enemies  with  being  a  little  daft  —  with  having  "a  bee  in  his 
head  " — and  each  herein,  perhaps,  illustrates  the  old  truth,  that 

Great  minds  to  madness  are  quite  close  allied, 
And  thin  partitions  do  the  bounds  divide. 

XIII.    The  Tempest. 

The  great  drama  of  The  Tempest  contains  another  personal  story. 

This  has,  in  part,  been  perceived  by  others.     Mr.  Campbell  says: 

The  Tempest  has  a  sort  of  sacredness  as  the  last  work  of  a  mighty  workman. 
Shakespeare,  as  if  conscious  that  it  would  be  his  last,  and  as  if  inspired  to  typify 


228  FRANCIS   BACON    THE   AUTHOR    OF    THE   PLAYS. 

himself,  has  made  his  hero  a  natural,  a  dignified  and  benevolent  magician,  who' 
could  conjure  up  spirits  from  the  vasty  deep,  and  command  supernatural  agency 
by  the  most  seemingly  natural  and  simple  means.  .  .  .  Here  Shakespeare  himself 
is  Prospero,  or  rather  the  superior  genius  who  commands  both  Prospero  and  Ariel, 
But  the  time  was  approaching  when  the  potent  sorcerer  was  to  break  his  staff,  and 
bury  it  fathoms  in  the  ocean, 

Deeper  than  did  ever  plummet  sound.1 

What  is  the  plot  of  the  play  ? 

Prospero  was  born  to  greatness,  was  a  "prince  of  power." 

Bacon  was  born  in  the  royal  palace  of  York  Place,  and  expected 
to  inherit  the  greatness  of  his  father,  Elizabeth's  Lord  Chancellor. 
"Bacon,"  says  Hepworth  Dixon,2  "seemed  born  to  power." 

Prospero  was  cast  down  from  his  high  place.     So  was  Bacon. 

Who    did    it?     His    uncle    Burleigh.     And    in    The    Tempest,   as   in 

Hamlet,  an  uncle  is  the  evil  genius  of  the  play.     Prospero  says  to 

his  daughter  Miranda: 

Thy  false  uncle  ■ —  ... 
Being  once  perfected  how  to  grant  suits, 
How  to  deny  them;  whom  to  advance,  and  whom 
To  trash  for  over-topping  —  new  created 
The  creatures  that  were  mine,  I  say,  or  changed  them, 
Or  else  new  formed  them;  having  both  the  key 
Of  officer  and  office,  set  all  hearts  i'  th'  state 
To  what  tune  pleased  his  ear. 

This  might  be  taken  to  describe,  very  aptly,  the  kind  of  arts  by 
which  Bacon's  uncle,  Burleigh,  reached  and  held  power.  Bacon 
wrote  to  King  James: 

In  the  time  of  Elizabeth  the  Cecils  purposely  oppressed  all  men  of  ability. 

And  why  did  Prospero  lose  power  ?  Because  he  was  a  student. 
He  neglected  the  arts  of  statecraft  and  politics,  and  devoted  him- 
self to  nobler  pursuits.     He  says: 

I,  thus  neglecting  worldly  ends,  all  dedicated 
To  closeness  and  the  bettering  of  my  mind. 
....  me,  poor  man  !  my  library 
Was  dukedom  large  enough  ! 

"The  bettering  of  my  mind"  is  very  Baconian.  But  where 
have  we  the  slightest  evidence  that  the  man  of  Stratford  ever 
strove  to  improve  his  mind  ? 

And  the  labors  of  Prospero  were  devoted  to  the  liberal  arts  and 
to  secret  studies.     So  were  Bacon's.     Prospero  says: 

1  Knight's  Shakespeare,  introductory  notice  to  Tempest. 
8  Personal  History  of  Lor  J  Bacon,  p.  7. 


THE   PURPOSES   OF    THE   PLAYS.  229 

And  Prospero,  the  prime  duke,  being  so  reputed 

In  dignity;   and  for  the  liberal  arts 

Without  a  parallel;   those  being  all  my  study, 

The  government  I  cast  upon  my  brother, 

And  to  my  state  grew  stranger,  being  transported 

And  rapt  in  secret  studies. 

What  happened  ?  Prospero  was  dethroned,  and  with  his  little 
daughter,  Miranda,  was  seized  upon: 

In  few,  they  hurried  us  aboard  a  bark; 

Bore  us  some  leagues  to  sea,  where  they  prepared 

A  rotten  carcase  of  a  butt,  not  rigged, 

Nor  tackle,  sail,  nor  mast;   the  very  rats 

Instinctively  had  quit  it. 

This  was  the   rotten  butt  of  Bacon's  fortunes,  when  they  were 

at  their  lowest;   when  his  friends  deserted   him,  like  the  rats,  and 

when  he  wrote  Timon  of  Athens. 

Miranda  asks: 

How  came  we  ashore? 
Prospero  replies: 

By  Providence  divine 

Some  food  we  had,  and  some  fresh  water,  that 

A  noble  Neapolitan,  Gonzalo, 

Out  of  his  charity,  (who  being  then  appointed 

Master  of  this  design),  did  give  us,  with 

Rich  garments,  linens,  stuffs  and  necessaries 

Which  since  have  steaded  much;  so  of  his  gentleness, 

Knowing  I  loved  my  books,  he  furnished  me, 

From  mine  own  library,  with  volumes  that 

I  prize  above  my  dukedom. 

How  fully  is  all  this  in  accord  with  the  character  of  Francis 
Bacon:  —  the  man  who  had  "  taken  all  knowledge  for  his  province;  " 
the  "concealed  poet;"  the  philanthropist;  the  student;  the  lover 
of  books  !  How  little  is  it  in  accordance  with  what  we  know  of 
Shakspere,  who  does  not  seem  to  have  possessed  a  library,  or  a 
single  book  —  not  even  a  quarto  copy  of  one  of  the  Plays. 

But  who  was  Miranda? 

The  name  signifies  wonderful  tilings.  Does  it  mean  these  won- 
derful Plays?  She  was  Bacon's  child  —  the  offspring  of  his  brain. 
And  we  find,  as  I  have  shown,  in  sonnet  lxxvii  these  lines,  evidently 
written  in  the  front  of  a  commonplace-book: 

Look  what  thy  memory  cannot  contain, 
Commit  to  these  waste  blanks,  and  thou  shalt  find 
Those  children  nursed,  delivered  from  thy  brain. 
To  take  a  new  acquaintance  of  thy  mind. 


230  FRANCIS  BACON    THE  AUTHOR    OF    THE   PLAYS. 

Was    Miranda   the   wonderful   product   of    Bacon's   brain  —  the 

child  of  the  concealed  poet  ? 

When  Ferdinand  sees  Miranda,  he  plays  upon  the  name: 

My  prime  request, 
Which  I  do  last  pronounce,  is,  O!  you  wonder ! 
If  you  be  maid  or  no  ? 

And  it  will  be  noted  that  Miranda  was  in  existence  before  Pros- 
pero's  downfall;  and  the  Plays  had  begun  to  appear  in  Bacon's 
youth  and  before  his  reverses. 

And  we  are  further  told  that  when  Prospero  and  his  daughter 
were  carried  to  the  island,  the  love  he  bore  Miranda  was  the  one 
thing  that  preserved  him  from  destruction: 

Miranda.  Alack!  what  trouble 

Was  I  then  to  you  ? 

Prospero.  O!  a  cherubin 

Thou  wast  that  did  preserve  me  !     Thou  didst  smile, 

Infused  with  a  fortitude  from  heaven, 

When  I  have  decked  the  sea  with  drops  full  salt, 

Under  my  burthen  groaned;  which  raised  in  me 

An  undergoing  stomach,  to  bear  up 

Against  what  should  ensue. 

That  is  to  say,  in  the  days  of  Bacon's  miseries,  his  love  for  divine 
poetry  saved  him  from  utter  dejection  and  wretchedness.  And  in 
some  large  sense,  therefore,  his  troubles  were  well  for  him;  and  for 
ourselves,  for  without  them  we  should  not  have  the  Plays.    And  hence 

we  read: 

Miranda.  O,  the  Heavens  ! 

What  foul  play  had  we,  that  we  came  from  thence  ? 

Or  blessed  was't  we  did  ? 

Prospero.  Both,  both,  my  girl; 

By  foul  play,  as  thou  sayst,  were  we  heaved  thence; 

But  blessedly  holp  hither. 

And  the  leisure  of  the  retirement  to  which  Bacon  was  driven 
enabled  him  to  perfect  the  Plays,  whereas  success  would  have  ab- 
sorbed him  in  the  trivialities  of  court  life.     And  so  Prospero  says  to 

Miranda: 

Sit  still,  and  hear  the  last  of  our  sea-sorrow. 
Here  in  this  island  we  arrived;  and  here 
Have  I,  thy  schoolmaster,  made  thee  more  profit 
Than  other  princes  can,  that  have  more  time 
For  vainer  hours,  and  tutors  not  so  careful. 

And  on  the  island  is  Ariel.  Who  is  Ariel  ?  It  is  a  tricksy 
spirit,  a  singer  of  sweet  songs,  "which  give  delight  and  hurt  not;  " 


THE   PURPOSES   OE    THE   PLAYS.  2,] 

a  maker  of  delicious  music;  a  secretive  spirit,  given  much  to  hiding 
in  invisibility  while  it  achieves  wondrous  external  results.  It  is 
Prospero's  instrumentality  in  his  magic;  his  servant.  And  withal  it 
is  humane,  gentle  and  loving,  like  the  soul  of  the  benevolent  philos- 
opher himself.  If  Pro-sper-o  is  Shake-^r,  or,  as  Campbell  says, 
"  the  superior  genius  who  commands  both  Prospero  and  Ariel,"  then 
Ariel  is  the  genius  of  poetry,  the  constructive  intellectual  power  of 
the  drama-maker,  which  he  found  pegged  in  the  knotty  entrails  of 
an  oak,  uttering  the  harsh,  discordant  sounds  of  the  old  moralities, 
until  he  released  it  and  gave  it  wings  and  power.  And,  like  the 
maker  of  the  Plays,  it  sings  sweet  songs,  of  which  Ferdinand  says: 

This  is  no  mortal  business,  nor  no  sound 
That  the  earth  owns. 

And,  like  the  poet,  it  creates  masks  to  work  upon  the  senses  of 
its  audience  —  it  is  a  play-maker. 

And  there  is  one  other  inhabitant  of  the  island  —  Caliban  — 
A  freckled  whelp,  hag-born. 

Who  is  Caliban  ?  Is  he  the  real  Shakspere  ?  He  claims  the 
ownership  of  the  island.  Was  the  island  the  stage,  —  the  play- 
house,—  to  which  Bacon  had  recourse  for  the  means  of  life,  when 
his  fortune  failed  him;  to  which  he  came  in  the  rotten  butt  of  his 
fortunes,  with  his  child  Miranda,  —  the  early  plays? 

Shakspere,   be   it   remembered,   was   at  the  play-house   before 

Bacon  came  to  it.     Prospero  found  Caliban  on  the  island.    Caliban 

claimed  the  ownership  of  it.     He  says,  "This  island's  mine." 

When  thou  earnest  first, 
Thou  strok'dst  me,  and  made  much  of  me; 
Would  give  me  water  with  berries  in't;  and  teach  me  how 
To  name  the  bigger  light,  and  how  the  less, 
That  burn  by  day  and  night;  and  then  I  loved  thee, 
And  showed  thee  all  the  qualities  of  the  isle, 
The  fresh  springs,  brine  springs,  barren  place  and  fertile. 

That  is  to  say,  Shakspere  gave  Bacon  the  use  of  his  knowledge 
of  the  stage  and  play-acting,  and  showed  him  the  fertile  places 
from  which  money  could  be  extracted. 

And  do  these  lines  represent  Bacon's  opinion  of  Shakspere? 

Abhorred  slave, 
Which  any  print  of  goodness  will  not  take, 
Being  capable  of  all  ill !     I  pitied  thee, 
Took  pains  to  make  thee  speak,  taught  thee  each  hour 


232  FRANCIS  BACON    THE   AUTHOR    OF   THE   PLAYS. 

One  thing  or  other:  when  thou  didst  not,  savage, 
Know  thine  own  meaning,  but  would  gabble  like 
A  thing  most  brutish,  I  endowed  thy  purposes 
With  words  that  made  them  known. 

And  again  he  says  —  and  it  will  be  remembered  Shakspere  was 

alive  when  The  Tempest  was  written : 

A  devil,  a  born  devil,  on  whose  nature 
Nurture  can  never  stick;  on  whom  my  pains, 
Humanly  taken,  all,  all  lost,  quite  lost; 
And  as,  with  age,  his  body  uglier  grows, 
So  his  mind  cankers. 

Prospero  has  lost  his  kingdom.  He  has  had  the  leisure  in  the 
solitude  of  his  "full  poor  cell"  to  bring  Mira?ida  to  the  perfection 
of  mature  beauty.     The  Plays  are  finished. 

[Bacon,  after  his  downfall,  in  1623,  applied  for  the  place  of  Pro- 
vost of  Eaton;  he  says,  "  it  was  a  pretty  cell  for  my  fortune."] 

When  Miranda  was  grown  to  womanhood  an  accident  threw 
Prospero's  enemies  in  his  power.  A  most  propitious  star  shone 
upon  his  fortunes.  His  enemies  were  upon  the  sea  near  him. 
With  the  help  of  Ariel  he  raised  a  mighty  tempest  and  shipwrecked 
those  who  had  deprived  him  of  his  kingdom,  and  brought  them 
wretched  and  half-drowned  to  his  feet.  He  had  always  wished  to 
leave  the  island  and  recover  his  kingdom;  and,  his  enemies  being 
in  his  power,  he  forced  them  to  restore  him  to  his  rights. 

Is  there  anything  in  Bacon's  life  which  parallels  this  story? 
There  is. 

Bacon,  like  Prospero,  had  been  cast- down.  He  desired  to  rise 
again  in  the  state.  And  there  came  a  time  when  he  brought  his 
enemies  to  his  feet,  in  the  midst  of  a  tempest  of  the  state,  which  he 
probably  helped  to  create.  And  this  very  word  tempest,  so  applied, 
is  a  favorite  one  with  Bacon.     He  said,  at  the  time  of  his  downfall: 

When  I  enter  into  myself,  I  find  not  the  materials  for  such  a  tempest  as  is  now 
come  upon  me. 

In  June,  1606,  Francis  Bacon  was  out  of  place  and  without  in- 
fluence with  the  court,  but  he  wielded  great  power  in  Parliament, 
of  which  he  was  a  member,  as  a  noble  orator  and  born  ruler  of  men. 
He  had  hoped  that  this  influence  would  have  secured  him  prefer- 
ment in  the  state.  He  was  disappointed.  Hepworth  Dixon  shows 
that,  upon    the  death  of  Sir  Francis  Gawdy  and  Coke's  promotion 


THE   PURPOSES   OF    THE   PLAYS.  233 

to  the  bench,  Bacon  expected  to  be  made  Attorney-General.  But 
his  malign  cousin,  Cecil,  again  defeated  his  just  and  reasonable 
hopes;  and  the  great  man,  after  all  his  years  of  patient  waiting, 
had  to  step  aside  once  more  to  make  place  for  some  small  creature. 

But  there  is  trouble  in  the  land.  King  James  of  Scotland  came 
down  to  rule  England,  and  hordes  of  his  countrymen  came  with,  or 
followed  after  him,  to  improve  their  fortunes  in  the  fat  land  of 
which  their  countryman  was  monarch.  King  James  desired  Parlia- 
ment to  pass  the  bill  of  Union,  to  unite  the  Scots  and  English  on 
terms  of  equality.  His  heart  was  set  on  this  measure.  But  the 
English  disliked  the  Scots. 

Hepworth  Dixon  says: 

Under  such  crosses  the  bill  on  Union  fares  but  ill.  Fuller,  the  bilious  repre- 
sentative of  London,  flies  at  the  Scots.  The  Scots  in  London  are  in  the  highest 
degree  unpopular.  Lax  in  morals  and  in  taste,  they  will  take  the  highest  place  at 
table,  they  will  drink  out  of  anybody's  can,  they  will  kiss  the  hostess,  or  her 
buxom  maid,  without  saying  "by  your  leave."  ' 

We  have  reason  to  think  that  Ariel  is  at  work,  invisibly,  behind 
the  scenes  raising  the  Tempest.     Dixon  continues: 

Brawls  fret  the  taverns  which  they  haunt;  pasqnins  hiss  against  them  from  the 
stage.  .  .  .  Three  great  poets,  Jonson,  Chapman  and  Jfarston,  go  to  jail  for  a  harmless 
jest  against  these  Scots.  Such  acts  of  rigor  make  the  name  of  Union  hateful  to  the 
public  ear. 

Let  Hepworth  Dixon  tell  the  rest  of  the  story: 

When  Parliament  meets  in  November  to  discuss  the  bill  on  Union,  Bacon 
stands  back.  The  King  has  chosen  his  attorney;  let  the  new  attorney  fight  the 
King's  battle.  The  adversaries  to  be  met  are  bold  and  many.  .  .  .  Beyond  the 
Tweed,  too,  people  are  mutinous  to  the  point  of  ivar%  for  the  countrymen  of 
Andrew  Melville  begin  to  suspect  the  King  of  a  design  against  the  Kirk.  .  .  . 
Melville  is  clapped  into  the  Tower.  .  .  .  Hobart  (the  new  Attorney-General)  goes 
to  the  wall.  James  now  sees  that  the  battle  is  not  to  the  weak,  nor  the  race  to  the 
slow.     Bacon  has  only  to  hold  his  tongue  and  make  his  terms.2 

Prospero  has  only  to  wait  for  the  Tempest  to  wash  his  enemies 
to  his  feet. 

Alarmed  lest  the  bill  of  Union  may  be  rejected  by  an  overwhelming  vote, 
Cecil  suddenly  adjourns  the  House.  He  must  get  strength.  .  .  .  Pressed  on  all 
sides,  here  by  the  Lord  Chancellor,  there  by  a  mutinous  House  of  Commons, 
Cecil  at  length  yields  to  his  cousin's  claim;  Sir  John  Doderidge  bows  his  neck,  and 
when  Parliament  meets,  after  the  Christmas  holidays,  Bacon  holds  in  his  pocket 
a  written  engagement  for  the  Solicitor's  place. 

1  Personal  History  9/ Lord  Bacon,  p.  184.  2  Ibid.,  p.  1S3. 


234  FRANCIS  BACON    THE   AUTHOR    OF    THE   PLAYS. 

The  Tempest  is  past;  the  Duke  of  Milan  has  recovered  hts 
kingdom;  the  poor  scholar  leaves  his  cell,  at  forty-six  years  of  age, 
and  steps  into  a  place  worth  ^6,000  a  year,  or  $30,000  of  our 
money,  equal  to  probably  $300,000  per  annum  to-day.  There  is  no 
longer  any  necessity  for  the  magician  to  remain  upon  his  poor 
desert  island,  with  Caliban,  and  write  plays  for  a  living.  He  dis- 
misses Ariel.      The  Plays  cease  to  appear. 

But  Prospero,  when  he  leaves  the  island,  takes  Miranda  with 
him.  She  will  be  well  cared  for.  We  will  see  hereafter  that  "  the 
works  of  the  alphabet  "  will  be  "set  in  a  frame,"  at  heavy  cost,, 
and  wedded  to  immortality. 

The  triumphant  statesman  leaves  Caliban  in  possession  of  the 
island!     He  has  crawled  out  from  his  temporary  shelter: 

I  hid  me  under  the  dead  moon-calf's  gaberdine,  for  fear  of  the  storm. 

He  will  devote  the  remainder  of  his  life  to  statecraft  and  phil- 
osophy.    He  will  write  no  more  poetry, 

For  at  his  age 
The  hey-day  in  the  blood  is  tame,  it's  humble 
And  waits  upon  the  judgment. 

But    Prospero  will    not    be   idle.     Like    Bacon,    he    has    great 

projects  in  his  head.     He  says: 

Welcome,  sir; 
This  cell's  my  court;  here  have  I  few  attendants 
And  subjects  none  abroad:  pray  you,  look  in. 
My  dukedom  since  you  have  given  me  again, 
I  will  requite  you  with  as  good  a  thing; 
At  least  bring  forth  a  wonder  to  content  ye, 
As  much  as  me  my  dukedom. 

That  is  to  say,  relieved  of  the  necessities  of  life,  possessed  of 
power  and  fortune  he  will  give  the  world  the  Novum  Organum,  the 
new  philosophy,  which  is  to  revolutionize  the  earth  and  lift  up 
mankind. 

And   yet,   turning,   as   he   does,   to   these   mighty  works  of  his 

mature  years,  he  cannot   part,  without  a  sigh,  from  the  labors  of 

his  youth;  from  the  sweet  and  gentle  spirit  of  the  imagination  —  his 

"chick,"  his  genius,  his  "delicate  Ariel  ": 

Why,  that's  my  dainty  Ariel:  I  shall  miss  thee  ; 
But  yet  thou  shalt  have  freedom. 

And  then,  casting  his  eyes  backward,  he  exults  over  his  mighty 
work: 


THE   PURPOSES   OF    THE  FLA  VS.  235 

Graves,  at  my  command, 
Have  waked  their  sleepers;  op'd,  and  let  them  forth 
By  my  so  potent  art. 

Indeed,  a  long  and  mighty  procession  !  Lear,  Titus  Andronicus, 
Coriolanus,  Julius  Caesar,  Brutus,  Cassius,  Marc  Antony,  Cleo- 
patra, Augustus  Csesar,  Timon  of  Athens,  Cymbeline,  Alcibiades. 
Pericles,  Macbeth,  Duncan,  Hamlet,  King  John,  Arthur,  Richard  II., 
John  of  Gaunt,  Henry  IV.,  Hotspur,  Henry  V.,  Henry  VI.,  Richard 
III.,   Clarence,   Henry  VIII.,  Wolsey,   Cranmer,   Queen  Katharine, 

and  Anne  Boleyn. 

But  this  rough  magic 
I  here  abjure:  and,  when  I  have  required 
Some  heavenly  music  (which  even  now  I  do) — 

[that  is  to  say,  he  retains  his  magic  power  a  little  longer  to  write 
one  more  play,  this  farewell  drama,  The  Tempest] — 

To  work  mine  end  upon  their  senses  that 
This  airy  charm  is  for,  I'll  break  my  staff, 
Bury  it  certain  fathoms  in  the  earth, 
And,  deeper  than  did  ever  plummet  sound 
I'll  drown  my  book. 

What  does  this  mean  ?  Certainly  that  the  magician  had  ended 
his  work;  that  his  rough  magic  was  no  longer  necessary;  that  he 
would  no  longer  call  up  the  mighty  dead  from  their  graves.  And 
he  dismisses  even  the  poor  players  through  whom  he  has  wrought 
his  charm;  they  also  are  but  spirits,  to  do  his  bidding: 

Our  revels  new  are  ended:  these  our  actors, 
As  I  foretold  you,  were  all  spirits,  and 
Are  melted  into  air,  into  thin  air: 
And,  like  the  baseless  fabric  of  this  vision, 
The  cloud-capped  towers,  the  gorgeous  palaces. 
The  solemn  temples,  the  great  globe  itself, 
Yea,  all  which  it  inherit,  shall  dissolve; 
And  like  this  insubstantial  pageant  faded, 
Leave  not  a  rack  behind.     We  are  such  stuff 
As  dreams  are  made  on,  and  our  little  life 
Is  rounded  with  a  sleep. 

And  this  play  of  The  Tempest  is  placed  at  the  very  beginning 
of  the  great  Folio  of  1623,  as  an  introduction  to  the  other  mighty 
Plays. 

And  if  this  be  not  the  true  explanation  of  this  play,  where  are 
we  to  find  it?  If  Prosper  is  Shake-sper  (as  seems  to  be  conceded), 
or  the  one  for  (pro)  whom  Shake-sper  stood,  what   is   the   meaning 


236  FRANCIS  BACON    THE   AUTHOR    OF    THE    PLAYS. 

of  his  "abjuring  his  magic,"  giving  up  his  work  and  "drowning 
his  book?"  And  what  is  that  "wonder"  he  —  the  man  of  Strat- 
ford—  is  to  bring  forth  after  he  has  drowned  his  book:  —  some- 
thing more  wonderful  than  Miranda — (the  wonderful  things)  —  and 
with  which  the  dismissed  Ariel  is  to  have  nothing  to  do  ?  And 
why  should  Shakspere  drown  his  book  and  retire  to  Stratford,  and 
write  no  more  plays,  thus  abjuring  his  magic?  Do  you  imagine 
that  the  man  who  would  sue  a  neighbor  for  two  shillings  loaned; 
or  who  would  sell  a  load  of  stone  to  the  town  for  ten  pence;  or 
who  would  charge  his  guest's  wine-bill  to  the  parish,  would,  if  he 
had  the  capacity  to  produce  an  unlimited  succession  of  Hamlets, 
Lears  and  Macbeths,  worth  thousands  of  pounds,  have  drowned  his 
book,  and  gone  home  and  brewed  beer  and  sucked  his  thumbs  for 
several  years,  until  drunkenness  and  death  came  to  his  relief? 

And  is  there  any  likeness  between  the  princely,  benevolent  and 
magnanimous  character  of  Prospero  and  that  of  the  man  of  Strat- 
ford ? 

XIV.     Kingcraft. 

Bacon  believed  in  a  monarchy,  but  in  a  constitutional  mon- 
archy, restrained  by  a  liberty-loving  aristocracy,  with  justice  and 
fair  play  for  the  humbler  classes. 

He,  however,  was  utterly  opposed  to  all  royal  despotism.  He 
showed,  as  the  leader  of  the  people  in  the  House  of  Commons, 
that  he  was  ready  to  use  the  power  of  Parliament  to  restrain  the 
unlimited  arrogance  of  the  crown.  He  saw  that  one  great  obsta- 
cle to  liberty  was  the  popular  idea  of  the  divine  right  of  kings. 
We  can  hardly  appreciate  to-day  the  full  force  of  that  sentiment 
as  it  then  existed.  Hence,  in  the  Plays,  he  labors  to  reduce  the 
king  to  the  level  of  other  men,  or  below  it.  He  represents  John  as  a 
cowardly  knave,  a  truckler  to  a  foreign  power,  a  would-be  murderer, 
and  an  altogether  worthless  creature.  Richard  II.  is  little  better  — 
a  frivolous,  weak-witted,  corrupt,  sordid,  dishonest  fool. 

He  puts  into  his  mouth  the  old-time  opinion  of  the  heaven-dele- 
gated powers  of  a  king: 

Not  all  the  water  of  the  rough,  rude  sea 
Can  wash  the  balm  from  an  anointed  king: 
The  breath  of  worldly  men  cannot  depose 
The  deputy  elected  by  the  Lord: 


THE  PURPOSES   OF    THE   PLAYS.  237 

For  every  man  that  Bolingbroke  hath  press'd, 

To  lift  shrewd  steel  against  our  golden  crown, 

Heaven  for  his  Richard  hath  in  heavenly  pay 

A  glorious  angel !    then,  if  angels  fight. 

Weak  men  must  fall,  for  Heaven  still  guards  the  right ! 

And  then  the  poet  proceeds  to  show  that  this  is  all  nonsense: 
that  the  "  breath  of  worldly  men  "  can,  and  that  it  in  fact  does 
depose  him;  and  that  not  an  angel  stirs  in  all  the  vasty  courts  of 
heaven  to  defend  his  cause. 

And  then  he  perforates  the  whole  theory  still  further  by  making 
the  King  himself  exclaim: 

Let's  choose  executors  and  talk  of  wills; 

And  yet  not  so;   for  what  can  we  bequeath 

Save  our  deposed  bodies  to  the  ground? 

Our  lands,  our  lives  and  all  are  Bolingbroke's, 

And  nothing  can  we  call  our  own  but  death; 

And  that  small  model  of  the  barren  earth, 

Which  serves  as  paste  and  cover  to  our  bones. 

For  Heaven's  sake  let  us  sit  upon  the  ground, 

And  tell  sad  stories  of  the  death  of  kings: 

How  some  have  been  depos'd,  some  slain  in  war, 

Some  haunted  by  the  ghosts  they  have  depos'd; 

Some  poison'd  by  their  wives,  some  sleeping  killed, 

All  murder'd.      For  within  the  hollow  crown 

That  rounds  the  mortal  temples  of  a  king, 

Death  keeps  his  court;   and  there  the  antic  sits, 

Scoffing  his  state,  and  grinning  at  his  pomp; 

Allowing  him  a  breath,  a  little  scene, 

To  monarchize,  be  fear'd,  and  kill  with  looks; 

Infusing  him  with  self  and  vain  conceit; 

As  if  this  flesh,  which  walls  about  our  life, 

Were  brass  impregnable:    and  humored  thus, 

Comes  at  the  last,  and,  with  a  little  pin, 

Bores  through  his  castle  walls,  and, —  farewell,  king! 

Cover  your  heads,  and  mock  not  flesh  and  blood 

With  solemn  reverence;   throw  away  respect, 

Tradition,  form  and  ceremonious  duty, 

For  you  have  but  mistook  me  all  this  while: 

I  live  with  bread  like  you,  feel  want,  taste  grief, 

Need  friends.     Subjected  thus, 

How  can  you  say  to  me —  I  am  a  king  ! 

Surely  this  must  have  sounded  strangely  in  the  ears  of  a  Lon- 
don audience  of  the  sixteenth  century,  who  had  been  taught  to 
regard  the  king  as  anointed  of  Heaven  and  the  actual  viceregent  of 
God  on  earth,  whose  very  touch  was  capable  of  working  miracles 
in  the  cure  of  disease,  possessing  therein   a   power  exercised  on 


238  FRANCIS  BACON    THE   AUTHOR    OF    THE   PLAYS. 

earth  aforetime  only  by  the  Savior  and  his  saints.     And  the  play 
concludes  with  the  murder  of  Richard. 

And  then  comes  Henry  IV.,  usurper,  murderer;  and  the  poet 
makes  him  frankly  confess  his  villainy: 

Come  hither,  Harry,  sit  thou  by  my  bed; 

And  hear,  I  think,  the  very  latest  counsel 

That  ever  I  shall  breathe.     Heaven  knows,  my  son, 

By  what  by-paths  and  indirect,  crooked  ways 

I  met  this  crown. 

And  yet  he  lives  to  a  ripe  old  age,  and  establishes  a  dynasty  on 
the  corner-stone  of  the  murder  of  Richard  II. 

And  we  have  the  same  lesson  of  contempt  for  kings  taught  in 
Lear: 

They  told  me  I  was  everything.  But  when  the  rain  came  to  wet  me  once,  and 
the  wind  to  make  me  chatter;  when  the  thunder  would  not  peace  at  my  bidding, 
there  I  found  them,  there  I  smelt  them  out.1 

And  in  The  Tempest  we  have  this  expression: 

What  care  these  roarers  for  the  name  of  king?' 

Is  not  the  moral  plain:  —  that  kings  are  nothing  more  than  men; 
that  Heaven  did  not  ordain  them,  and  does  not  protect  them;  and 
that  a  king  has  no  right  to  hold  his  place  any  longer  than  he 
behaves  himself? 

His  son,  Henry  V.,  is  the  best  of  the  lot  —  he  is  the  hero-king; 
but  even  he  rises  out  of  a  shameful  youth;  he  is  the  associate  of 
the  most  degraded;  the  companion  of  profligate  men  and  women, 
of  highwaymen  and  pick-pockets.  And  even  in  his  mouth  the 
poet  puts  the  same  declaration  of  the  hollowness  of  royal  preten- 
sions.    King  Henry  V.  says,  while  in  disguise: 

I  think  the  King  is  but  a  man  as  I  am;  the  violet  smells  to  him  as  it 
doth  to  me;  the  element  shews  to  him  as  it  doth  to  me;  all  his  senses  have 
but  human  conditions;  his  ceremonies  laid  by,  in  his  nakedness  he  appears 
but  a  man/' 

We  turn  to  Henry  VI.,  and  we  find  him  a  shallow,  empty  imbe- 
cile, below  the  measure  even  of  contempt. 

In  Richard  III.  we  have  a  horrible  monster;  a  wild  beast;  a  liar, 
perjurer,  murderer;  a  remorseless,  bloody,  man-eating  tiger  of  the 
jungles. 

1  Lear,  iv,  6.  s  Tempest,  i,  i.  3  Henry  V.,  iv.  i. 


THE   PURPOSES    OE    THE    FLA  VS.  239 

In  Henry  VIII.  we  have  a  king  divorcing  a  sainted  angel, 
as  we  are  told,  under  the  plea  of  conscience,  to  marry  a 
frivolous  woman,  in  obedience  to  the  incitements  of  sensual 
passion. 

And  this  is  the  whole  catalogue  of  royal  representatives 
brought  on  the  stage  by  Shakespeare  ! 

And  these  Plays  educated  the  English  people,  and  prepared  the 
way  for  the  day  when  Charles  I.  was  brought  to  trial  and  the 
scaffold. 

If  Bacon  intended  to  strike  deadly  blows  at  the  idea  of  divine 
right,  and  irresponsible  royal  authority,  in  England,  certainly  he 
accomplished  his  object  in  these  "Histories"  of  English  kings.  It 
may  be  that  the  Reform  he  had  intended  graduated  into  the  Revo- 
lution which  he  had  not  intended.  He  could  not  foresee  Cromwell 
and  the  Independents;  and  yet,  that  storm  being  past,  England  is 
enjoying  the  results  of  his  purposes,  in  its  wise  constitutional  mon- 
archy:—  the  spirit  of  liberty  wedded  to  the  conservative  forms  of 
antiquity. 

XV.     Teaching   History. 

But  there  is  another  motive  in  these  Plays.  They  are  teachers 
of  history.  It  is  probable  that  the  series  of  historical  dramas 
began  with  William  the  Conqueror,  for  we  find  Shakspere,  in  an 
obscene  anecdote,  which  tradition  records,  referring  to  himself  as 
William  the  Conqueror,  and  to  Burbadge  as  Richard  III.  Then  we 
have  Shakespeare's  King  John.  In  Marlowe  we  have  the  play  of 
Edward  II  Among  the  doubtful  plays  ascribed  to  the  pen  of 
Shakespeare  is  the  play  of  'Edward  III.  Then  follows  Richard  II.; 
then,  in  due  and  consecutive  order,  Henry  IV.,  first  and  second 
parts;  then  Henry  V;  then  Henry  VI,  first,  second  and  third  parts; 
then  Richard  III;  there  is  no  play  of  Henry  VII.  {but  Bacon  writes 
a  history  of  He?iry  VII,  taking  up  the  story  just  where  the  play 
of  Richard  III  leaves  it);  then  the  series  of  plays  ends  with 
Henry  VIII,;  and  the  cipher  narrative  probably  gives  us  the  whole 
history  of  the  reign  of  Elizabeth. 

All  these  plays  tended  to  make  history  familiar  to  the  common 
people,  and  we  find  testimony  to  that  effect  in  the  writings  of  the 
day. 


X.  *>-      Or 


24o  FRANCIS  BACON    THE  AUTHOR    OF    THE   PLAYS. 

XVI.     Patriotism. 

But  there  is  another  purpose  transparently  revealed  in  the  Plays. 

It  was  to  infuse  the  people  with  a  sense  of  devotion  to  their  native 

land.     Speaking  of  national  patriotism,  Swinburne  says: 

Assuredly,  no  poet  ever  had  more  than  he  (Shakespeare);  not  even  the  king  of 
men  and  poets  who  fought  at  Marathon  and  sang  at  Salamis;  much  less  had  any 
or  has  any  one  of  our  own,  from  Milton  on  to  Campbell  and  from  Campbell  to 
Tennyson.  In  the  mightiest  chorus  of  King  Henry  V.  we  hear  the  pealing  ring  of 
the  same  great  English  trumpet  that  was  yet  to  sound  over  the  battle  of  the  Baltic.1 

And  the  same  writer  speaks  of 

The  national  side  of  Shakespeare's  genius,  the  heroic  vein  of  patriotism  that  runs, 
like  a  thread  of  living  fire,  through  the  world-wide  range  of  his  omnipresent  spirit. J 

We  turn  to  Bacon,  and  we  find  the  same  great  patriotic  inspira- 
tions. His  mind  took  in  all  mankind,  but  the  love  of  his  heart 
centered  on  England.  His  thoughts  were  bent  to  increase  her 
glory  and  add  to  her  security  from  foreign  foes.  To  do  this  he 
saw  that  it  was  necessary  to  keep  up  the  military  spirit  of  the 
people.     He  says: 

But  above  all,  for  empire  and  greatness,  it  importeth  most  that  a  nation  do 
profess  arms  as  their  principal  honor,  study  and  occupation.  ...  No  nation  which 
doth  not  directly  profess  arms  may  look  to  have  greatness  fall  into  their  mouths; 
and,  on  the  other  side,  it  is  a  most  certain  oracle  of  time  that  those  nations  that 
continue  long  in  that  profession  (as  the  Romans  and  Turks  principally  have  done) 
do  wonders;  and  those  that  have  professed  arms  but  for  an  age  have,  notwith- 
standing, commonly  attained  that  greatness  in  that  age  which  maintaineth  them 
long  after,  when  the  profession  and  exercise  of  arms  hath  grown  to  decay.3 

And  again  he  says: 

Walled  towns,  stored  arsenals  and  armories,  goodly  races  of  horse,  chariots  of 
war,  elephants,  ordnance,  artillery  and  the  like;  all  this  but  a  sheep  in  a  lion's 
skin,  except  the  dreed  and  disposition  of  the  people  be  stout  and  war-like.4 

We  turn  to  Shakespeare,  and  we  find  him  referring  to  English- 
men as 

Feared  for  their  breed  and  famous  by  their  birth. 

Here  is  the  whole  sentence.     How  exultantly  does  he  depict  his 

own  country  —  "  that  little  body  with  a  mighty  heart,"  as  he  calls 

it  elsewhere: 

This  royal  throne  of  kings,  this  sceptered  isle, 
This  earth  of  majesty,  this  seat  of  Mars, 
This  other  Eden,  demi-paradise, 
This  fortress  built  by  Nature  for  herself 

1  Swinburne,  Study  of  Shak.,  p.  113.  3  Essay  xxix,  The  True  Greatness  of  Kingdoms. 

'Ibid.,  p.  73-  "Ibid. 


THE   PURPOSES   OE    THE   PLA  VS. 

Against  infection  and  the  hand  of  war; 

This  happy  breed  of  men,  this  little  world, 

This  precious  stone  set  in  the  silver  sea, 

Which  serves  it  in  the  office  of  a  wall, 

Or  as  a  moat  defensive  to  a  house, 

Against  the  envy  of  less  happier  lands; 

This  blessed  plot,  this  earth,  this  realm,  this  England, 

This  teeming  womb  of  royal  kings, 

Fear'd  for  their  breed  and  famous  by  their  birth, 

Renowned  for  their  deeds  as  far  from  home 

(For  Christian  service  and  true  chivalry), 

As  is  the  sepulcher  in  stubborn  Jewry 

Of  the  world's  ransom,  blessed  Mary's  son; 

This  land  of  such  dear  souls,  this  dear,  dear  land, 

Dear  for  her  reputation  through  the  world.1 

And  again  he  speaks  of  England  as 

Hedged  in  with  the  main, 
That  water-walled  bulwark,  still  secure 
And  confident  from  foreign  purposes.'2 

And  again  he  says: 

Let  us  be  back'd  with  God,  and  with  the  seas, 
Which  he  has  given  for  fence  impregnable.3 

And  again  he  says: 

Which  stands 
As  Neptune's  park,  ribbed  and  paled  in 
With  rocks  unscalable  and  roaring  waters,4 


241 


And  again: 
And  again: 


Britain  is 
A  world  by  itself.5 

I'  the  wrorld's  volume, 
Our  Britain  is  as  of  it,  but  not  in  it; 
In  a  great  pool,  a  swan's  nest.6 


And,  while  Shakespeare  alludes  to  the  sea  as  England's  "  water- 
walled  bulwark,"  Bacon  speaks  of  ships  as  the  "walls"  of  Eng- 
land.    And  he  says: 

To  be  master  of  the  sea  is  an  abridgment  of  a  monarchy.7 

And  he  further  says: 

No  man  can  by  care-taking  (as  the  Scripture  saith)  "  add  a  cubit  to  his  stature  " 
in  this  little  model  of  a  man's  body,  but  in  the  great  fame  of  kingdoms  and  com- 
monwealths it  is  in  the  power  of  princes,  or  estates,  to  add  amplitude  and  great- 
ness to  their  kingdoms;  for  by  introducing  such  ordinances,  constitutions  and 
customs  as  we  have  now  touched,  they  may  sow  greatness  to  their  posterity  and  suc- 
cession; but  these  things  are  commonly  not  observed,  but  left  to  take  their  chance. s 


1  Richard  II.,  ii,  1. 

4  Cymbeline,  iii,  1. 

7  Essay,  True  Greatness  0/  Kingdoms. 

-  King  John,  ii,  1. 

6  Ibid.,  iii,  1. 

8  Ibid. 

s  jd  Henry  VI. ,  iv,  1. 

8  Ibid.,  iii,  4. 

242 


FRANCIS  BACON    THE   AUTHOR    OF    THE  PLAYS. 


And  was  he  not,  in  these  appeals  to  national  heroism,  "sowing 
greatness  to  posterity"  and  helping  to  create,  or  maintain,  that  warlike 
"breed"  which  has  since  carried  the  banners  of  conquest  over  a 
great  part  of  the  earth's  surface?  One  can  imagine  how  the  eyes 
of  those  swarming  audiences  at  the  Fortune  and  the  Curtain  must 
have  snapped  with  delight  at  the  pictures  of  English  valor  on  the 
field  of  Agincourt,  as  depicted  in  Henry  V.;  or  at  the  representation 
of  that  tremendous  soldier  Talbot,  in  Henry  VI. ,  dying  like  a  lion 
at  bay,  with  his  noble  boy  by  his  side.  How  the  'prentices  must 
have  roared  !  How  the  mob  must  have  raved  !  How  even  the 
gentlemen  must  have  drawn  deep  breaths  of  patriotic  inspiration 
from  such  scenes  !  Imagine  the  London  of  to-day  going  wild  over 
the  work  of  some  great  genius,  depicting,  in  the  midst  of  splendid 
poetry,  Wellington  and  Nelson  ! 

But  there  are  many  other  purposes  revealed  in  these  Plays. 

XVII.     Dueling. 

The  writer  of  the  Plays  was  opposed  to  the  practice  of  dueling. 

One  commentator   (H.  T.),   in   a  note  to  the  play  of    Twelfth 

Night,  says: 

It  was  the  plainly  evident  intention  of  Shakespeare,  in  this  play,  to  place  the 
practice  of  dueling  in  a  ridiculous  light.  Dueling  was  in  high  fashion  at  this 
period  —  a  perfect  rage  for  it  existed,  and  a  man  was  distinguished  or  valued  in 
the  select  circles  of  society  in  proportion  to  his  skill  and  courage  in  this  savage 
and  murderous  practice.  Our  poet  well  knew  the  power  of  ridicule  often  exceeded 
that  of  the  law,  and  in  the  combat  between  the  valiant  Sir  Andrew  Aguecheek  and 
the  disguised  Viola,  he  has  placed  the  custom  in  an  eminently  absurd  situation. 
Mr.  Chalmers  supposes  that  his  attention  was  drawn  to  it  by  an  edict  of  James  I., 
issued  in  the  year  1613.     From  his  remarks  we  quote  the  following: 

In  Twelfth  Night  Shakespeare  tried  to  effect  by  ridicule  what  the  state  was 
unable  to  perform  by  legislation.  The  duels  which  were  so  incorrigibly  frequent 
in  that  age  were  thrown  into  a  ridiculous  light  by  the  affair  between  Viola  and 
Sir  Andrew  Aguecheek.  Sir  Francis  Bacon  had  lamented,  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, on  the  3d  of  March,  1609-10,  the  great  difficulty  of  redressing  the  evil  of 
duels,  owing  to  the  corruption  of  man's  nature.  King  James  tried  to  effect  what 
the  Parliament  had  despaired  of  effecting,  and  in  1613  he  issued  "An  edict  and 
censure  against  private  combats,"  which  was  conceived  with  great  vigor,  and 
expressed  with  decisive  force;  but  whether  with  the  help  of  Bacon  or  not  I  am 
unable  to  ascertain. 

There  can  be  no  question  that  the  Proposition  for  the  Repressing 
of  Singular  Co?nbats  or  Duels,  in  1613,  came  from  the  hand  of  Bacon. 
We  find  it  given  as  his  in  Spedding's  Life  and  Works.1  He  pro- 
posed to  exclude  all  duelists  from  the  King's  presence,  because 

1  Vol.  iv.,  p.  397. 


THE   PURPOSES   OF    THE   PLA  VS.  243 

"there  is  no  good  spirit  but  will  think  himself  in  darkness,  if  he  be 
debarred  ...  of  access  and  approach  to  the  sovereign."  He  also 
proposed  a  prosecution  in  the  Star  Chamber,  and  a  heavy,  irremiss- 
ible  fine.  A  proclamation  to  this  effect  was  issued  by  the  King. 
We  also  have  the  "charge  of  Sir  Francis  Bacon,  Knight,  His  Maj- 
esty's Attorney-General,  touching  duels,  upon  an  information  in 
the  Star  Chamber  against  Priest  and  Wright."  After  commenting 
on  his  regret  that  the  offenders  were  not  greater  personages,  Bacon 
says: 

Nay,  I  should  think,  my  lords,  that  men  of  birth  and  quality  will  leave  the 
practice,  when  it  begins  to  be  vilified,  and  come  so  low  as  to  barbers,  surgeons 
and  butchers,  and  such  base  mechanical  persons. 

In  the  course  of  the  charge  he  says: 

It  is  a  miserable  effect  when  young  men,  full  of  towardness  and  hope,  such  as 
the  poefs  call  aurora  filii,  sons  of  the  morning,  in  whom  the  comfort  and  expecta- 
tions of  their  friends  consisteth,  shall  be  cast  away  and  destroyed  in  such  a  vain 
manner.  ...  So  as  your  lordships  see  what  a  desperate  evil  this  is;  it  troubleth 
peace,  it  disfurnisheth  war,  it  bringeth  calamity  upon  private  men,  peril  upon  the 
state,  and  contempt  upon  the  law. 

And  in  this  charge  we  find   Bacon  using  the  same  sort  of  argu- 
ment used  by  Shakespeare  in  Othello. 
Bacon  says: 

There  was  a  combat  of  this  kind  performed  by  two  persons  of  quality  of  the 
Turks,  wherein  one  of  them  was  slain;  the  other  party  was  convented  before  the 
council  of  Bassaes.     The  manner  of  the  reprehension  was  in  these  words: 

How  durst  you  undertake  to  fight  one  with  the  other?  Are  there  not  Chris- 
tians enough  to  kill?  Did  you  not  know  that  whether  of  you  should  be  slain,  the 
Joss  would  be  the  great  Seigneour's? 

The  writer  of  Shakespeare  evidently   had   this   incident   in   his 

mind,  and  had  also  knowledge  of   the  fact  that  the   Turks   did   not 

permit  duels,  when  he  put  into  the  mouth  of  Othello  these  words: 

Why,  how  now,  ho  !    from  whence  ariseth  this  ? 
Are  we  turned  Turks,  and  to  ourselves  do  that 
Which  Heaven  hath  forbid  the  Ottomites? 
For  Christian  shame  !    put  by  this  barbarous  brawl ! ' 

Bacon  secured  the  conviction  of  Priest  and  Wright,  and  pre- 
pared a  decree  of  the  Star  Chamber,  which  was  ordered  read  in 
every  shire  in  the  kingdom. 

And  we  find  the  same  idea  and  beliefs  in  Shakespeare  which 
are  contained  in  this  decree.     He  says: 

1  Othello,  ii,  3- 


o44  MAX  CIS  BACON   THE   AUTHOR    OF    THE   PLAYS. 

If  wrongs  be  evil,  and  enforce  us  kill, 
What  folly  'tis  to  hazard  life  for  ill ! ' 
And  again: 

Your  words  have  took  such  pains,  as  if  they  labored 
To  bring  manslaughter  into  form,  set  quarreling 
Upon  the  head  of  valor;  which,  indeed, 
Is  valor  misbegot,  and  came  into  the  world 
When  sects  and  factions  were  but  newly  born.2 

XVIII.     Other  Purposes. 

I  might  go  on  and  give  many  other  instances  to  show  that  the 
purposes  revealed  in  the  Plays  are  the  same  which  governed  Fran- 
cis  Bacon.  I  might  point  to  Bacon's  disapprobation  of  supersti- 
tion, his  essay  on  the  subject,  and  the  very  effective  way  in  which 
one  kind  of  superstition  is  ridiculed  in  the  case  of  the  pretended 
blind  man  at  St.  Albans,  in  the  play  of  Henry  VI.,  exposed  by  the 
shrewdness  of  the  Duke  Humphrey. 

I  might  further  note  that  Bacon  wrote  an  essay  against  popular 

prophecies;  and  Knight  notes3  that  the  Fool  in  Lear  ridicules  these 

things,  as  in: 

Then  comes  the  time,  who  lives  to  see  't, 
When  going  shall  be  used  with  feet.4 

Says  Knight: 

Nor  was  the  introduction  of  such  a  mock  prophecy  mere  idle  buffoonery. 
There  can  be  no  question,  from  the  statutes  that  were  directed  against  these  stimu- 
lants to  popular  credulity,  that  they  were  considered  of  importance  in  Shake- 
speare's day.  Bacon's  essay  Of  Prophecies  shows  that  the  philosopher  gravely 
denounced  what  our  poet  pleasantly  ridiculed. 

I  might  show  how,  in  Love's  Labor  Lost,  the  absurd  fashions  of 
language  then  prevalent  among  the  fastidious  at  court  were  mocked 
at  and  ridiculed  in  the  very  spirit  of  Bacon.  I  might  note  the  fact 
that  Bacon  expressed  his  disapprobation  of  tobacco,  and  that  no 
reference  is  had  to  it  in  all  the  Plays,  although  it  is  abundantly 
referred  to  in  the  writings  of  Ben  Jonson  and  other  dramatists 
of  the  period.  I  might  refer  to  Bacon's  disapprobation  of  the 
superstition  connected  with  wedding-rings,  and  to  the  fact  that 
no  wedding-ring  is  ever  referred  to  in  the  Plays.  These  are 
little  things  in  themselves,  but  they  are  cumulative  as  matters  of 
evidence. 

1  Titus  Andronicus,  iii,  5.      2  Ibid.       3  Notes  of  act  iii  of  Lear,  p.  440.       4  Act  iii,  scene  2. 


THE  PURPOSES  OP    THE  PLA  VS.  245 

In  conclusion,  I  would  call  attention  to  the  fact  that  nowhere 
in  the  Plays  is  vice  or  wickedness  made  admirable.  Even  in  the 
case  of  old  Sir  John  Falstaff,  whose  wit  was  as  keen,  sententious 
and  profound  as  Bacon's  own  Essays;  even  in  his  case  we  see  him, 
in  the  close  of  2d  Henry  IV.,  humiliated,  disgraced  and  sent  to 
prison;  while  the  Chief  Justice,  representing  the  majesty  of  law  and 
civilization,  is  lifted  up  from  fear  and  danger  to  the  greatest  heights 
of  dignity  and  honor.  The  old  knight  "  dies  of  a  sweat,"  and 
every  one  of  his  associates  comes  to  a  dishonored  and  shameful 
death. 

Lamartine  says: 

It  is  as  a  moralist  that  Shakespeare  excels.  .  .  .  His  works  cannot  fail  to  ele- 
vate the  mind  by  the  purity  of  the  morals  they  inculcate.  They  breathe  so  strong 
a  belief  in  virtue,  so  steady  an  adherence  to  good  principles,  united  to  such  a  vig- 
orous tone  of  honor  as  testifies  to  the  author's  excellence  as  a  moralist;  nay,  as  a 
Christian. 

And  everywhere  in  the  Plays  we  see  the  cultured  citizen  of  the 
schools  and  colleges  striving  to  elevate  and  civilize  a  rude  and 
barbarous  age.  The  heart  of  the  philosopher  and  philanthropist 
penetrates  through  wit  and  poetry  and  dramatic  incident,  in  every 
.act  and  scene  from  The  Tempest  to  Cymbeline. 


1 


CHAPTER   VII. 
THE  REASONS  FOR   CONCEALMENT. 

Some  dear  cause 
Will  in  concealment  wrap  me  up  awhile. 
When  I  am  known  aright,  you  shall  not  grieve 
Lending  me  this  acquaintance. 

Lear,  /V,j>. 

F  Bacon  wrote  the   Plays,  why  did  he  not  acknowledge  them  ? 
This  is  the  question  that  will  be  asked  by  many. 

I.     Bacon's  Social   Position. 


What  was  Francis  Bacon  in  social  position  ?  He  was  an  aristo- 
crat of  the  aristocrats.  His  grandfather  had  been  the  tutor  of  the 
King.  His  father  had  been  for  twenty  years  Lord  Keeper  of  the 
Seal  under  Elizabeth.  His  uncle  Burleigh  was  Lord  Treasurer  of 
the  kingdom.  His  cousin  Robert  was  Lord  Secretary,  and  after- 
ward became  the  Earl  of  Salisbury.  He  also  "  claims  close  cousinry 
with  Elizabeth  and  Anne  Russell  (daughters  of  Lord  John  Russell) 
and  with  the  witty  and  licentious  race  of  Killigrews,  and  with  the 
future  statesman  and  diplomatist  Sir  Edward  Hoby."1 

Francis  aspired  to  be,  like  his  father,  Lord  Chancellor  of  the 
kingdom.     Says  Hepworth  Dixon: 

Bacon  seemed  born  to  power.  His  kinsmen  filled  the  highest  posts.  The 
sovereign  liked  him,  for  he  had  the  bloom  of  cheek,  the  flame  of  wit,  the  weight  or 
sense,  which  the  great  Queen  sought  in  men  who  stood  about  her  throne.  His 
powers  were  ever  ready,  ever  equal.  Masters  of  eloquence  and  epigram  praised 
him  as  one  of  them,  or  one  above  them,  in  their  peculiar  arts.  Jonson  tells  us  he 
commanded  when  he  spoke,  and  had  his  judges  pleased  or  angry  at  his  will. 
Raleigh  tells  us  he  combined  the  most  rare  of  gifts,  for  while  Cecil  could  talk 
and  not  write,  Howard  write  and  not  talk,  he  alone  could  both  talk  and  write. 
Nor  were  these  gifts  all  flash  and  foam.  If  no  one  at  the  court  could  match  his 
tongue  of  fire,  so  no  one  in  the  House  of  Commons  could  breast  him  in  the  race  of 
work.  He  put  the  dunce  to  flight,  the  drudge  to  shame.  If  he  soared  high  above 
rivals  in  his  most  passionate  play  of  speech,  he  never  met  a  rival  in  the  dull,  dry 
task  of  ordinary  toil.  Raleigh,  Hyde  and  Cecil  had  small  chance  against  him  in 
debate;  in  committee  Yelverton  and  Coke  had  none.   .   .   . 

1  Hepworth  Dixon,  Personal  History  of  Lord  Bacon,  p.  16. 

246 


THE   RE  A  SOX  S  FOR    CONCEALMENT.  247 

He  sought  place,  never  man  with  more  persistent  haste;  for  his  big  brain  beat 
with  a  victorious  consciousness  of  parts;  he  hungered,  as  for  food,  to  rule  and 
bless  mankind.  .  .  .  While  men  of  far  lower  birth  and  claims  got  posts  and 
honors,  solicitorships,  judgeships,  embassies,  portfolios,  how  came  this  strong 
man  to  pass  the  age  of  forty-six  without  gaining  power  or  place?1 

And  remember,  good  reader,  that  it  is  precisely  during  this 
period,  before  Bacon  was  forty-six,  and  while,  as  I  have  shown,  he 
was  "  poor  and  working  for  bread,"  that  the  Shakespeare  Plays  were 
produced;  and  that  after  he  obtained  place  and  wealth  they  ceased 
to  appear;  although  Shakspere  was  still  living  in  Stratford  and  con- 
tinued to  live  there  for  ten  years  to  come.  Why  was  it  that  the  fount- 
ain of  Shakespeare's  song  closed  as  soon  as  Bacon's  necessities  ended? 
II.     The  Lawyers    then    the  Play-Writers. 

Bacon  took  to  the  law.     He  was  born  to  it.     It  was  the  only 

avenue  open  to  him.     Richard  Grant  White  says  —  and,  remember, 

he  is  no  "  Baconian  "  : 

There  was  no  regular  army  in  Elizabeth's  time;  and  the  younger  sons  of  gen- 
tlemen not  rich,  and  of  well-to-do  yeomen,  flocked  to  the  church  and  to  the  bar; 
and  as  the  former  had  ceased  to  be  a  stepping-stone  to  power  and  wealth,  while  the 
latter  was  gaining  in  that  regard,  most  of  these  young  men  became  attorneys  or 
barristers.  But  then,  as  now,  the  early  years  of  professional  life  were  seasons  of 
sharp  trial  and  bitter  disappointment.  Necessity  pressed  sorely  or  pleasure  wooed 
resistlessly;  and  the  slender  purse  wasted  rapidly  away  while  the  young  lawyer 
awaited  the  employment  that  did  not  come.  He  knew  then,  as  now  he  knows,  the 
heart-sickness  that  waits  on  hope  deferred;  nay,  he  felt,  as  now  he  sometimes  feels, 
the  tooth  of  hunger  gnawing  through  the  principles  and  firm  resolves  that  partition 
a  life  of  honor  and  self-respect  from  one  darkened  by  conscious  loss  of  rectitude, 
if  not  by  open  shame.  Happy  (yet,  it  may  be,  O  unhappy)  he  who  now  in  such 
a  strait  can  wield  the  pen  of  a  ready  writer  !  For  the  press,  perchance,  may  afford 
him  a  support  which,  though  temporary  and  precarious,  will  hold  him  up  until  he 
can  stand  upon  more  stable  ground.  But  in  the  reigns  of  Good  Queen  Bess  and 
Gentle  Jamie  there  was  no  press.  There  was,  however,  an  incessant  demand  for 
new  plays.  Play-going  was  the  chief  intellectual  recreation  of  that  day  for  all 
classes,  high  and  low.  It  is  not  extravagant  to  say  that  there  were  then  more  new 
plays  produced  in  London  in  one  month  than  there  are  now  in  both  Great  Britain 
and  Ireland  in  a  whole  year.  To  play-writing,  therefore,  the  needy  and  gifted 
young  lawyer  turned  his  hand  at  that  day  as  he  does  now  to  journalism. 

III.     The  Law-Courts  and  the  Plays.     "The  Misfortunes  of 

Arthur." 
And   the  connection  between  the  lawyers  and  the  players  was, 
in  some  sense,  a  close  one.     It  was  the  custom  for  the  great  law- 
schools  to  furnish  dramatic  representations  for  the  entertainment 

1  Hepworth  Dixon,  Personal  History  of  Lord  Bacon: 


248  FRANCIS   BACON    THE   AUTHOR    OF    THE   PLAYS. 

of  the  court  and  the  nobility.  Shakespeare's  Comedy  of  Errors,  as  I 
have  shown,  made  its  first  appearance,  not  on  the  stage  of  the 
Curtain  or  the  Fortune  theater,  but  in  an  entertainment  given 
by  the  students  of  Gray's  Inn  (Bacon's  law-school);  and  Shake- 
speare's comedy  of  Twelfth  Night  was  first  acted  before  the 
"benchers"  of  the  Middle  Temple,  who  employed  professional 
players  to  act  before  them  every  year.  We  know  these  facts,  as 
to  the  two  plays  named,  almost  by  accident.  How  many  more  of 
the  so-called  Shakespeare  Plays  first  saw  the  light  on  the  boards 
of  those  law  students,  at  their  great  entertainments,  we  do  not 
know.1 

We  find  in  Dodslefs  Old  Plays  a  play  called  The  Misfortunes  of 
Arthur.     The  title-leaf  says: 

Certaine  Devises  and  Shews  presented  to  her  Majestie  by  the  Gentlemen  of 
Grave's-Inne,  at  her  Highnesse  Court  in  Greenewich,  the  twenty-eighth  day  of 
February,  in  the  thirtieth  year  of  her  Majestie's  most  happy  Raigne.  At  London. 
Printed  by  Robert  Robinson.     1587.'2 

Mr.  Collier  wrote  a  preface  to  it,  in  which  he  says: 

It  appears  that  eight  persons,  members  of  the  Society  of  Gray's  Inn,  were 
engaged  in  the  production  of  The  Misfortunes  of  Arthur,  for  the  entertainment  of 
Queen  Elizabeth,  at  Greenwich,  on  the  28th  day  of  February,  1587-8,  viz.: 
Thomas  Hughes,  the  author  of  the  whole  body  of  the  tragedy;  William  Fullbecke, 
who  wrote  two  speeches  substituted  on  the  representation  and  appended  to  the  old 
printed  copy;  Nicholas  Trotte,  who  furnished  the  introduction;  Francis  Flower, 
who  penned  choruses  for  the  first  and  second  acts;  Christopher  Yelverton,  Francis 
Bacon,  and  John  Lancaster,  who  devised  the  dumb-show,  then  usually  accompany- 
ing such  performances;  and  a  person  of  the  name  of  Penruddock,  who,  assisted 
by  Flower  and  Lancaster,  directed  the  proceedings  at  court.  Regarding  Hughes 
and  Trotte  no  information  has  survived.  .  .  .  The  "  Maister  Francis  Bacon" 
spoken  of  at  the  conclusion  of  the  piece  was,  of  course,  no  other  than  (the  great) 
Bacon;  and  it  is  a  new  feature  in  his  biography,  though  not,  perhaps,  very  promi- 
nent nor  important,  that  he  was  so  nearly  concerned  in  the  preparation  of  a  play  at 
court.     In  February,  1587-8,  he  had  just  commenced  his  twenty-eighth  year.   .   .   . 

The  Misfortunes  of  Arthur  is  a  dramatic  composition  only  known  to  exist  in 
the  Garrick  Collection.  Judging  from  internal  evidence,  it  seems  to  have  been 
printed  with  unusual  care,  tinder  the  superintendence  of  the  principal  author.  .  .  . 
The  mere  rarity  of  this  unique  drama  would  not  have  recommended  it  to  our 
notice;  but  it  is  not  likely  that  such  a  man  as  Bacon  would  have  lent  'his  aid 
to  the  production  of  a  piece  which  was  not  intrinsically  good;  and,  unless  we 
much  mistake,  there  is  a  richer  and  nobler  vein  of  poetry  running  through  it 
than  is  to  be  found  in  any  previous  work  of  the  kind.  ...  It  forms  a  sort  of 
connecting  link  between  such  pieces  of  unimpassioned  formality  as  Ferrex  and 
Porrex,  and  rule-rejecting  historical  plays,  as  Shakespeare  found  them  and  left 
them. 

»  Halliwell-Phillipps,  Outlines  Li/e  0/ Shak..  p.  128.  9  Hazlitt,  vol.  iv,  p.  249. 


THE   REASONS  FOR    CONCEALMENT.  249 

I  will  discuss  this  play  and  its  merits  at  more  length  hereafter, 
and  will  make  but  one  or  two  observations  upon  it  at  this  time. 

1.  It  does  not  seem  to  me  probable,  if  eight  young  lawyers 
were  preparing  a  play  for  the  court,  and  one  of  them  was  Francis 
Bacon,  with  his  ready  pen  and  unlimited  command  of  language, 
that  he  would  confine  himself  to  "the  dumb-show."  It  will  be 
remembered  that  he  wrote  the  words  of  certain  masks  that  were 
acted  before  the  court. 

And  if  it  be  true  that  this  youthful  performance  reveals  poetry 
of  a  higher  order  than  anything  that  had  preceded,  is  it  more 
natural  to  suppose  it  the  product  of  the  mightiest  genius  of  his 
age,  who  was,  by  his  own  confession,  "a  concealed  poet,"  or  the 
work  of  one  Thomas  Hughes,  who  never,  in  the  remainder  of  his  life, 
produced  anything  worth  remembering?  And  we  will  see,  here- 
after, that  the  poetry  of  this  play  is  most  strikingly  Shakespearean. 

2.  Collier  says  he  knows  nothing  of  Thomas  Hughes  and  Nich- 
olas Trotte.  Can  Thomas  Hughes,  the  companion  of  Bacon  in 
Gray's  Inn,  and  his  co-laborer  in  preparing  this  play,  be  the  same 
Hughes  referred  to  in  that  line  in  one  of  the  Shakespeare  sonnets 
which  has  so  perplexed  the  commentators  — 

A  man  in  hue,  all  hues  in  his  controlling;  — 

and  which   has  been  supposed   by  many  to  refer  to  some  man  of 
the  name  of  Hughes? 

3.  As  to  the  identity  of  Nicholas  Trotte  there  can  be  no  ques- 
tion. He  is  the  same  Nicholas  Trotte  with  whom  Bacon  carried 
on  a  long  correspondence  on  the  subject  of  money  loaned  by  him 
to  Bacon  at  divers  and  sundry  times. 

But  this  is  not  the  place  to  discuss  the  play  of  The  Misfortunes 
of  Arthur.  I  refer  to  it  now  only  to  show  how  naturally  Bacon 
might  drift  into  writing  for  the  stage.     As: 

1.  Bacon  is  poor  and  in  need  of  money. 

2.  Bacon  assists  in  getting  up  a  play  for  his  law-school,  Gray's 
Inn,  if  he  does  not  write  the  greater  part  of  it. 

3.  The  Comedy  of  Errors  appears  at  Gray's  Inn  for  the  first  time, 
acted  by  Shakspere's  company. 

4.  It  was  customary  for  impecunious  lawyers  in  that  age  to  turn 
an  honest  penny  by  writing  for  the  stage. 


250  FRANCIS  BACON    THE   AUTHOR    OF    THE  PLAYS. 

Here,  then,  we  have  the  man,  the  ability,  the  necessity,  the  cus- 
tom, the  opportunity.  Bacon  and  Shakspere  both  on  the  boards 
of  Gray's  Inn  at  the  same  time  —  one  directing,  the  other  acting. 

If  The  Misfortunes  of  Art Jutr  was  really  Bacon's  work,  and  if  it 
was  a  success  on  the  stage,  how  natural  that  he  should  go  farther 
in  the  same  direction.  Poetry  is,  as  Bacon  tells  us,  a  "lust  of  the 
earth"  —  a  something  that  springs  up  from  the  mind  like  the  rank 
growths  of  vegetation  from  the  ground;  it  is,  as  Shakespeare  says: 

A  gum  which  oozes 
From  whence  'tis  nourished. 

We  see  a  picture  of  the  poet  at  this  age  in  the  description  of 
Hepworth  Dixon;  it  is  not  a  description  of  a  philosopher: 

Like  the  ways  of  all  deep  dreamers,  his  habits  are  odd,  and  vex  Lady  Anne's 
affectionate  and  methodical  heart.  The  boy  sits  up  late  at  night,  drinks  his  ale- 
posset  to  make  him  sleep,  starts  out  of  bed  ere  it  is  light,  or,  may  be,  as  the 
whimsy  takes  him,  lolls  and  dreams  till  noon,  musing,  says  the  good  lady,  with 
loving  pity,  on  —  she  knows  not  what!1 

IV.     Why  he  Seeks  a  Disguise. 

But  if  the  poetical,  the  dramatical,  the  creative  instinct  is  upon 
him,  shall  he  venture  to  put  forth  the  plays  he  produces  in  his  own 
name  ?  No:  there  are  many  reasons  say  him  nay.  In  the  first  place, 
he  knows  they  are  youthful  and  immature  performances.  In  the 
second  place,  it  will  grieve  his  good,  pious  mother  to  know  that  he 
doth  "mum  and  mask  and  sinfully  revel."  In  the  third  place,  the 
reputation  of  a  poet  will  not  materially  assist  him  up  those  long, 
steep  stairs  that  lead  to  the  seat  his  great  father  occupied.  And, 
therefore,  so  he  says,  "I profess  not  to  be  a  poet."  Therefore  will  he 
put  forth  his  attempts  in  the  name  of  Thomas  Hughes,  or  any 
other  friend;  or  of  Marlowe,  or  of  Shakspere,  or  of  any  other  con- 
venient mask.  Hath  he  it  not  in  his  mind  to  be  a  great  reformer; 
to  reconstruct  the  laws  of  the  kingdom,  and  to  recast  the  philoso- 
phy of  mankind,  hurling  down  Aristotle  and  the  schoolmen  from 
their  disputatious  pedestals,  and  erecting  a  system  that  shall  make 
men  better  because  happier,  and  happier  because  wiser  in  the 
knowledge  of  the  nature  which  surrounds  them  ?  Poetry  is  but  a 
"work  of  his  recreation" — a  something  he  cannot  help  but  yield  to, 

1  Personal  History  0/ Lord  Bacon,  p.  35. 


THE   REASONS  EOR    CONCEALMENT.  25 1 

but  of  which  he  is  half-ashamed.  He  will  write  it  because  he  is 
forced  to  sing,  as  the  bird  sings;  because  his  soul  is  full;  because 
he  is  obeying  the  purpose  for  which  he  was  created.  But  publish  his 
productions?  No.  And  therefore  he  "professes"  not  to  be  a  poet. 
And,  moreover,  he  is  naturally  given  to  secretiveness.  There- 
was  a  strong  tendency  in  the  man  to  subterranean  methods.  We 
find  him  writing  letters  in  the  name  of  Essex  and  in  the  name  of 
his  brother  Anthony.  He  went  so  far,  in  a  letter  written  by  him. 
in  the  name  of  his  brother,  to  Essex,  to  refer  back  to  himself  as 
followrs  (the  letter  and  Essex's  reply,  also  written  by  hi?n,  being 
intended  for  the  Queen's  eye): 

And  to  this  purpose  I  do  assure  your  Lordship  that  my  brother,  Francis  Bacon, 
who  is  too  wise  (I  think)  to  be  abused,  and  too  honest  to  abuse,  though  he  be  more 
reserved  in  all  particulars  than  is  needful,  yet,  etc.- 

And  we  positively  know,  from  his  letter  to  Sir  John  Davies,  in 
which  he  speaks  of  himself  as  "a  concealed  poet,"  that  he  was  the 
author  of  poetical  compositions,  of  some  kind,  which  he  did  not 
acknowledge,  and  which  must  certainly  have  gone  about  in  the 
names  of  other  men.  And  he  says  himself  that,  with  a  purpose  to 
help  Essex  regain  the  good  graces  of  the  Queen,  he  wrote  a  sonnet 
which  he  passed  off  upon  the  Queen  as  the  work  of  Essex. 

We  remember  that  Walter  Scott  resorted  to  a  similar  system  of 
secretiveness.  After  he  had  established  for  himself  a  reputation  as 
a  successful  poet,  he  made  up  his  mind  to  venture  upon  the  com- 
position of  prose  romances;  and  fearing  that  a  failure  in  the  new 
field  of  effort  might  compromise  his  character  as  a  man  of  genius, 
already  established  by  his  poems,  he  put  forth  his  first  novel, 
Waverly,  without  any  name  on  the  title-page;  and  then  issued  a 
series  of  novels  as  by  "the  author  of  Waverly."  And  in  his  day 
there  were  books  written  to  show  by  parallel  thoughts  and  expres- 
sions that  Scott  was  really  the  author  of  those  romances,  just  as 
books  are  now  written  on  the  Bacon-Shakespeare  question. 

And  who  does  not  remember  that  the  author  of  The  Letters  of 
Junius  died  and  made  no  sign  of  confession  ? 

Bacon  doubtless  found  a  great  advantage  in  writing  thus  under 
a  mask.  The  man  who  sets  forth  his  thoughts  in  his  own  name 
knows  that  the  public  will  constantly  strive  to  connect  his  utter- 
ances with   his   personal   character;  to  trace   home  his   opinions  to 


2$2 


FRANCIS  BACON    THE   AUTHOR    OF    THE   PLAYS. 


his  personal  history  and  circumstances;  and  he  is  therefore  neces- 
sarily always  on  his  guard  not  to  say  anything,  even  in  a  work  of 
fiction,  that  he  would  not  be  willing  to  father  as  part  of  his  own 
natural  reflections. 

Richard  Grant  White  says: 

Shakespeare's  freedom  in  the  use  of  words  was  but  a  part  of  that  conscious 
irresponsibility  to  critical  rule  which  had  such  an  important  influence  upon  the 
development  of  his  whole  dramatic  style.  To  the  workings  of  his  genius  under 
this  entire  unconsciousness  of  restraint  we  owe  the  grandest  and  the  most  delicate 
beauties  of  his  poetry,  his  poignant  expressions  of  emotion,  and  his  richest  and 
subtlest  passages  of  humor.  For  the  superiority  of  his  work  is  just  in  proportion 
to  his  carelessness  of  literary  criticism.  .  .  .  His  plays  were  mere  entertainments 
for  the  general  public,  written  not  to  be  read,  but  to  be  spoken;  written  as  busi- 
ness, just  as  Rogers  wrote  money  circulars,  or  as  Bryant  writes  leading  articles. 
This  freedom  was  suited  to  the  unparalleled  richness  and  spontaneousness  of  his 
thought,  of  which  it  was,  in  fact,  partly  the  result,  and  itself  partly  the  condition.1 

The  Anatomy  of  Melancholy  was  first  published,  not  in  the  name 
of  the  alleged  author,  Robert  Burton,  but  under  the  nom  de plume  of 
"Democritus,  Junior,"  and  in  the  address  to  the  reader  the  author 
says: 

Gentle  reader,  I  presume  thou  wilt  be  very  inquisitive  to  know  wh?4  ar***c  ,r 
personate  actor  this  is  that  so  insolently  intrudes  upon  this  common  theater,  to  the 
world's  view,  arrogating  another  man's  name.  ...  I  would  not  willingly  be 
known.  .  .  .  'Tis  for  no  such  respect  I  shroud  myself  under  his  name;  but  in  an 
unknown  habit  to  assume  a  little  more  liberty  and  freedom  of  speech. 

We  will  see  hereafter  that  there  are  strong  reasons  for  believing 
that  Francis  Bacon  wrote  The  Anatomy  of  Melancholy,  and  that  in 
these  words  we  have  his  own  explanation  of  one  of  the  many  rea- 
sons for  his  many  disguises. 

V.     Low  State  of  the  Dramatic  Art. 

But  there  was  another  reason  why  an  ambitious  young  aristo- 
crat, and  lawyer,  and  would-be  Lord-Chancellor,  should  hesitate  to 
avow  that  he  was  a  writer  of  plays. 

Halliwell-Phillipps  says: 

It  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  actors  occupied  an  inferior  position  in  society, 
and  that  even  the  vocation  of  a  dramatic  writer  was  considered  scarcely  respectable} 

The  first  theater  ever  erected  in  England,  or,  so  far  as  I  am 
aware,  in   any  country,  in   modern    times,  was   built   in   London  in 

1  Life  and  Genius  of  Shak.,  p.  220.  »  Halliwell-Phillipps.  Outlines  Life  of  Shak.,  p.  6. 


THE  REASONS  FOR    CONCEALMENT.  253 

1575  —  five  years  before  Bacon  returned  from  the  court  of  France, 
and  six  years  before  he  reached  the  age  of  twenty-one  years.  The 
man  and  the  instrumentality  came  together.  A  writer  upon  the 
subject  says: 

The  public  authorities,  more  especially  those  who  were  inclined  to  Puritanism., 
exerted  themselves  in  every  possible  way  to  repress  the  performance  of  plays  and 
interludes.  They  fined  and  imprisoned  the  players,  even  stocked  them,  and  har- 
assed and  restrained  them  to  the  utmost  of  their  ability.  ...  In  1575  the  players 
were  interdicted  from  the  practice  of  their  art  (or  rather  their  calling,  for  it  was  not 
yet  an  art),  within  the  limits  of  the  city. 

The  legal  status  of  actors  was  the  lowest  in  the  country. 

The  act  of  14th  Elizabeth,  "for  the  punishment  of  vagabonds," 
included  under  that  name  "all  fencers,  bearwards,  common  players  in 
interludes,  and  minstrels,  not  belonging  to  any  baron  of  this  realm." 

They  traveled  the  country  on  foot,  with  packs  on  their  backs, 
and  were  fed  in  the  "buttery  "  of  the  great  houses  they  visited. 

I  quote: 

Thus  in  Greene's  Never  Too  Late,  in  the  interview  between  the  player  and 
Robert  {i.e.,  Greene),  on  the  latter  asking  how  the  player  proposed  to  mend  Rob- 
ert's fortune: 

"  Why,  easily,"  quoth  he,  "and  greatly  to  your  benefit;  for  men  of  my  profes- 
sion get  by  scholars  their  whole  living." 

"  What  is  your  profession?"  said  Roberto. 

"  Truly,  sir,"  said  he,  "  I  am  a  player." 

"A  player!"  quoth  Roberto;  "I  took  you  rather  for  a  gentleman  of  great 
living;  for  if  by  outward  habit  men  should  be  answered  [judged],  I  tell  you,  you 
would  be  taken  for  a  substantial  man." 

"So  am  I,  where  I  dwell,"  quoth  the  player,  "reported  able  at  my  proper 
cost  to  build  a  wind-mill.  " 

He  then  proceeds  to  say  that  at  his  outset  in  life  he  was  fain  to  carry  his 
"  playing  fardel,"  that  is,  his  bundle  of  stage  properties,  "  a  foot  back;  "  but  now 
his  show  of  "playing  apparel"  would  sell  for  more  than  ^200.  In  the  end  he 
offers  to  engage  Greene  to  write  plays  for  him,  "for  which  you  will  be  well  paidr 
if  you  will  take  the  pains." 

If  the  actors  did  not  engage  themselves  as  the  servants  of  some 

great  man,  as  "the  Lord   Chamberlain's  servants,"  or  "the  Lord 

Admiral's  servants,"  or  "  the   Earl  of  Worcester's  servants,"  they 

were  liable  under  the  law,  as  Edgar  says  in  Lear,1  to  be  "whipped 

from  tything  to  tything,  and  stocked,  punished  and  imprisoned; " 

for  by  the  statute  of  39  Elizabeth  (1597)  and  1st  of  James  I.  (1604), 

as  I  have  shown,  the  vagabond's  punishment  was  to  be  "stripped 

naked  from  the  middle  upward,  and  to  be  whipped  until  his  body 

1  Act  lii,  scene  4. 


254  FRANCIS  BACON    THE  AUTHOR   OF   THE  PLAYS. 

was  bloody,  and  to  be  sent  from  parish  to  parish  the  next  straight 
way  to  the  place  of  his  birth." 
Halliwell-Phillipps  says: 

Actors  were  regarded  at  court  in  the  light  of  menials,  and  classed  by  the  pub- 
lic with  jugglers  and  buffoons.' 

The  play-houses  were  inconceivably  low  and  rude.  The  Lord 
Mayor  of  London,  in  1597,  describes  the  theaters  as  : 

Ordinary  places  for  vagrant  persons,  maisterless  men,  thieves,  horse-stealers, 
whoremongers,  cozeners,  cony-catchers,  contrivers  of  treason,  and  other  idele  and 
dangerous  persons. - 

Taine  says  of  Shakspere: 

He  was  a  comedian,  one  of  "His  Majesty's  poor  players"  —  a  sad  trade, 
degraded  in  all  ages  by  the  contrasts  and  the  falsehoods  which  it  allows:  still  more 
degraded  then  by  the  brutalities  of  the  crowd,  who  not  seldom  would  stone  the 
actors;  and  by  the  severities  of  the  magistrates,  who  would  sometimes  condemn 
them  to  lose  their  ears.3 

Edmund  Gayton  says,  describing  the  play-houses: 

If  it  be  on  a  holiday,  when  sailors,  watermen,  shoemakers,  butchers  and 
apprentices  are  at  leisure,  then  it  is  good  policy  to  amaze  those  violent  spirits  with 
some  tearing  tragedy,  full  of  fights  and  skirmishes,  as  The  Guelphs  and  Ghibelines, 
Greeks  and  Trojans,  or  The  Three  London  Apprentices,  which  commonly  ends  in  six 
acts,  the  spectators  frequently  mounting  the  stage  and  making  a  more  bloody 
catastrophe  among  themselves  than  the  players  did.  I  have  known,  upon  one  of 
these  festivals,  .  .  .  where  the  players  have  been  appointed,  notwithstanding  their 
bills  to  the  contrary,  to  act  what  the  major  part  of  the  company  had  a  mind  to; 
sometimes  Tamburlanc,  sometimes  Jugurth,  sometimes  The  Jeiu  of  Malta,  and 
sometimes  parts  of  all  these;  and  at  last,  none  of  the  three  taking,  they  were 
forced  to  undress,  and  put  off  their  tragic  habits,  and  conclude  the  day  with 
The  Merry  Milkmaid.  And  unless  this  were  done,  and  the  popular  humor 
satisfied,  as  sometimes  it  so  fortuned  that  the  players  were  refractory,  the  benches, 
the  tiles,  the  laths,  the  stones,  oranges,  apples,  nuts  flew  about  most  liberally; 
and  as  there  were  mechanics  of  all  professions,  who  fell  every  one  to  his  own 
trade,  and  dissolved  an  house  in  an  instant  and  made  a  ruin  of  a  stately 
fabric.4 

Taine  thus  describes  the  play-houses  of  Shakspere's  time: 

Great  and  rude  contrivances,  awkward  in  their  construction,  barbarous  in  their 
appointments;  but  a  fervid  imagination  supplied  all  that  they  lacked,  and  hardy 
bodies  endured  all  inconveniences  without  difficulty.  On  a  "dirty  site,  on  the  banks 
of  the  Thames,  rose  the  principal  theater,  the  Globe,  a  sort  of  hexagonal  tower, 
surrounded  by  a  muddy  ditch,  on  which  was  hoisted  a  red  flag.  The  common 
people  could  enter  as  well  as  the  rich;  there  were  six-penny,  two-penny,  even 

1  Outlines  Life  of  Shaft.,  p.  256.  a  City  0/  London  MS.  Outlines,  p.  214. 

3  History  of  English  Literature,  book  ii,  chap,  iv,  p.  205. 
*  Festivous  Notes  on  Don  Quixote,  1654,  p.  271. 


THE   REASONS  FOR    CONCEALMENT.  255 

penny  seats;  but  they  could  not  see  it  without  money.  If  it  rained,  and  it  often 
rains  in  London,  the  people  in  the  pit  —  butchers,  mercers,  bakers,  sailors,  appren- 
tices—  received  the  streaming  rain  upon  their  heads.  I  suppose  they  did  not  trouble 
themselves  about  it;  it  was  not  so  long  since  they  began  to  pave  the  streets  of 
London,  and  when  men,  like  these,  have  had  experience  of  sewers  and  puddles, 
they  are  not  afraid  of  catching  cold. 

While  waiting  for  the  piece,  they  amuse  themselves  after  their  fashion,  drink 
beer,  crack  nuts,  eat  fruits,  howl,  and  now  and  then  resort  to  their  fists;  they  have 
been  known  to  fall  upon  the  actors,  and  turn  the  theater  upside  down.  At  other 
times,  when  they  were  dissatisfied,  they  went  to  the  tavern,  to  give  the  poet  a  hid- 
ing, or  toss  him  in  a  blanket.  .  .  .  When  the  beer  took  effect,  there  was  a  great 
upturned  barrel  in  the  pit,  a  peculiar  receptacle  for  general  use.  The  smell  rises, 
and  then  comes  the  cry,  "  Burn  the  juniper  !"  They  burn  some  in  a  plate  on  the 
stage,  and  the  heavy  smoke  fills  the  air.  Certainly  the  folk  there  assembled  could 
scarcely  get  disgusted  at  anything,  and  cannot  have  had  sensitive  noses.  In  the 
time  of  Rabelais  there  was  not  much  cleanliness  to  speak  of.  Remember  that 
they  were  hardly  out  of  the  Middle  Ages,  and  that  in  the  Middle  Ages  man  lived 
on  a  dung-hill. 

Above  them,  on  the  stage,  were  the  spectators  able  to  pay  a  shilling,  the  ele- 
gant people,  the  gentlefolk.  These  were  sheltered  from  the  rain,  and,  if  they 
chose  to  pay  an  extra  shilling,  could  have  a  stool.  To  this  were  reduced  the  pre- 
rogatives of  rank  and  the  devices  of  comfort;  it  often  happened  that  there  were 
not  stools  enough;  then  they  lie  down  on  the  ground;  this  was  not  a  time  to  be 
dainty.  They  play  cards,  smoke,  insult  the  pit,  who  give  it  them  back  without 
stinting,  and  throw  apples  at  them  into  the  bargain. 

The  reader  can  readily  conceive  that  the  man  must  indeed  have 
been  exceedingly  ambitious  of  fame  who  would  have  insisted  on 
asserting  his  title  to  the  authorship  of  plays  acted  in  such  theaters 
before  such  audiences.  Imagine  that  aristocratic  young  gentle- 
man, Francis  Bacon,  born  in  the  royal  palace  of  York  Place;  an  ex- 
attache  of  the  English  legation  at  the  French  court ;  the  son  of  a 
Lord  Chancellor;  the  nephew  of  a  Lord  Treasurer;  the  offspring  of 
the  virtuous,  pious  and  learned  Lady  Anne  Bacon;  with  his  head 
full  of  great  plans  for  the  reformation  of  philosophy,  law  and 
government;  and  with  his  eye  fixed  on  the  chair  his  father  had 
occupied  for  twenty  years:  —  imagine  him,  I  say,  insisting  that 
his  name  should  appear  on  the  play-bills  as  the  poet  who  wrote 
Mucedorus,  Tamburlaiie,  The  Jew  of  Malta,  Titus  Andronicus.  Fair 
Em,  Sir  John  Oldcastle,  or  The  Merry  Devil  of  Edmonton!  Imagine 
the  drunken,  howling  mob  of  Calibans  hunting  through  Gray's 
Inn  to  find  the  son  of  the  Lord  Chancellor,  in  the  midst 
of  his  noble  friends,  to  whip  him,  or  toss  him  in  a  blanket, 
because,  forsooth,  his  last  play  had  not  pleased  their  royal 
fancies! 


256  FRANCIS  BACON    THE  AUTHOR    OF    THE  PLAYS. 

VI.     Sharing   in  the  Profits  of  the  Play-House. 

But  suppose  behind  all  this  there  was  another  and  a  more  ter- 
rible consideration. 

Suppose  this  young  nobleman  had  eked  out  his  miserable 
income  by  writing  plays  to  sell  to  the  theaters.  Suppose  it  was  known 
that  he  had  his  "  second  "  and  ii  third  nights;  "  that  he  put  into  his 
pocket  the  sweaty  pennies  of  that  stinking  mob  of  hoodlums, 
sailors,  'prentices,  thieves,  rowdies  and  prostitutes;  and  that 
he  had  used  the  funds  so  obtained  to  enable  him  to  keep  up  his 
standing  with  my  Lord  of  Southampton,  and  my  Earl  of  Essex,  and 
their  associates,  as  a  gentleman  among  gentlemen.     Think  of  it ! 

And  this  in  England,  three  hundred  years  ago,  when  the  line  of 
caste  was  almost  as  deep  and  black  between  the  gentlemen  and 
"  the  mutable,  rank-scented  many,"  as  it  is  to-day  in  India  between 
the  Brahmin  and  the  Pariah.  Why,  to  this  hour,  I  am  told,  there  is 
an  almost  impassable  gulf  between  the  nobleman  and  the  trades- 
man of  great  Britain.  Then,  as  Burton  says  in  The  Anatomy  of 
Melancholy,  "  idleness  was  the  mark  of  nobility."  To  earn  money 
in  any  kind  of  trade  was  despicable.  To  have  earned  it  by  sharing 
in  the  pennies  and  shillings  taken  in  at  the  door,  or  on  the  stage  of 
the  play-house,  would  have  been  utterly  damnable  in  any  gentle- 
man. It  would  have  involved  a  loss  of  social  position  worse  than 
death.  One  will  have  to  read  Thackeray's  story  of  Miss  Shunt's 
Husband  to  find  a  parallel  for  it. 

VII.     Political  Considerations. 

But  we  have  seen  that  the  hiring  of  actors  of  Shakspere's  com- 
pany to  perform  the  play  of  Richard  II. ,  by  the  followers  of  the 
Earl  of  Essex,  the  day  before  the  attempt  to  "  rase  the  city  "  and 
seize  the  person  of  the  Queen  (even  as  Monmouth  seized  the  person 
of  Richard  II.),  and  compel  a  deposition  by  like  means,  was  one  of 
the  counts  in  the  indictment  against  Essex,  which  cost  him  his 
head.  In  other  words,  the  intent  of  the  play  was  treasonable,  and 
was  so  understood  at  the  time.  "  Know  you  not,"  said  Queen 
Elizabeth,  "that/  am  Richard  II.?"  And  I  have  shown  good 
reason  to  believe  that  all  the  historical  Plays,  to  say  nothing  of 
Julius  Ccesar,  were  written  with  intent  to  popularize  rebellion 
against  tyrants. 


THE   REASONS  FOR    CONCEALMENT.  257 


"The  poor  player,"  Will  Shakspere,  might  have  written  such 
plays  solely  for  the  pence  and  shillings  there  were  in  them,  for  he  had 
nothing  to  do  with  politics:  —  he  was  a  legal  vagabond,  a  "vassal 
actor,"  a  social  outcast;  but  if  Francis  Bacon,  the  able  and  ambitious 
Francis  Bacon,  the  rival  of  Cecil,  the  friend  of  Southampton  and 
Essex;  the  lawyer,  politician,  member  of  Parliament,  courtier,  be- 
longing to  the  party  that  desired  to  bring  in  the  Scotch  King  and 
drive  the  aged  Queen  from  the  throne  —  if  he  had  acknowledged  the 
authorship  of  the  Plays,  the  inference  would  have  been  irresistible  in 
the  mind  of  the  court,  that  these  horrible  burlesques  and  travesties 
of  royalty  were  written  with  malice  and  settled  intent  to  bring  mon- 
archy into  contempt  and  justify  the  aristocracy  in  revolution. 

VIII.     Another  Reason. 

But  it  must  be  further  remembered  that  while  Bacon  lived  the 
Shakespeare  Plays  were  not  esteemed  as  they  are  now.  Then  they 
were  simply  successful  dramas;  they  drew  great  audiences;  they 
filled  the  pockets  of  manager  and  actors.  Leonard  Digges,  in  the 
verses  prefixed  to  the  edition  of  1640,  says  that  when  Jonson's 
"Fox  and  Subtle  Alchymist" 

Have  scarce  defrayed  the  sea-coal  fire 
And  door-keepers:  when,  let  but  Falstaff  come, 
Hal,  Poins,  the  rest  —  you  scarce  shall  have  room, 
All  is  so  pestered:  let  but  Beatrice 
And  Benedick  be  seen,  lo  !  in  a  trice 
The  cock-pit,  galleries,  boxes,  all  are  full, 
To  hear  Malvolio,  that  cross-gartered  gull. 

There  was  no  man  in  that  age,  except  the  author  of  them,  who 

rated  the  Shakespeare  Plays  at  their  true  value.    They  were  admired 

for  "the  facetious  grace  of  the  writing,"  but  the  world  had  not  yet 

advanced  far  enough  in  culture  and  civilization  to  recognize  them 

as  the  great  store-houses  of  the  world's  thought.     Hence  there  was 

not  then  the  same  incentive  to  acknowledge  them  that  there  would 

be  to-day. 

IX.     Still  Another  Reason. 

If  Francis  Bacon  had  died  full  of  years  and  honors,  I  can  con- 
ceive how,  from  the  height  of  preeminent  success,  he  might  have 
fronted  the  prejudices  of  the  age,  and  acknowledged  these  children 
of  his  brain. 


258  FRANCIS  BACON   THE  AUTHOR   OF   THE  PLAYS. 

But  the  last  years  of  his  life  were  years  of  dishonor.  He  had 
been  cast  down  from  the  place  of  Lord  Chancellor  for  bribery,  for 
selling  justice  for  money.  He  had  been  sentenced  to  prison;  he 
held  his  liberty  by  the  King's  grace.  He  was  denied  access  to  the 
•court.  He  was  a  ruined  man,  "  a  very  subject  of  pity,"  as  he  says 
himself. 

For  a  man  thus  living  under  a  cloud  to  have  said,  "  In  my 
youth  I  wrote  plays  for  the  stage;  I  wrote  them  for  money;  I  used 
Shakspere  as  a  mask;  I  divided  with  him  the  money  taken  in  at 
the  gate  of  the  play-houses  from  the  scum  and  refuse  of  London," 
would  only  have  invited  upon  his  head  greater  ignominy  and  dis- 
grace. He  had  a  wife;  he  had  relatives,  a  proud  and  aristocratic 
breed.  He  sought  to  be  the  Aristotle  of  a  new  philosophy.  Such 
an  avowal  would  have  smirched  the  Novum  Organum  and  the  Ad- 
vancement of  Learning;  it  would  have  blotted  and  blurred  the  bright 
and  dancing  light  of  that  torch  which  he  had  kindled  for  posterity. 
He  would  have  had  to  explain  his,  no  doubt  countless,  denials 
made  years  before,  that  he  had  had  anything  to  do  with  the  Plays. 

And  why  should  he  acknowledge  them?  He  left  his  fame  and 
good  name  to  his  "own  countrymen  after  some  time  be  past ;"  he 
believed  the  cipher,  which  he  had  so  laboriously  inserted  in  the 
Plays,  would  be  found  out.  He  would  obtain  all  the  glory  for  his 
name  in  that  distant  future  when  he  would  not  hear  the  re- 
proaches of  caste;  when,  as  pure  spirit,  he  might  look  down  from 
space,  and  see  the  winged-goodness  which  he  had  created,  passing, 
on  pinions  of  persistent  purpose,  through  all  the  world,  from  gener- 
ation to  generation.  In  that  age,  when  his  body  was  dust;  when 
cousins  and  kin  were  ashes;  when  Shakspere  had  moldered  into 
nothingness,  beneath  the  protection  of  his  own  barbarous  curse; 
when  not  a  trace  could  be  found  of  the  bones  of  Elizabeth  or 
James,  or  even  of  the  stones  of  the  Curtain  or  the  Blackfriars: 
then,  in  a  new  world,  a  brighter  world,  a  greater  world,  a  better 
world, —  to  which  his  own  age  would  be  but  as  a  faint  and  per- 
turbed remembrance, —  he  would  be  married  anew  to  his  immortal 
works.  He  would  live  again,  triumphant,  over  Burleigh  and  Cecil, 
over  Coke  and  Buckingham;  over  parasites  and  courtiers,  over 
tricksters  and  panderers:  —  the  magnificent  victory  of  genius  over 
power;  of  mind  over  time.     And  so  living,  he  would  live  forever. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 
CORROBORA  TING   CIRCUMSTANCES. 

Lapped  in  proof, 
Confronted  him  with  self-comparisons. 

Macbeth,  f,  2. 

WE  sometimes  call,  in  law,  an  instrument  between  two  parties 
an  indenture.  Why  ?  Because  it  was  once  the  custom  to 
write  a  deed  or  contract  in  duplicate,  on  a  long  sheet  of  paper  or 
parchment,  and  then  cut  them  apart  upon  an  irregular  or  indented 
line.  If,  thereafter,  any  dispute  arose  as  to  whether  one  was  the 
equivalent  of  the  other,  the  edges,  where  they  were  divided,  were 
put  together  to  see  if  they  precisely  matched.  If  they  did  not,  it 
followed  that  some  fraud  had  somewhere  been  practiced. 

Truth,  in  like  manner,  is  serrated,  and  its  indentations  fit  into 
all  other  truth.  If  two  alleged  truths  do  not  thus  dovetail  into 
each  other,  along  the  line  where  they  approximate,  then  one  of 
them  is  not  the  truth,  but  an  error  or  a  fraud. 

Let  us  see,  therefore,  if,  upon  a  multitude  of  minor  points,  the 
allegation  that  Francis  Bacon  wrote  the  Shakespeare  Plays  fits  its 
indentations  —  its  teeth  —  precisely  into  what  we  know  of  Bacon 
and  Shakspere. 

In  treating  these  questions,  I  shall  necessarily  have  to  be  as 
brief  as  possible. 

I.     The  Question  of  Time. 

Does  the  biography  of  Bacon  accord  with  the  chronology  of 
the  Plays? 

Bacon  was  born  in  York  House,  or  Palace,  on  the  Strand,  Janu- 
ary 22,  1 56 1.  William  Shakspere  was  born  at  Stratford-on-Avon, 
April  23,  1564.  Bacon  died  in  the  spring  of  1626.  Shakspere  in  the 
spring  of  16 16.  The  lives  of  the  two  men  were  therefore  parallel;  but 
Bacon  was  three  years  the  elder,  and  survived  Shakspere  ten  years. 

Bacon's  mental  activity  began  at  an  early  age.  He  was  study- 
ing the  nature  of  echoes  at  a  time  when  other  children  are  playing. 

259 


26o  FRANCIS  BACON   THE  AUTHOR    OF    THE   PLAYS. 

At  twelve  he  outstripped  his  home  tutors  and  was  sent  to  join  his 
brother  Anthony,  two  years  his  senior,  at  Trinity  College,  Cam- 
bridge. At  eighteen  Hilliard  paints  his  portrait  and  inscribes 
upon  it,  "if  one  could  but  paint  his  mind."  We  will  hereafter  see 
reasons  to  believe  that  there  is  extant  a  whole  body  of  compositions 
written  before  he  was  twenty-one  years  of  age.  At  about  twenty 
he  summarizes  the  political  condition  of  Europe  with  the  hand  of 
a  statesman. 

II.     Plays  before  Shakspere  Comes  to  London. 

The  Plays  antedate  the  time  of  the  coming  of  Shakspere  to 
London,  which  it  is  generally  agreed  was  in  1587. 

That  high  authority,  Richard  Simpson,  in  his  School  of  Shake- 
speare? in  his  article,  "  The  Early  Authorship  of  Shakespeare2 "  and 
in  Notes  and  Queries?  shows  that  the  Shakespeare  Plays  commenced 
to  appear  in  iffy  !  That  is  to  say,  while  Shakspere  was  still  living  in 
Stratford — in  the  year  the  twins  were  born  !  We  are  therefore  to 
believe  that  in  that  "bookless  neighborhood"  the  butcher's  ap- 
prentice was,  between  his  whippings,  writing  plays  for  the  stage  ! 
Here  are  miracles  indeed. 

In  1585  Robert  Greene  both  registered  and  published  his  Plane- 
tomachia,  and  in  this  work  he  denounces  M  some  avaricious  player, 
.  .  .  who,  not  content  with  his  own  province  [of  acting],  should 
dare  to  intrude  into  the  field  of  authorship,  which  ought  to  belong 
solely  to  the  professed  scholars" — like  Greene  himself.  And  from 
that  time  forward  Greene  continued  to  gibe  at  this  same  some- 
body, who  was  writing  plays  for  the  stage.  He  speaks  of  "gentle- 
men poets"  in  1588,  who  set  "the  end  of  scholarism  in  an  English 
blank  verse;  ...  it  is  the  humor  of  a  novice  that  tickles  them  with 
self-love." 

Thomas  Nash  says,  in  an  epistle  prefixed   to  Greene's  Arcadia, 

published,  according  to  Mr.  Dyce,  in  1587: 

It  is  a  common  practice,  now-a-days,  amongst  a  sort  of  shifting  companions, 
that  run  through  every  art  and  thrive  at  none,  to  leave  the  trade  of noverint  [lawyer], 
whereto  they  were  born,  and  busy  themselves  with  the  endeavors  of  art,  that  could 
scarcely  Latinize  their  neck-verse,  if  they  should  have  need.  Yet  English  Seneca, 
read  by  candle-light,  yields  many  good  sentences,  as  "blood  is  a  beggar,"  and 
so  forth;  and  if  you  entreat  him  fair,  in  a  frosty  morning,  he  will  afford  you  whole 
Hamlets,  I  should  say  handfuls,  of  tragical  speeches. 

1  Vol.  ii,  p.  342.  "  North  British  Review,  vol.  lii.  '•'  4th  scries,  vol.  viii. 


CORROBORATING    CIRCUMSTANCES.  26i 

Here  it  appears  that  in  1587,  the  very  year  when  Shakspere 
came  to  London,  and  while  he  was  probably  holding  horses  at  the 
front  door  of  the  theater,  the  play  of  Hamlet,  Shakespeare's  own 
play  of  Hamlet^  was  being  acted;  and  was  believed  by  other  play- 
wrights to  have  been  composed  by  some  lawyer,  who  was  born  a 
lawyer. 

And  did  not  Nash's  words,  "if  you  entreat  him  fair  of  a  frosty 
morning,"  allude  to  that  early  morning  scene  "of  a  frosty  morning," 
where  Hamlet  meets  the  Ghost,  for  the  first  time,  on  the  platform 
of  the  castle: 

Hamlet.     The  air  bites  shrewdly;  it  is  very  cold. 
Horatio.     It  is  a  nipping  and  an  eager  air. 

But  this  lawyer,  who  was  born  a  lawyer,  to  whom  allusion  is 
made  by  Nash,  so  far  from  being  a  mere-horse-holder,  was  some- 
thing of  a  scholar,  for  Nash  continues: 

But  .  .  .  what's  that  will  last  always  ?  Seneca  let  blood  line  by  line  and 
page  by  page,  at  length  must  die  to  our  stage,  which  makes  his  [Seneca's]  fam- 
ished followers  .  .  .  leap  into  a  new  occupation  and  translate  two-penny  pamphlets 
from  the  Italian  without  any  knowledge  even  of  its  articles.1 

We  have  seen  that  several  of  the  so-called  Shakespeare  comedies 
were  founded  on  untranslated  Italian  novels.  Will  the  men  who 
argue  that  Shakspere  stood  at  the  door  of  the  play-house  and  held 
horses,  and  at  the  same  time  wrote  the  magnificent  and  scholarly 
periods  of  Hamlet,  go  farther  and  ask  us  to  believe  that  the 
butcher's  apprentice,  the  deer-stealer,  the  beer-guzzler,  "  oft- 
whipped  and  imprisoned,"  had,  in  the  filthy,  bookless  village  of 
Stratford,  acquired  even  an  imperfect  knowledge  of  the  Italian  ? 

But  Nash  goes  farther.     He  says: 

Sundry  other  sweet  gentlemen  I  do  know,  that  we  [sic]  have  vaunted  their  pens 
in  private-devices  and  tricked  tip  a  company  of  taffaty  fools  with  their  feathers,  whose 
beauty,  if  our  poets  had  not  pecked,  with  the  supply  of  their  perriwigs,  they  might 
have  anticked  it  until  this  time,  up  and  down  the  country  with  The  King  of 
Fairies  and  dined  every  day  at  the  pease-poridge  ordinary  with  Delfrigius. 

What  does  all  this  mean  ?  Why,  that  there  were  poets  who 
were  not  actors,  "sweet  gentlemen*''  (and  that  word  meant  a  good 
deal  in  1587),  who  had  written  "private  devices,"  as  we  know- 
Bacon  to  have  written  "masks"  for  private  entertainments;  and 
these  gentlemen  were  rich  enough  to  have  furnished  out  a  company' 

1  School  of  SJiak.,  vol.  ii.  p.  35S. 


262  FRANCIS  BACON    THE  AUTHOR    OF   THE  PLAYS. 

of  actors  with  feathers  and  periwigs,  to  take  part  in  these  private 
theatricals;  and  if  the  "  gentlemen  "  had  not  pecked  (objected?) 
the  players  would  have  anticked  it,  that  is,  played  in  this  finery,  all 
over  the  country. 

Hamlet  says  to  Horatio,  after  he  has  written  the  play  and  had 
it  acted  and  thereby  "touched  the  conscience  of  the  King:  " 

Would  not  this,  sir,  and  a  f orest  of  feathers  (if  the  rest  of  my  fortunes  turn 
Turk  with  me),  with  two  provincial  roses  on  my  ragged  shoes,  get  me  a  fellowship 
in  a  cry  of  players  ? 

And    three   years  after  Nash  wrote  the  above,  Robert   Greene 

refers  to  Shakspere  as  the  only  "  Shake-scene  in  the  country,"  and  as 

"an  upstart  crow  beautified  with  our  feathers." 

III.     A  Pretended  Play-Writer  who  Cannot  Write 

English. 

Simpson  believes   that  Fair  Em  was   written  by   Shakspere  in 

1587. 

In  1587  Greene  wrote  his  Farewell  to  Folly,  published  in  1591,  in 
which  he  criticises  the  play  of  Fair  Em  and  positively  states  that  it 
was  written  by  some  gentleman  of  position,  who  put  it  forth  in  the 
name  of  a  play-actor  who  was  almost  wholly  uneducated.  He 
says: 

Others  will  flout  and  over-read  every  line  with  a  frump,  and  say  'tis  scurvy, 
when  they  themselves  are  such  scabbed  lads  that  they  are  like  to  die  of  the  fazion;* 
but  if  they  come  to  write  or  publish  anything  in  print,  it  is  either  distilled  out  of 
ballads,  or  borrowed  of  theological  poets,  which,  for  their  calling  and  gravity 
being  loth  to  have  any  profane  pamphlets  pass  tinder  their  hand,  get  some  other  Batil- 
lus  to  set  his  name  to  their  verses.  Thus  is  the  ass  made  proud  by  this  underhand 
brokery.  And  he  that  cannot  ivrile  true  English  without  the  help  of  clerks  of  parish 
churches,  will  needs  make  himself  the  father  of  interludes.  O,  'tis  a  jolly  matter 
when  a  man  hath  a  familiar  style,  and  can  endite  a  whole  year  and  not  be  behold- 
ing to  art !  But  to  bring  Scripture  to  prove  anything  he  says,  and  kill  it  dead  with 
the  text  in  a  trifling  subject  of  love,  I  tell  you  is  no  small  piece  of  cunning.  As, 
for  example,  two  lovers  on  the  stage  arguing  one  another  of  unkindness,  his  mis- 
tress runs  over  him  with  this  canonical  sentence,  "A  man's  conscience  is  a  thou- 
sand witnesses;"  and  her  knight  again  excuseth  himself  with  that  saying  of  the 
apostle,  "  Love  covereth  a  multitude  of  sins."2 

The  two  lines  here  quoted  are  from  Fair  Em: 

Thy  conscience  is  a  thousand  witnesses.3 

Yet  love,  that  covers  multitude  of  sins.4 

1 A  disease  of  horses,  like  glanders.  3  Sc.  xvii,  1.  1308. 

■  School of  Shak.,  chap,  xi,  p.  377.  4  Ibid.,  1.  1271. 


CORK  OB  OKA  1  'IX G   CIK  C  UMS 1  A  XCE  S.  263 

What  does  this  prove  ?  That  it  was  the  belief  of  Greene,  who 
was  himself  a  playwright,  that  Fair  Em  was  not  written  by  the 
man  in  whose  name  it  was  put  forth,  but  by  some  one  of  "  calling 
and  gravity,"  who  had  made  use  of  another  as  a  mask.  And  that 
this  latter  person  was  an  ignorant  man,  who  could  not  write  true 
English  without  the  help  of  the  clerks  of  parish  churches.  But 
Simpson  and  many  others  are  satisfied  that  Fair  Em  was  written 
by  the  same  mind  which  produced  the  Shakespeare  Plays  !  But 
as  the  Farewell  to  Folly  was  written  in  1587,  and  it  is  generally  con- 
ceded that  Shakspere  did  not  commence  to  write  until  1592,  live 
years  afterward,  and  as  Shakspere  wTas  in  1587  hanging  about  the 
play-house  either  as  a  horse-holder  or  a  "  servitor,"  these  words 
could  not  apply  to  him.  We  will  see  reason  hereafter  to  conclude 
that  they  applied  to  Marlowe.  But  if  they  did  apply  to  Shakspere, 
then  we  have  the  significant  fact,  as  Simpson  says, 

That  Greene  here  pretends  that  Shakespeare  could  not  have  written  the  play 
himself;  it  was  written  by  some  theological  poet,  and  fathered  by  him. 

And  Simpson,  be  it  remembered,  is  no  Baconian.  It  has  been 
urged,  as  a  strong  point  in  favor  of  William  Shakspere's  author- 
ship of  the  Plays,  that  his  right  to  them  was  never  questioned 
during  his  lifetime.  If  he  wrote  plays  in  1587,  then  Greene  did 
question  the  reality  of  his  authorship,  and  boldly  charged  that  he 
was  an  ignorant  man,  and  the  cover  for  some  one  else.  If  he  did 
not  write  plays  before  1592,  —  and  a  series  of  plays  appeared  between 
1585  and  1592  which  the  highest  critics  contend  were  produced  by 
the  same  mind  which  created  the  Shakespeare  Plays,  —  then  the 
whole  series  could  not  have  been  produced  by  the  man  of  Stratford- 
on-Avon;  and  if  the  first  of  the  series  of  identical  works  was  not 
written  by  him,  the  last  of  the  series  could  not  have  been.  The  advo- 
cates of  Shakspere  can  take  either  horn  of  the  dilemma  they  please. 

Simpson  thus  sums  up  Greene's  conclusions  about  Shakspere: 

That  he  appropriated  and  refurbished  other  men's  plays;  that  he  was  a  lack- 
latin,  who  had  no  acquaintance  with  any  foreign  language,  except,  perhaps, 
French,  and  lived  from  the  translator's  trencher,  and  such  like.  Throughout  we 
see  Greene  s  determination  not  to  recognize  Shakspere  as  a  man  capable  of  doing  any- 
thing by  himself.  At  first,  Greene  simply  fathers  some  composition  of  his  upon 
"two  gentlemen  poets,"  because  he,  in  Greene's  opinion,  was  incapable  of  writing 
anything.  Then  as  to  Fair  Em,  it  is  either  distilled  out  of  ballads,  or  it  is  written 
by  some  theological  poet,  who  is  ashamed  to  set  his  own  name  to  it.  It  could  not 
have  been  written  by  one  who  cannot  -write  English   without  the  aid  of  a  parish 


264  FRANCIS  BACON    THE  AUTHOR    OF    THE   PLAYS. 

clerk.  Then,  at  last,  Greene  owns  that  his  rival  might  have  written  a  speech  or 
two,  might  have  interpreted  for  the  puppets,  have  indited  a  moral,  or  might  be 
-yen  capable  of  penning  The  Windmill — The  Millers  Daughter — without  help, 
for  so  I  interpret  the  words  before  quoted,  "reputed  able  at  my  proper  cost  to 
build  a  windmill,"  but  Greene  will  not  own  that  the  man  is  capable  of  having  really 
done  that  which  passes  for  his. 

And  it  seems  to  me  the  words,  ''reputed  able  at  my  proper  cost 
to  build  a  windmill,"  do  not  refer  to  the  play,  but  to  the  wealth  of 
the  player. 

IV.     He  Writes  for  Other  Companies  besides  Shakspere's. 

We  turn  now  to  another  curious  fact,  quite  incompatible  with 
the  theory  that  the  man  of  Stratford  wrote  the  Plays. 

What  do  we  know  of  him  ?  That  when  he  fled  to  London  he 
acted  at  first,  as  tradition  tells  us,  as  a  horse-holder,  and  was  then 
admitted  to  the  play-house  as  a  servant.  And  the  tradition  of  his 
being  a  horse-holder  is  curiously  confirmed  by  the  fact  that  when 
Greene  alludes  to  him  as  "the  only  Shake-scene  in  the  country,"  he 
advises  his  fellow-playwrights  to  prepare  no  more  dramas  for  the 
actors,  because  of  the  predominance  of  that  "Johannes-factotum," 
Shake-scene,  and  adds: 

Seek  you  better  masters;  for  it  is  a  pity  men  of  such  rare  wits  should  be  sub- 
ject to  the  pleasure  of  such  rude  grooms. 

Certainly  the  man  who  had  been  recently  taking  charge  of 
horses  might  very  properly  be  referred  to  as  a  groom. 

But  here  we  stumble  upon  another  difficulty.  Not  only  did 
plays  which  are  now  attributed  to  Shakspere  make  their  appearance 
on  the  London  stage  while  he  was  still  living  in  Stratford,  whipped 
and  persecuted  by  Sir  Thomas  Lucy,  and  subsequently,  while 
he  was  acting  as  groom  for  the  visitors  to  the  play-house,  but  at  this 
very  time,  we  are  told,  he  not  only  supplied  his  own  theater  with 
plays,  but,  with  extraordinary  fecundity,  he  furnished  plays  to  every 
company  of  actors  in  London!  Tradition  tells  us  that  during  his  early 
years  in  the  great  city  he  was  "  received  into  the  play-house  as  a 
serviture."  Is  it  possible  that  while  so  employed  —  a  servant,  a 
menial,  a  call-boy  —  in  one  company,  he  could  furnish  plays  to 
other  and  rival  companies?  Would  his  profits  not  have  lifted 
him  above  the  necessity  of  acting  as  groom  or  call-boy  ?  Simpson 
says: 


CORROBORA  TIXG    CIRCUM STANCES. 


265 


Other  prominent  companies  were  those  of  the  Earl  of  Sussex  (1589),  the  Earl 
of  Worcester  (1590),  and  the  Earl  of  Pembroke  (1592).  For  all  these  Shakspere  can 
be  shown  to  have  written  during  the  first  part  of  his  career.  According  to  the  well- 
known  epistle  annexed  to  Greene's  Groatsworth  of  Wit,  Shakspere,  by  1592,  had 
become  so  absolute  a  Johannes  factotum,  for  the  actors  of  the  day  generally,  that 
the  man  who  considered  himself  the  chief  of  the  scholastic  school  of  dramatists 
not  only  determined  for  his  own  part  to  abandon  play-writing,  but  urged  his  com- 
panions to  do  the  same.  ...  It  is  clear  that  before  ijq3  Shakspere  must  have 
been  prodigiously  active,  and  that  plays  wholly  or  partly  from  his  pen  must  have 
been  in  the  possession  of  many  of  the  actors  and  companies.  For  the  fruits  of 
this  activity  we  are  not  to  look  in  his  recognized  works.  Those,  with  few  exceptions, 
are  the  plays  he  wrote  for  the  Lord  Chamberlain  s  men.  .  .  .  There  are  two  kinds  of 
Shaksperean  remains  which  may  be  recorded,  or  rather  assigned,  to  their  real 
original  author,  by  the  critic  and  historian.  First,  the  dramas  prior  to  1592, 
which  are  not  included  in  his  works;  and  secondly,  the  dramas  over  the  production 
of  which  he  presided,  or  with  which  he  was  connected  as  editor,  reviser  or 
adviser.1 

And  again  Simpson  says: 

The  recognized  works  of  Shakspere  contain  scarcely  any  plays  bat  those 
which  he  produced  for  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  or  King's  company  of  actors.  But 
in  1592  Greene  tells  us  he  had  almost  a  monopoly  of  dramatic  production,  and  had 
made  himself  necessary,  not  to  one  company,  but  to  the  players  in  general.  It  may 
be  proved  that  he  wrote  for  the  Lord  Strange's  men,  and  for  those  of  the  Earl  of 
Pembroke  and  the  Earl  of  Sussex.  - 

But  while  this  distinguished  scholar  tells  us  that  Shakspere  was 
"  prodigiously  active  prior  to  1592,"  and  supplied  all  the  different 
companies  with  plays,  we  turn  to  the  other  commentators  and 
biographers,  and  they  unite  in  assuring  us  that  Shakspere  did  not 
appear  as  an  author  until  1592  !  Halliwell-Phillipps  fixes  the  exact 
date  as  March  3d,  1592,  when  a  new  drama  was  brought  out  by 
Lord  Strange's  servants,  to-wit,  Henry  Vf.t"in  all  probability  his 
earliest  complete  dramatic  work." 

Here,  then,  is  our  dilemma: 

1.  It  is  proved   that  Shakespeare  did  not  begin  to  write  until 

*592- 

2.  It  is  proved  that  there  is  a  whole  body  of  compositions 
written  by  the  mind  which  we  call  Shakespeare,  and  which  were 
acted  on  the  stage  before  1592. 

3.  It  is  proved  that  Shakspere  was  a  servant  in  or  about  one 
play-house. 

4.  It  is  proved  that  while  so  engaged  he  furnished  plays  to  rival 
play-houses. 

1  School  of  Shak.%  vol.  i,  p.  20—  Introduction.  2  Ibid.,  vol.  i,  p.  S. 


266  FRANCIS  BACON    THE  AUTHOR   OF   THE  PLAYS. 

Is  all  this  conceivable  ?  Would  the  proprietor  of  one  theater  per- 
mit his  servant  to  give  to  other  theaters  the  means  of  drawing  the 
crowd  from  his  own  doors  and  the  shillings  from  his  own  pocket? 

V.     The  Plays  Cease  to  Appear  Long  before  Shakspere's 

Death. 

The  poet  Dryden  stated,  in  1680,  that  Othello  was  Shakespeare's 
last  play. 

Dryden  was  born  only  fifteen  years  after  Shakspere's  death. 
He  was  himself  a  play-writer;  a  frequenter  of  play-houses;  the 
associate  of  actors;  he  wrote  the  statement  quoted  only  sixty- 
four  years  after  Shakspere  died;  he  doubtless  spoke  the  tradition 
common  among  the  actors  of  London. 

Now,  it  is  well  known  that  Othello  was  in  existence  in  1605, 
eleven  years  before  Shakspere's  death.  Malone  says,  "  We  know  it 
was  acted  in  1604." 

Knight  says: 

Mr.  Peter  Cunningham  confirms  this,  by  having  found  an  entry  in  the  Revels 
at  Court  of  a  performance  of  Othello  in  1604. ' 

We  can  conceive  that  it  may  have  been  the  last  of  the  great 
Shakespearean  tragedies,  The  TemJ>estbeing  the  last  of  the  comedies. 

Certain  it  is,  however,  that  the  Plays  ceased  to  appear  about 
the  time  Bacon  rose  to  high  and  lucrative  employment  in  the  state, 
and  several  years  before  the  death  of  their  putative  author. 

All  the  Plays  seem  to  have  originated  in  that  period  of  time 
during  which  Bacon  was  poor  and  unemployed.  Take  even  those 
which  are  conceded  to  belong  to  Shakespeare's  "later  period." 

Halliwell-Phillipps  says: 

Macbeth,  in  some  form,  had  been  introduced  on  the  English  stage  as  early  as 
1600,  for  Kempe,  the  actor,  in  his  "  Nine  Daies'  Wonder  performed  in  a  Daunce 
from  London  to  Norwich,"  alludes  to  a  play  of  Macdoel,  or  Macdobeth,  or  Afac- 
somewhaty  for  I  am  sure  a  Mac  it  was,  though  I  never  had  the  maw  to  see  it.2 

Hamlet,  we  have  seen,  first  appeared,  probably  in  some  imperfect 
form,  in  1585.  Lear  was  acted  before  King  James  at  Whitehall  in 
the  year  1606. 

Halliwell-Phillipps  says: 

The  four  years  and  a  half  that  intervened  between  the  performance  of  The 
Tempest  in  161 1,  and  the  author's  death,  could  not  have  been  one  of  his  periods  of 

'  Knight,  introd.  notice  Othello.  2  Halliwell-Phillipps,  Outlines  Life  of  Shak.,  p.  291. 


CO  Kit  OB  OKA  TIA  rG    C  'lit  C  CMS  TA  A  rCE  S. 


267 


great  literary  activity.  So  many  of  his  plays  are  known  to  have  been  in  existence 
at  the  former  date,  it  follows  that  there  are  only  six  which  could  by  any  possi- 
bility have  been  written  after  that  time;  and  it  is  not  likely  that  the  whole  of 
those  belong  to  so  late  an  era.  These  facts  lead  irresistibly  to  the  conclusion 
that  the  post  abandoned  literary  occupation  a  considerable  period  before  his 
decease.1 

Knight  says: 

But  when  the  days  of  pleasure  arrived,  is  it  reasonable  to  believe  that  the 
greatest  of  intellects  would  suddenly  sink  to  the  condition  of  an  every -day  man  — 
cherishing  no  high  plans  for  the  future,  looking  back  with  no  desire  to  equal  and 
excel  the  work  of  the  past?  At  the  period  of  life  when  Chaucer  began  to  write  the 
Canterbury  Tales,  Shakspere,  according  to  his  biographers,  was  suddenly  and 
utterly  to  cease  to  write.  We  cannot  believe  it.  Is  there  a  parallel  case  in  the 
career  of  any  great  artist  who  had  won  for  himself  competence  and  fame?'2 

Here,  therefore,  is  another  inexplicable  fact:  Not  only  did 
Shakspere,  as  we  are  told,  write  plays  for  the  London  stage 
before  he  went  to  London;  but  after  he  had  returned  to  Stratford, 
with  ample  leisure  and  the  incentive  to  make  money,  the  man  who 
sued  his  neighbor  for  a  few  shillings,  for  malt  sold,  and  who  was, 
we  are  asked  to  believe,  the  most  fecund  of  human  intelligences, 
remained  idly  in  his  native  village,  writing  nothing,  doing  nothing. 
Was  there  ever  heard,  before  or  since,  of  such  a  vast  and  laborious 
and  creative  mind,  retiring  thus  into  itself,  into  nothingness,  —  and 
locking  the  door  and  throwing  away  the  key,  —  and  vegetating,  for 
from  five  to  ten  years,  amid  muck-heaps  and  filthy  ditches  ?  Would 
the  author  of  Lear  and  Hamlet — the  profound,  the  scholarly  phil- 
osopher—  be  capable  of  such  mental  suicide;  such  death  in  life; 
such  absorption  of  brain  in  flesh;  such  crawling  into  the  innermost 
recesses  of  self-oblivion  ?  Five  or  ten  years  of  nothingness  !  Not  a 
play;  not  a  letter;  not  a  syllable;  nothing  but  three  ignorant-look- 
ing signatures  to  a  will,  which  appears  to  have  been  drawn  by  a 
lawyer  who  thought  the  testator  could  not  write  his  name. 

VI.     The  Sonnets. 

And  in  the  so-called  "  Shakespeare  Sonnets  "  we  find  a  whole 
congeries  of  mysteries.  The  critical  world  has  racked  all  its  brains 
to  determine  who  W.  H.  was — "the  onlie  begetter  of  these  insuing 
sonnets;"  and  how  any  other  man  could  "beget"  them  if  they 
were  Shakespeare's.     Some  one  speaks  of  that  collection  of  sonnets, 

1  Halliwell-Phillipps,  Outlines  Life  of  Shak.,  p.  155.  2  Knight's  Shak.  Biography,  p.  525. 


2(,8  FRANCIS  BACON    THE  AUTHOR   OF    THE  PLAYS. 

published  in  1609,  as  "one  of  the  most  singular  volumes  ever 
issued  from  the  press."  Let  us  point  at  a  few  of  its  singu- 
larities: 

Sonnet  lxxvi  says: 

Why  is  my  verse  so  barren  of  new  pride  ? 

So  far  from  variation  or  quick  change  ? 
Why,  with  the  time,  do  I  not  glance  aside 

To  new-found  methods  and  to  compounds  strange  ? 
Why  write  I  still  all  one,  ever  the  same, 

And  keep  invention  in  a  noted  weed; 
That  every  word  doth  almost  tell  my  name, 

Showing  their  birth  and  where  they  did  proceed  ? 

What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  Clearly  that  the  writer  was 
hidden  in  a  weed,  a  disguise;  and  we  have  already  seen  that  Bacon 
employed  the  word  weed  to  signify  a  disguise.  But  it  is  more  than 
a  disguise  —  it  is  a  noted  disguise.  Surely  the  name  Shakespeare  was 
noted  enough.  And  the  writer,  covered  by  this  disguise,  fears  that 
every  word  he  writes  doth  betray  him;  —  doth  "  almost  tell  his 
name,"  their  birth  and  where  they  came  from.  This  is  all  very 
remarkable  if  Shakspere  was  Shakespeare.  Then  there  was  no 
weed,  no  disguise  and  no  danger  of  the  secret  authorship  being 
revealed. 

But  we  find  Francis  Bacon,  as  I  have  shown,  also  referring  to  a 
-weed. 

The  state  and  bread  of  the  poor  and  oppressed  have  been  precious  in  mine 
eyes.  I  have  hated  all  cruelty  and  hardness  of  heart.  I  have,  though  in  a  despised 
weed,  procured  the  good  of  all  men. 

Marvelous,  indeed,  is  it  to  find  Shakespeare's  sonnets  referring 
to  "a  noted  weed,"  and  Bacon  referring  to  "a  despised  weed"  !  — 
that  is  to  say,  Shakespeare  admits  that  the  writer  has  kept  inven- 
tion in  a  disguise;  and  Bacon  claims  that  he  himself,  under  a  dis- 
guise, has  procured  the  good  of  all  men;  and  that  this  disguise  was 
a  despised  one,  as  the  name  of  a  play-actor  like  Shakspere  would 
necessarily  be. 

But    there    is    another    incompatibility    in    these    sonnets    with 

the    belief    that    William    Shakspere    wrote    them.     In    Sonnet    ex 

we  read: 

Alas,  'tis  true,  I  have  gone  here  and  there, 

And  made  myself  a  motley  to  the  view, 
Gor'd  mine  own  thoughts,  sold  cheap  what  is  most  dear. 


'  CORROBORATIXG   CIRCUMSTANCES,  269- 

And  in  the  next  sonnet  we  have: 

# 
Oh,  for  my  sake  do  you  with  fortune  chide, 
The  guilty  goddess  of  my  harmful  deeds, 
.  That  did  not  better  for  my  life  provide 

Than  public  means,  which  public  manners  breeds. 
Thence  comes  it  that  my  name  receives  a  brand, 

And  almost  thence  my  nature  is  subdued 
To  what  it  works  in,  like  the  dyer's  hand. 

These  lines  have  been  interpreted  to  "refer  to  the  bitter  feeling 
of  personal  degradation  allowed  by  Shakespeare  to  result  from  his 
connection  with  the  stage." 

But  Halliwell-Phillipps  says: 

Is  it  conceivable  that  a  man  who  encouraged  a  sentiment  of  this  nature,  one 
which  must  have  been  accompanied  with  a  distaste  and  contempt  for  his  profession, 
would  have  remained  an  actor  years  and  years  after  any  real  necessity  for  such  a 
course  had  expired  ?  By  the  spring  of  1602  at  the  latest,  if  not  previously,  he  had 
acquired  a  secure  and  definite  competence,  independently  of  his  emoluments  as  a 
dramatist,  and  yet  eight  years  afterward,  in  1610,  he  is  discovered  playing  in  com- 
pany with  Burbadge  and  Heminge  at  the  Blackfriars  Theater.1 

It  is  impossible  that  so  transcendent  a  genius  —  a  statesman,  a 
historian,  a  lawyer,  a  philosopher,  a  linguist,  a  courtier,  a  natural 
aristocrat;  holding  the  "  many-headed  mob  "  and  "  the  base  mechan- 
ical fellows"  in  absolute  contempt;  with  wealth  enough  to  free 
him  from  the  pinch  of  poverty  —  should  have  remained,  almost 
to  the  very  last,  a  "vassal  actor,"  liable  to  be  pelted  with  decayed 
vegetables,  or  tossed  in  a  blanket,  and  ranked  in  legal  estimation 
with  vagabonds  and  prostitutes.  It  is  impossible  that  he  should 
have  continued  for  so  many  years  to  have  acted  subordinate  parts 
of  ghosts  and  old  men,  in  unroofed  enclosures,  amid  the  foul 
exhalations  of  a  mob,  which  could  onlv  be  covered  by  the  burning 
of  juniper  branches.  'Surely  such  a  man,  in  such  an  age  of  unrest, 
when  humble  but  ambitious  adventurers  rose  to  high  places,  would 
have  carved  out  for  himself  some  nobler  position  in  life;  or  would, 
at  least,  have  left  behind  him  some  evidence  that  he  tried  to  do  so. 

Neither  can  we  conceive  how  one  who  commenced  life  as  a 
peasant,  and  worked  at  the  trade  of  a  butcher,  and  who  had  fled 
to  London  to  escape  public  whipping  and  imprisonment,  could 
feel  that  his  name  "  received  a  brand  "  by  associating  with  Bur- 
badge  and  Nathaniel  Field  and   the  other  actors.     Was  it  not,  in 

1  Outlines  Life  of  Sfrak.,  p.  no. 


27o  FRANCIS  BACON    THE  AUTHOR    OF    THE   /'LAVS. 

every  sense,  an  elevation  for  him  ?  And  if  he  felt  ashamed  of  his 
connection  with  the  stage,  why  did  he,  in  his  last  act  on  earth,  the 
drawing  of  his  will,  refer  to  his  "fellows,"  Heminge  and  Condell, 
and  leave  them  presents  of  rings  ? 

But  all  this  feeling  of  humiliation  here  pictured  would  be 
most  natural  to  Francis  Bacon.  The  guilty  goddess  of  his 
harmful  deeds  had,  indeed,  not  provided  him  the  necessaries 
of  life,  and  he  had  been  forced  to  have  recourse  to  "  public 
means,"  to-wit,  play-writing;  and  thereby  his  name  had  been 
"  branded,"  and  his  nature  had  been  degraded  to  the  level  of 
the  actors. 

We  turn  now  to  another  point. 

VII.     The  Early  Marks  of  Age. 

There  are  many  evidences  that  the  person  who  wrote  the  son- 
nets began  to  show  the  marks  of  age  at  an  early  period.  The 
138th  sonnet  was  published  in  1599,  in  The  Passionate  Pilgrim, 
when  William  Shakspere  was  thirty-five  years  of  age;  and  yet  in  it 
the  writer  speaks  of  himself  as  old: 

Although  she  knows  my  days  are  past  the  best  .  .  . 

And  wherefore  say  not  I,  that  I  am  old? 
O,  love's  best  habit  is  in  seeming  trust, 

And  age  in  love  loves  not  to  have  years  told. 

And  again  he  says  in  the  22d  sonnet: 

My  glass  shall  not  persuade  me  I  am  old, 
So  long  as  youth  and  thou  are  of  one  date. 

Again,  in  the  62d  sonnet,  he  speaks  of  himself  as 

Bated  and  chopped  with  tanned  antiquity. 

And  in  the  73d  sonnet  he  says: 

That  time  of  year  thou  may'st  in  me  behold 
When  yellow  leaves,  or  none,  or  few,  do  hang 

Upon  those  boughs  which  shake  against  the  cold, 
Bare,  ruined  choirs,  where  late  the  sweet  birds  sang. 

Now,  all  this  would  be  unusual  language  for  a  man  of  thirty- 
five  to  apply  to  himself;  but  it  agrees  well  with  what  we  know  of 
Francis  Bacon  in  this  respect. 

John  Campbell  says: 

The  marks  of  age  were  prematurely  impressed  upon  him. 


CORROBORA  TIXG    CIRCl  TMS TA XCES.  2  j  T 

He  writes  to  his  uncle  Burleigh  in  1591: 

I  am  now  somewhat  ancient;  one  and  thirty  years  is  a  great  deal  of  sand  in 
the  hour-glass.1 

And  again  he  says,  about  the  same  time: 

I  would  be  sorry  she  [the  Queen]  should  estrange  in  my  last  years,  for  so  I 
account  them  reckoning  by  health,  not  by  age.-' 

VIII.     The  Writer's  Life  Threatened. 

Then  there  is  another  passage  in  the  sonnets  which  does  not,  so 
far  as  we  know,  fit  into  the  career  of  the  wealthy  burgher  of  Strat- 
ford, but  accords  admirably  with  an  incident  in  the  life  of  Bacon. 
In  the  74th  sonnet  we  read: 

But  be  contented:  when  that  fell  arrest 

Without  all  bail  shall  carry  me  away, 
My  life  hath  in  this  line  some  interest, 

Which  for  memorial  still  with  thee  shall  stay.   .   .  . 
The  earth  can  have  but  earth,  which  is  his  due; 

My  spirit  is  thine,  the  better  part  of  me: 
So  then  thou  hast  but  lost  the  dregs  of  life, 

The  prey  of  worms,  my  body  being  dea  '»; 
The  coward  conquest  of  a  wretch's  knife, 

Too  base  of  thee  to  be  remembered. 

And  again  in  the  90th  sonnet  we  read: 

Then  hate  me  if  thou  wilt,  if  ever  now; 

■  while  the  world  is  bent  my  deeds  to  cross, 
Join  with  the  spite  of  fortune,  make  me  bow 
And  do  not  drop  in  for  an  after-loss: 

Ah  !  do  not,  when  my  heart  hath  scaped  this  sorrow. 
Come  in  the  rearward  of  a  conquered  woe. 

It  seems  to  me  the  explanation  of  these  lines  is  to  be  found  in 
the  fact  that,  after  the  downfall  of  Essex,  Bacon  was  bitterly  hated 
and  denounced  by  the  adherents  of  the  Earl,  and  his  life  was  even 
in  danger  from  their  rage.     He  writes  to  Queen  Elizabeth  in  1599: 

My  life  has  been  threatened  and  my  name  libeled,  which  I  count  an  honor.3 

Again  he  says  to  Cecil: 

As  for  any  violence  to  be  offered  to  me,  wherewith  my  friends  tell  me  I  am 
threatened,  I  thank  God  I  have  the  privy  coat  of  a  good  conscience. 

He  also  wrote  to  Lord  Howard: 

For  my  part  I  have  deserved  better  than  to  have  my  name  objected  to  envy  or 
my  life  to  a  ruffian's  violence. 

1  Letter  to  Burleigh.  *  Letter  to  Sir  Robert  Cecil. 

3  Letter  to  Queen  Elizabeth,  1599 — Lift  and  Works,  vol.  ii,  p.  160. 


2-;  FRANCIS  BACON   THE  AUTHOR    OF    THE   PLAYS. 

IX.     A   Period  of  Gloom. 

We  find,  too,  in  the  sonnets,  reference  to  a  period  of  gloom  in 
the  life  of  the  writer  that  is  not  to  be  explained  by  anything  we 
know  of  in  the  history  of  William  Shakspere.  He  had  all  the  world 
could  give  him;  he  had  wealth,  the  finest  house  in  Stratford,  lands, 
tithes,  and  malt  to  sell;  to  say  nothing  of  that  bogus  coat-of-arms 
which  assured  him  gentility.  But  the  writer  of  the  sonnets  (see 
sonnet  xxxvii)  speaks  of  himself  as  unfortunate,  as  "  made  lame  by 
fortune's  dearest  spite,"  as  "lame,  poor  and  despised. "  He  is 
overwhelmed  with  some  great  shame: 

When  in  disgrace  urith  fortune  and  wen's  eyes, 

I  all  alone  beweep  my  outcast  state, 
And  trouble  deaf  Heaven  with  my  bootless  cries, 
And  look  upon  myself  and  curse  my  fate. } 

And    the   writer  had   experienced   some  great   disappointment. 

He  says: 

Full  many  a  glorious  morning  have  I  seen 

Flatter  the  mountain  tops  with  sovereign  eye, 
Kissing  with  golden  face  the  meadows  green, 

Gilding  pale  streams  with  heavenly  alchemy; 
Anon  permit  the  basest  cloud  to  ride, 

With  ugly  rack  on  his  celestial  face, 
And  from  the  forlorn  world  his  visage  hide, 

Stealing  unseen  to  west  with  this  disgrace; 
Even  so  my  sun  one  early  morn  did  shine, 

With  all  triumphant  splendor  on  my  brow; 
But  out !  alack  !    he  was  but  one  hour  mine, 

The  region  cloud  hath  masked  him  from  me  now* 

And   the  writer  is  utterly  cast  down  with   his   disappointment 
He  cries  out  in  sonnet  lxvi: 

Tired  of  all  these,  for  restful  death  I  cry, 

As  to  behold  desert  a  beggar  born, 
And  needy  nothing  trimmed  in  jollity, 

And  purest  faith  unhappily  forsworn, 
And  gilded  honor  shamefully  misplaced, 

And  maiden  virtue  rudely  strumpeted, 
And  right  perfection  wrongfully- disgraced, 

And  strength  by  limping  sway  disabled, 
And  art  made  tongue-tied  by  authority, 

And  folly  (doctor-like)  controlling  skill, 
And  simple  truth  miscalled  simplicity, 

And  capli?'e  Good  attending  captain  III — 

Tired  with  all  these,  from  these  I  would  be  gone, 
Save  that  to  die  I  leave  my  love  alone. 

1  Sonnet  xxix.  2  Sonnet  xxxiii. 


CORROBORATING   CIRCUMSTANCES.  273 

All  these  words  seem  to  me  to  fit  into  Bacon's  case.     He  was  in 

disgrace  with   fortune    and    men's    eyes.     He   writes    to   Essex  in 

1594: 

And  I  must  confess  this  very  delay  has  gone  so  near  me  as  it  hath  almost 
overthrown  my  health.  ...  I  cannot  but  conclude  that  no  man  ever  read  a  more 
exquisite  disgrace.1 

He  proposed   to  travel  abroad;    he  hopes  her  Majesty  will  not 

force  him 

To  pine  here  with  melancholy,  for  though  mine  heart  be  good,  yet  mine  eyes 
will  be  sore.   ...   I  am  not  an  impudent  man  that  would  face  out  a  disgrace.2 

The  bright  morning  sun  of  hope  had  ceased  to  shine  upon  his 
brow.  He  "lacked  advancement,"  like  Hamlet;  he  had  been  over- 
ridden by  the  Queen.  He  despaired.  He  writes:  "I  care  not 
whether  God  or  her  Majesty  call  me."     In  the  sonnet  he  says: 

Tired  of  all  these,  for  restful  death  I  cry. 
And  the  grounds  of  his  lamentation  are  those  a  courtier  might 
entertain,  but  scarcely  a  play-actor.  He  beholds  "  desert  "  a  beggar. 
Surely  this  was  not  Shakspere's  case.  He  sees  nothingness  elevated 
to  power;  strength  swayed  by  limping  weakness;  himself  with  all 
his  greatness  overruled  by  the  cripple  Cecil.  He  sees  the  state 
and  religion  tying  the  tongue  of  art  and  shutting  the  mouth  of  free 
thought.  He  sees  evil  triumphant  in  the  world;  "  captive  Good 
attending  captain  111."  And  may  not  the  "  maiden  virtue  rudely 
strumpeted  "  be  a  reflection  on  her  of  whom  so  many  scandals 
were  whispered;  who,  it  was  said,  had  kept  Leicester's  bed- 
chamber next  to  her  own;  who  had  for  so  many  years  suppressed 
Bacon,  and  for  whom,  on  her  death,  "the  honey-tongued  Melicert '* 
dropped  not  one  pitying  tear? 

X.     An  Incomprehensible  Fact. 

Francis  Bacon  was  greedy  for  knowledge.  He  ranged  the 
whole  amphitheater  of  human  learning.  From  Greece,  from  Rome, 
from  Italy,  from  France,  from  Spain,  from  the  early  English 
writers,  he  gathered  facts  and  thoughts.  He  had  his  Promus,  his 
commonplace-book,  so  to  speak,  of  "formularies  and  elegancies"  of 
speech.  His  acknowledged  writings  teem  with  quotations  from  the 
poets.     And   yet  not  once  does  he  refer  to  William  Shakspere  or 

1  Letter  to  Essex,  March  30,  1594.  '2 Letter  to  Essex. 


^74 


FRANCIS  BACON    THE  AUTHOR   OF   THE  PLAYS. 


the  Shakespeare  writings  !  The  man  of  Stratford  acted  in  one  of 
the  Plays  which  go  by  his  name,  and  on  the  same  night,  in  the 
same  place,  was  presented  a  "  mask  "  written  by  Bacon.  We 
thus  have  the  two  men  under  the  same  roof,  at  the  same  time, 
engaged  in  the  same  kind  of  work.  Shakespeare,  the  play-writer, 
and  Bacon,  the  mask-Writer,  thus  rub  elbows;  but  neither  seems 
to  have  known  the  other. 
Landor  says: 

Bacon  little  knew  or  suspected  that  there  was  then  existing  (the  only  one  that 
ever  did  exist)  his  superior  in  intellectual  power. 

Bacon  was  ravaging  all  time  and  searching  the  face  of  the 
whole  earth  for  gems  of  thought  and  expression,  and  here  in  these 
Plays  was  a  veritable  Golconda  of  jewels,  under  his  very  nose,  and 
he  seems  not  to  have  known  it. 

XI.     Bacon's  Love  of  Plays. 

But  it  may  be  said  that  Shakspere  moved  in  a  lower  sphere 
of  thought,  beneath  the  notice  of  the  great  philosopher.  This 
cannot  be  true;  for  we  have  seen  that  Bacon  certainly  wrote 
"  masks,"  which  were  a  kind  of  smaller  plays,  and  that  he  united 
with  seven  other  young  lawyers  of  Gray's  Inn  to  prepare  a  veritable 
stage-play,  The  Misfortwies  of  Arthur;  but,  more  than  that,  he  was 
very  fond  of  theatricals. 

Mrs.  Pott  says,  speaking  of  the  year  1594: 

The  Calvinistic  strictness  of  Lady  Anne  Bacon's  principles  receive  a  severe 
shock  from  the  repeated  and  open  proofs  which  Francis  gives  of  his  taste  for  stage 
performances.  Anthony,  about  this  time,  leaves  his  brother  and  goes  to  live  in 
Bishopsgate  Street,  near  "Bull"  Inn,  where  ten  or  twelve  of  the  "Shakespeare" 
Plays  were  acted.  Lady  Anne  "trusts  that  they  will  not  mum,  nor  mask,  nor 
sinfully  revel  at  Gray's  Inn." 

*Bacon's  acknowledged  writings  overflow  with  expressions  show- 
ing how  much  his  thoughts  ran  on  play-houses  and  stage-plays.  I 
quote  a  few  expressions,  at  random,  to  prove  this: 

Therefore  we  see  that  there  be  certain  "  pantomimi "  that  will  represent  the 
voices  of  players  of  interludes  so  to  life,  as  if  you  see  them  not  you  would  think 
they  were  those  players  themselves.1 

Alluding  to  "the  prompter,"  or  "book-holder,"  as  he  was  then 
called,  Bacon  says  of  himself: 

1  Natural  History ',  §240. 


CORKOBORA  TING   CIRCUMSTANCES.  275 

Knowing  myself  to  be  fitter  to  hold  a  book  than  to  play  a  part.' 

Speaking  of  Essex'  successes,  he  says: 

Neither  do  I  judge  the  whole  play  by  the  first  act.9 

He  writes  Lord  Burleigh  that 

There  are  a  dozen  young  gentlemen  of  Gray's  Inn,  that  .  .  .  will  be  ready  to 
furnish  a  mask,  wishing  it  were  in  their  power  to  perform  it  according  to  their  minds. 

In  the  De  Aug  mentis  he  speaks  of  "  the  play-books  of  philosophical 
systems"  and  "the  play-books  of  this  philosophical  theater."'* 
He  calls  the  world  of  art  "a  universe  or  theater  of  things."4 
Speaking  of    the   priest    Simonds    instructing    Simnell    to   per- 
sonate Lord  Edward  Plantagenet,  Bacon  says: 

This  priest,  being  utterly  unacquainted  with  the  true  person,  should  think  it  pos- 
sible to  instruct  his  player  either  in  gesture  or  fashions.  .  .  .  None  could  hold  the 
book  so  well  to  prompt  and  instruct  this  stage  play  as  he  could.  .  .  .  He  thought 
good,  after  the  manner  of  scenes  in  stage  plays  and  masks,  to  show  it  afar  off.5 

Referring  to  the  degradation  of  the  royal  pretender,  Lambert 

Simnell,  to  a  position  in  the  kitchen  of  the  King,  Bacon  says: 

So  that  in  a  kind  of  "  matticina"  of  human  force,  he  turned  a  broach  who  had 
worn  a  crown;  whereas  fortune  does  not  commonly  bring  in  a  comedy  or  farce 
after  a  tragedy. 6 

Speaking  of  Warbeck's  conspiracy,  Bacon  says: 

It  was  one  of  the  longest  plays  of  that  kind  that  hath  been  in  memory.7 

And  here  I  group  together  several  similar  expressions: 

Therefore,  now,  like  the  end  of  a  play,  a  great  many  came  upon  the  stage  at  once.'* 

He  [Perkin  Warbeck]  had  contrived  with  himself  a  vast  and  tragical  plot.9 

I  have  given  the  rule  where  a  man  cannot  fitly  play  his  own  part,  if  he  have 
not  a  friend  he  may  quit  the  stage.™ 

But  men  must  know  that  in  this  theater  of  man  s  life,  it  is  reserved  only  for 
God  and  the  angels  to  be  lookers-on.11 

As  if  they  would  make  you  like  a  king  in  a  play,  who,  when  one  would  think 
he  standeth  in  great  majesty  and  felicity,  is  troubled  to  say  his  part. )% 

With  which  speech  he  put  the  army  into  an  infinite  fury  and  uproar,  whereas 
trutli  was  he  had  no  brother;  neither  was  there  any  such  matter,  but  he  played  it 
merely  as  if  he  had  been  upon  the  staged3 

Those  friends  whom  I  accounted  no  stage  friends,  but  private  friends.14 

1  Letter  to  Sir  Thomas  Bodley.  8  Ibid. 

2  Letter  to  Essex,  Oct.  4,  1596.  »  Ibid. 

3  lxi,  lxii.  1°  Essay  Of  Friendship. 

4  History  of  Henry  VII.  M  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii. 

5  Ibid.  ,a  Gesta  Grayorum —  Life  and  Works,  vol.  i,  p.  339. 
*  Ibid.  18  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii. 

7  Ibid.  l*  Letter  to  Tobie  Matthew. 


276  FRANCIS  BACON    THE   AUTHOR  OF    THE  FLAYS. 

All  that  would  be  but  a  play  upon  the  stage,  if  justice  went  not  on  in  the  right 
course.1 

Zeno  and  Socrates  .  .  .  placed  felicity  in  virtue;  .  .  .  the  Cyrenaics  and  Epi- 
curians  placed  it  in  pleasure,  and  made  virtue  (as  it  is  used  in  some  comedies  of 
errors,  wherein  the  mistress  and  maid  change  habits)  to  be  but  as  a  servant.'2 

We  regard  all  the  systems  of  philosophy  hitherto  received  or  imagined  as  so- 
many  plays  brought  out  and  performed,  creating  fictitious  and  theatrical  worlds? 

The  plot  of  this  our  theater  resembles  those  of  the  poetical,  where  the  plots 
which  are  invented  for  the  stage  are  more  consistent,  elegant  and  pleasurable  than 
those  taken  from  real  history.4 

I  might  continue  these  examples  indefinitely,  for  Bacon's  whole 
writings  bubble  and  sparkle  with  comparisons  drawn  from  plays, 
play-houses  and  actors;  and  yet,  marvelous  to  relate,  he  never 
notices  the  existence  of  the  greatest  dramatic  writings  the  world 
had  ever  known,  which  he  must  have  witnessed  on  the  stage  a 
thousand  times.  He  takes  Ben  Jonson  into  his  house  as  an  amanu- 
ensis, but  the  mightiest  mind  of  all  time,  if  Shakspere  was  Shake- 
speare, he  never  notices,  even  when  he  is  uttering  thoughts  and 
preaching  a  philosophy  identical  with  his  own  !  How  can  all  this- 
be  explained  ? 

Mrs.  Pott  calls  attention  to  the  following: 

Beaumont  and  Fletcher  dedicated  to  Bacon  the  mask  which  was  designed  to* 
celebrate  the  marriage  of  the  Count  Palatine  with  the  Princess  Elizabeth,  February 
14,  1612-13.  The  dedication  of  this  mask  begins  with  an  acknowledgment  that 
Bacon,  with  the  gentlemen  of  Gray's  Inn,  and  the  Inner  Temple,  had  "spared  no 
pains  nor  travail  in  the  setting  forth,  ordering  and  furnishing  of  this  mask  .  .  . 
and  you,  Sir  Francis  Bacon,  especially,  as  you  did  then  by  your  countenance  and 
loving  affection  advance  it,  so  let  your  good  word  grace  it,  which  is  able  to  add 
value  to  the  greatest  and  least  matters."  "On  Tuesday,"  says  Chamberlain,  writ- 
ing on  the  i8thof  February,  1612-13,"  it  came  to  Gray's  Inn  and  the  Inner  Temple's 
turn  to  come  with  their  mask,  %v hereof  Sir  Francis  Bacon  was  the  chief  contriver." 
{Court  and  Times  of  James  I.,  vol.  i,  p.  227;  see  Spedding,  vol.  iv,  p.  344.) 5 

And  we  find  Bacon  writing  an  essay  on  Masques,  in  which  he 
gave  directions  as  to  scenery,  music,  colors  and  trappings,  and  even 
speaks  of  the  necessity  of  sweet  odors  "  to  drown  the  steam  and 
heat  "  of  the  audience  ! 

And  he  philosophizes,  as  I  have  shown,  upon  the  drama,  its 
usefulness,  its  purposes  for  good,  its  characteristics;  and  describes 
how,  in  a  play,  the  different  passions  may  be  represented,  and  how 

1  Letter  to  Buckingham,  1619.  3  Novum  Organum. 

a  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii.  4  Ibid. 

5  Did  J  •')■ a  nc is  Bacon  Write"  Shakespeare" 7  part  i,  p.  8. 


COKROBORATIXG   CIRCUMSTANCES.  277 

the  growth  and  development  of  any  special  feeling  or  passion  may 
be  shown;  and  Macaulay  writes  (as  if  it  were  a  foot-note  to  the 
passage)  this  in  reference  to  the  Shakespeare  Plays: 

In  a  piece  which  may  be  read  in  three  hours,  we  see  a  character  gradually 
unfold  all  its  recesses  to  us;  we  see  it  change  with  the  change  of  circum- 
stances. The  petulant  youth  rises  into  the  politic  and  war-like  sovereign. 
The  profuse  and  courteous  philanthropist  soars  into  a  hater  and  scorner  of  his 
kind.  The  tyrant  is  altered  by  the  chastisement  of  affliction  into  a  pensive 
moralist. 

And  this  student  of  the  drama,  this  frequenter  of  the  play- 
houses, this  writer  of  plays  and  masks,  this  sovereign  and  pene- 
trating intellect  could  not  perceive  that  there  stood  at  his  elbow 
(the  associate,  "  the  fellow  of  his  clerk,  Jonson)  the  vastest  genius 
the  human  race  had  ever  produced  !  This  philosopher  of  prose 
could  not  recognize  the  philosopher  of  poetry;  this  writer  of  prose 
histories  did  not  know  the  writer  of  dramatical  histories;  this 
writer  of  sonnets,  this  "concealed  poet,"  this  "greatest  wit"  of 
the  world  (although  known  by  another  name),  took  no  notice  of 
that  other  mighty  intellect,  splendid  wit  and  sweet  poet,  who  acted 
on  the  boards  of  his  own  law  school  of  Gray's  Inn  !  It  is  incom- 
prehensible.    It  is  incredible. 

And,  be  it  further  remembered,  Shakespeare  dedicated  both  the 
/  renus  and  Adonis  and  The  Rape  of  Luercce  to  the  Earl  of  South- 
ampton, and  the  Earl  was  Bacon's  particular  friend  and  associate, 
and  a  member  of  his  law  school  of  Grays  Inn  ;  and  yet,  while  Shake- 
speare dedicates  his  poems  to  the  Earl,  he  seems  not  to  have 
known  his  friend  and  fellow,  Francis  Bacon.  On  the  other  hand, 
in  the  fact  that  Southampton  was  a  student  in  Gray's  Inn,  we  see 
the  reason  why  the  Shakespeare  poems  were  inscribed  to  him, 
under  the  cover  of  the  play-actor's  name. 

I  have  faith  enough  in  the  magnanimity  of  mind  of  Francis 
Bacon  to  believe  that  if  he  had  really  found,  in  humble  life,  a  man 
•of  the  extraordinary  genius  revealed  in  the  Shakespeare  Plays  (sup- 
posing for  an  instant  that  they  were  not  Bacon's  work),  he  would  have 
stooped  down  and  taken  him  by  the  hand;  he  would  have  intro- 
duced him  to  his  friends;  he  would  have  quoted  from  him  in  his 
writings,  and  we  should  have  found  among  his  papers  numbers  of 
letters  to  and  from  him.  Their  lives  would  have  impinged  on  each 
other;  they  would  have  discussed  poetry  and  philosophy  in  speech 


278  FRANCIS  BACON    THE  AUTHOR   OF    THE  PLAYS. 

and  in  correspondence.  Bacon  would  have  visited  Stratford,  and 
Shakspere  St.  Albans.  "  Poets,"  said  Ben  Jonson,  "are  rarer  births 
than  kings;"  and  the  man  who  wrote  the  Plays  was  the  king  of 
poets.  Was  Francis  Bacon  —  "the  wisest  of  mankind" —  so  blind 
or  so  shallow  as  to  be  unaware  tff  the  greatness  of  the  Shakespeare 
Plays?     Who  will  believe  it? 

XII.     Certain  Incompatibilities  with  Shakspere. 

Let  me  touch  passingly  on  some  passages  in  the  Plays  which 
it  would  seem  that  the  man  of  Stratford  could  not  have  written. 

Who  can  believe  that  William  Shakspere,  whose  father  followed 

the  trade  of  a  butcher,  and  who  was  himself,  as  tradition  assures  us, 

apprenticed  to  the  same  humble  calling,  could  have  written  these 

lines  in  speaking  of  Wolsey? 

This  butcher' s  cur  is  venom-mouthed,  and  I 
Have  not  the  power  to  muzzle  him;  therefore  best 
Not  wake  him  in  his  slumber.     A  beggar's  book 
Outworths  a  noble's  blood.1 

Richard  Grant  White  says: 

Shakespeare's  works  are  full  of  passages,  to  write  which,  if  he  had  loved  his 
wife  and  honored  her,  would  have  been  gall  and  wormwood  to  his  soul;  nay, 
which,  if  he  had  loved  and  honored  her,  he  could  not  have  written.  The  nature  of 
the  subject  forbids  the  marshaling  of  this  terrible  array;  but  did  the  "flax-wench" 
whom  he  uses  for  the  most  degrading  of  comparisons  (  Winter  s  Tale,  i,  2)  do 
more,  "before  her  troth-plight,"  than  the  woman  who  bore  his  name  and  whom 
his  children  called  mother?2 

But  Grant  White  fails  to  see  that  it  is  not  a  question  as  to- 
whether  Shakspere  loved  and  honored  his  wife  or  not.  Even  if  he 
had  not  loved  and  honored  her,  he  would,  if  a  sensitive  and  high- 
spirited  man,  for  his  own  sake  and  the  sake  of  his  family,  have 
avoided  the  subject  as  if  it  carried  the  contagion  of  a  pestilence. 

Again  we  are  told,  in  all  the  biographies,  that  Shakspere  was 
cruelly  persecuted  and  punished  by  Sir  Thomas  Lucy,  and  "forced 
to  fly  the  country,"  and  that  for  revenge  he  wrote  a  bitter  ballad 
against  the  Knight;  and  that  subsequently,  in  The  Merry  Wives  of 
Windsor,  he  made  Sir  Thomas  the  object  of  his  ridicule  in  the 
character  of  Justice  Shallow.  But  if  this  be  true,  why  did  the 
writer  of  the  Plays  in  the  1st  Henry  VI.  bring  upon  the  stage  the 
ancestor  of  this  same   Sir  Thomas   Lucy,  Sir  William   Lucy,  and 

1  Henry  1 '///.,  i.  1.  *  Life  ami  Genius  of  Shak.,  p.  51. 


CORROBORATING   CIRCUMSTANCES.  279 

paint  him  in  honorable  colors  as  a  brave  soldier  and  true  patriot 
for  the  admiration  of  the  public  and  posterity?  But  the  son  of 
Shakspere's  Lucy,  Sir  Thomas  Lucy,  was  the  intimate  friend  and 
correspondent  of  Francis  Bacon. 

k 

XIII.     Shakspere  was  Falstaff. 

But  there  follows  another  question.  It  is  evident  that  Justice 
Shallow  was  intended  to  personate  Sir  Thomas  Lucy,  and  the  play 
of  The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor  opens  with  an  allusion  to  the  steal- 
ing of  his  deer.     I  quote  the  beginning  of  the  act: 

Shallow.  Sir  Hugh,  persuade  me  not;  I  will  make  a  Star  Chamber  matter  of 
it;  if  he  were  twenty  Sir  John  Falstaffs,  he  shall  not  abuse  Robert  Shallow, 
Esquire.   .   .   . 

Slender.     .   .   .  They  may  give  the  dozen  white  luces  in  their  coat. 

The  coat-of-arms  of  the  Lucy  family  was  three  luces,  and  from  this 
the  name  was  derived.  So  that  herein  it  is  placed  beyond  question 
that  Justice  Shallow  is  intended  to  represent  Sir  Thomas  Lucy. 
This  is  conceded  by  all  the  commentators.  It  is  also  conceded 
that  the  deer  which  in  this  scene  Sir  John  Falstaff  is  alleged  to  have 
killed  were  the  same  deer  which  Shakspere  had  slain  in  his  youth. 

Shallow.     It  is  a  riot.   .   .  . 

Page.  I  am  glad  to  see  your  worships  well;  I  thank  you  for  my  venison, 
Master  Shallow. 

Shallow.  Master  Page,  I  am  glad  to  see  you;  much  good  do  it  your  good 
heart.      I  wished  your  venison  better;  it  was  ill  killed.   .   .  . 

Enter  Falstaff. 
Falstaff.     Now,  Master  Shallow;  you'll  complain  of  me  to  the  King? 
Shallow.      Knight,  you  have  beaten  my  men,  killed  my  deer  and  broken  open 
my  lodge. 

Falstaff.     Rut  not  kissed  your  keeper's  daughter. 

Therefore  it  follows  that  if  Shallow  was  Sir  Thomas  Lucy,  and 
if  the  deer  that  were  killed  were  the  deer  Shakspere  killed,  then 
Shakspere  was  Falstaff ! 

And  if  Shakspere  wrote  the  Plays,  he  deliberately  represented 
himself  in  the  character  of  Falstaff.  And  what  was  the  character 
of  Falstaff  as  delineated  in  that  very  play  ?  It  was  that  of  a  gross, 
sensual,  sordid  old  liar  and  thief.  The  whole  play  turns  on  his 
sensuality  united  to  sordidness.  He  makes  love  to  Page's  wife 
because  "the  report  goes  she  has  all  the  rule  of  her  husband's 
purse;  he  hath  a  legion  of  angels."     And  Falstaff  is  also  represented 


S*\\  BRA  47 
or  THE 


^ 


28o  FRANCIS  BACON    THE   AUTHOR   OF    THE   PLAYS. 

as  sharing  in   the  thefts  of   his  followers,  as  witness  the   following 
dialogue: 

Falstaff.     I  will  not  lend  thee  a  penny. 

Pistol.     Why,  then,  the  world's  mine  oyster, 
Which  I  with  sword  will  open. 

Falstaff.  Not  a  penny.  I  have  been  content,  sir,  you  should  lay  my  counte- 
nance to  pawn:  I  have  grated  upon  my  good  friends  for  three  reprieves  for  you 
and  your  coach-fellow,  Nym;  or  else  you  had  looked  through  the  grate  like  a 
geminy  of  baboons.  I  am  damned  in  hell  for  swearing  to  gentlemen,  my  friends, 
you  were  good  soldiers  and  tall  fellows:  and  when  Mistress  Bridget  lost  the  handle 
of  her  fan,  I  took  't  upon  mine  honor  thou  hadst  it  not. 

Pistol.     Didst  not  thou  share?     Hadst  thou  not  fifteen  pence? 

Falstaff.     Reason,  you  rogue,  reason:  think'st  thou  I'll  endanger  my  soul  gratis  ? 

Is  it  conceivable  that  the  great  man,  the  scholar,  the  philosopher, 
the  tender-souled,  ambitious,  sensitive  man  who  wrote  the  sonnets 
would  deliberately  represent  himself  as  Falstaff? 

But  if  some  one  else  wrote  the  Plays,  then  this  whole  scene  con- 
cerning the  deer-stealing  contains,  probably,  a  cipher  narrative  of 
the  early  life  of  Shakspere;  for  it  is  in  the  same  play,  as  we  shall 
see  hereafter,  that  we  find  the  cipher  words  William,  Shakes, 
peere,  and  Francisco  Bacon.  And  when  we  read  the  obscene  anec- 
dotes which  tradition  has  delivered  down  to  us,  touching  Shak- 
spere's  sensuality  and  mother-wit,  and  then  look  at  the  gross  face 
represented  in  the  monument  in  the  Stratford  church,  we  can 
realize  that  William  Shakspere  may  have  been  the  original  of  Fal- 
staff, and  that  it  was  not  by  accident  he  was  represented  as  having 
killed  the  deer  of  that  Justice  Shallow  who  had  the  twelve  white 
luces  on  his  coat-of-arms. 

Richard  Grant  White,  earnest  anti-Baconian  as  he  is,  says  of 
that  bust: 

The  monument  is  ugly;  the  staring,  painted,  figure-head-like  bust  hideous.1 

It  is  the  face  of  Falstaff. 

XIV.     A  Curious  Fact. 

I  proceed  now  to  call  the  attention  of  the  reader  to  a  curious 
fact,  revealed  by  a  study  of  the  copies  of  legal  documents  found  in 
Halliwell-Phillipps'  Outlines  of  the  Life  of  Shakespeare. 

Shakspere  purchased  a  house  and  lot  in  London,  on  the  ioth 
day  of  March,  1612,  "within  the  precinct  of  the  late  Black  Fryers." 

1  England  Without  and  Within,  p.  521. 


CORROBORATING   CIRCUMSTANCES.  281 

It  has  puzzled  his  biographers  to  tell  what  he  wanted  this  property 
for.  All  his  other  purchases  were  in  Stratford  or  vicinity.  He  did 
not  need  it  for  a  home,  for  before  this  time  he  had  retired  to  Strat- 
ford to  live  in  his  great  house,  New  Place;  and  in  the  deed  of  pur- 
chase of  the  Blackfriars  property  he  is  described  as  "  of  Stratford-on- 
Avon,  gentleman."  The  house  and  lot  were  close  to  the  Blackfriars 
Theater,  and  property  was  falling  in  the  neighborhood  because  of 
that  proximity.     Shakspere  rented  it  to  one  John  Robinson. 

But  there  are  three  curious  features  in  connection  with  this 
purchase: 

1.  Shakspere,  although  very  rich  at  the  time,  did  not  pay  down 
all  the  purchase-money,  but  left  ^60  standing  upon  mortgage, 
which  was  not  extinguished  until  after  his  death. 

2.  Shakspere  bought  the  property  from  Henry  Walker,  minstrel, 
for  ^140,  while  Walker  in  1604  had  bought  it  for  ^£"100.  This  repre- 
sented an  increase  equal  to  §2,400  to-day.  And  yet  we  find  the  peo- 
ple of  that  vicinity  petitioning  in  1618-19  to  have  the  theater  closed, 
because  of  the  great  injury  it  did  to  property-holders  around  it. 

3.  Walker's  grantor  was  Matthew  Bacon,  of  Grays  Inn,  in  the 

county  of  Middlesex,  gentleman,  and  included  in  the  purchase  was 

the  following: 

And  also  all  that  plott  of  ground  on  the  west  side  of  the  same  tenement,  which 
was  lately  inclosed  with  boordes,  on  two  sides  thereof,  by  Anne  Bacon,  widow,  so 
farre  and  in  such  sorte  as  the  same  was  inclosed  by  the  said  Anne  Bacon  and  not 
otherwise. 

Was  this  "Anne  Bacon,  widow,"  the  mother  of  Francis  Bacon? 
Her  name  wras  Anne.  And  who  was  Matthew  Bacon,  of  Gray's 
Inn?  Was  he  one  of  Francis  Bacon's  family?  And  is  it  not 
strange  to  find  the  names  of  Bacon  and  Shakspere  coming  together 
thus  in  a  business  transaction  ?  And  does  it  not  look  as  if  Shak- 
spere had  paid  a  debt  to  some  one  by  buying  a  piece  of  property 
for  $2,400  more  than  it  was  worth,  and  giving  a  mortgage  for  £60, 
equal  to  $3,600  of  our  money  at  the  present  time? 

XV.     The  Northumberland  House  Manuscript. 

There  is  one  other  instance  where  the  name  of  Shakspere  is 
found  associated  with  that  of  Francis  Bacon. 

In  1867  there  was  discovered  in  the  library  of  Northumberland 
House,  in  London,  a  remarkable  MS.,  containing  copies  of  several 


282  FRANCIS  BACON    THE  AUTHOR   OF    THE   PLAYS. 

papers  written  by  Francis  Bacon.  It  was  found  in  a  box  of  old 
papers  which  had  long  remained  undisturbed.  There  is  a  title- 
page,  which  embraces  a  table  of  contents  of  the  volume,  and  this 
contains  not  only  the  names  of  writings  unquestionably  Bacon's, 
but  also  the  names  of  plays  which  are  supposed  to  have  been 
written  by  Shakespeare.  But  only  part  of  the  manuscript  volume 
remains,  and  the  portions  lost  embrace  the  following  pieces  enu- 
merated on  the  title-leaf: 

Orations  at  Graie's  Inns  revells 
....    Queen's  Mats  .... 

By  Mr.  Frauncis  Bacon 
Essaies  by  the  same  author. 
Richard  the  Second. 
Richard  the  Third. 
Asmund  and  Cornelia. 
Isle  of  Dogs  frmnt. 

By  Thomas  Nashe,  inferior  places. x 

How  comes  it  that  the  Shakespeare  plays,  RicJuird  J  I.  and 
Richard  III.,  should  be  mixed  up  in  a  volume  of  Bacon's  manu- 
scripts with  his  own  letters  and  essays  and  a  mask  written  by  him 
in  1592  ?     Judge  Holmes  says  : 

And  then,  the  blank  space  at  the  side  and  between  the  titles  is  scribbled  all 
over  with  various  words,  letters,  phrases  and  scraps  of  verse  in  English  and  Latin, 
as  if  the  copyist  were  merely  trying  his  pen,  and  writing  down  whatever  first  came 
into  his  head.  Among  these  scribblings,  beside  the  name  of  Francis  Bacon 
several  times,  the  name  of  William  Shakespeare  is  written  eight  or  nine  times  over. 
A  line  from  The  Rape  of  Lucrece  is  written  thus:  "Revealing  day  through  every 
crannie  peeps  and,"  the  writer  taking  peeps  from  the  next  couplet  instead  of 
spies.  Three  others  are  Anthony  comfrt.  and  consort  and  honorificabilitudino 
and  plaies  [plays].  .  .  .  The  word  konorificabilitudino  is  not  found  in  any  dic- 
tionary that  I  know  of,  but  in  Love's  Labor  s  Lost} 

Costard,  the  clown,  bandying  Latin  with  the  tall  schoolmaster 
and  curate  (who  "had  been  at  a  great  feast  of  languages  and 
stolen  the  scraps"),  exclaims: 

Oh  !  they  have  lived  long  on  the  alms-basket  of  words.  I  marvel  thy  master 
hath  not  eaten  thee  for  a  word,  for  thou  art  not  so  long  by  the  head  as  honorifca- 
bilitudinatibus? 

Let  those  who  are  disposed  to  study  this  discovery  turn  to 
Judge  Holmes'  work.  It  is  sufficient  for  me  to  note  here,  that 
in  a  collection  of  Bacon's  papers,  made  undoubtedly  by  his  aman- 

1  Holmes'  Authorship  of  Shakcsfieare,  vol.  ii,  p.  658,  ed.  1886.  s  Ibid.,  658-682. 

2  Act  v,  scene  1. 


CORR  OB  OR  A  TIXG    CIR  C  UMS  TA  NCE  S.  2  8  3 

uensis,  plays  that  are  recognized  to  be  Shakespeare's  are  em- 
braced; and  the  name  of  Francis  Bacon  and  the  name  of  William 
Shakespeare  (spelled  as  it  was  spelled  in  the  published  quartos, 
but  not  as  the  man  himself  spelled  it)  are  scribbled  all  over 
this  manuscript  collection,  and  at  the  same  time  sentences  and 
words  are  quoted  from  the  Shakespeare  Plays  and  Poems. 

And,  while  we  find  this  association  of  the  two  names  in  Bacon's 
library  and  private  papers,  there  is  not  one  word  in  his  published 
writings  or  his  correspondence  to  show  that  he  knew  that  such  a 
being  as  William  Shakspere  ever  existed. 

"  Tis  strange  ;  'tis  passing  strange." 

XVI.     Another  Singular  Fact. 

Edmund  Spenser  visited  London  in  1590,  and  in  1591  he  pub- 
lished his  poem,  The  Tears  of  the  Muses,  in  which  Thalia,  the 
muse  of  poetry,  laments  that  a  change  has  come  over  the  play- 
houses ;    that 

The  sweet  delights  of  learning* s  treasure ^ 

That  wont  with  comic  sock  to  beautify 
The  painted  theaters,  and  fill  with  pleasure 

The  listeners'  eyes  and  ears  with  melody, 

are  "  all  gone." 

And  all  that  goodly  glee 
Which  wont  to  be  the  glory  of  gay  wits, 
Is  laid  a-bed; 

and   in   lieu   thereof  "  ugly  barbarism  and   brutish   ignorance  "  fill 

the  stage, 

And  with  vain  joys  the  vulgar  entertain. 

Instead  thereof  scoffing  Scurrility 

And  scornful  Folly  with  Contempt  is  crept, 

Rolling  in  rhymes  of  shameless  ribaldry 
Without  regard  or  due  decorum  kept. 

And  Spenser  laments  that  the  author,  who  formerly  delighted  with 
" goodly  glee"  and  "learning's  treasure,"  has  withdrawn  —  is  tempo- 
rarily dead. 

And  he,  the  man  whom  Nature's  self  had  made 

To  mock  herself  and  Truth  to  imitate, 
With  kindly  counter  under  mimic  shade, 
Our  pleasant  Willy,  ah  !  is  dead  of  late; 
With  whom  all  joy  and  jolly  merriment 
Is  also  deaded  and  in  dolor  drent. 


284  FRANCIS  BACON    THE   AUTHOR    OF   THE   FLAYS. 

But  that  this  was  not  an  actual  death,  but  simply  a  retirement 
from  the  degenerate  stage,  is  shown  in  the  next  verse  but  one: 

But  that  same  gentle  spirit  from  whose  pen 

Large  streams  of  honey  and  sweet  nectar  flow, 
Scorning  the  boldness  of  such  base-born  men 
Which  dare  their  follies  forth  so  rashly  throw, 
Doth  rather  choose  to  sit  in  idle  cell 
Than  so  himself  to  mockery  to  sell. 

It  is  conceded  by  all  the  commentators  that  these  lines  refer 
to  the  writer  of  the  Shakespeare  Plays:  there  was  no  one  else  to 
whom  they  could  refer.  But  there  are  many  points  in  which 
they  are  incompatible  with  the  young  man  William  Shakspere,  of 
Stratford. 

In  the  first  place,  they  throw  back  the  date  of  his  labors,  as  I 

have  shown  in  a  former  instance,  long  anterior  to  the  year  1592,  at 

which  time  it  is  conceded  Shakespeare  first  began  to  write  for  the 

stage.     In    1590,  the  writer  referred  to  by  Spenser  had  not   only 

written  one,  but  many  plays;   and  had  had  possession  of  the  stage 

long  enough  to  give  it  a  cast  and  character,  until  driven  out  by 

the  rage  for  vulgar  satires  and  personal  abuse.     White  says: 

The  Tears  of  the  Muses  had  certainly  been  written  before  1590,  when  Shake- 
speare could  not  have  risen  to  the  position  assigned  by  the  first  poet  of  the  age  to 
the  subject  of  this  passage;  and  probably  in  1580,  when  Shakespeare  was  a  boy  of 
sixteen,  in  Stratford. 

In  the  next  place,  the  man  referred  to  by  Spenser  was  a  gentle- 
man. The  word  gentle  in  these  lines  is  clearly  contradistin- 
guished from  base-born. 

That  same  gentle  spirit  .   .   . 
Scorning  the  folly  of  such  base-born  men. 

No  one  will  pretend  that  the  Stratford  fugitive  was  in  1590  "a 
gentleman." 

Shakspere,  we  are  told,  produced  his  dramas  to  make  money; 

"for  gain,  not  glory,  he  winged  his  roving  flight.1'     Young,  poor, 

just  risen  from  the  rank  of  horse-holder  or  call-boy,  if  not  actually 

occupying  it,  it  is  not  likely  he  could  have  resisted  the  clamors  of 

his  fellows  for  productions  suitable  to  the  degraded  taste  of  the 

hour.    But  the  man  referred  to  by  Spenser  was  a  gentleman,  a  man 

of  "  learning,"  a  man  of  refinement,  and  he 

Rather  chose  to  sit  in  idle  cell 
Than  so  himself  to  mockery  to  sell. 


COKROBORA  TING    CIRCUMS  TA  X(  A'.S.  2 g r 

The  comparison  of  the  poet  to  the  refined  student  in  his  "cell  " 
is  a  very  inapplicable  one  to  apply  to  an  actor,  be  he  Marlowe  or 
Shakspere,  daily  appearing  on  the  boards  in  humble  characters, 
and  helping  to  present  to  vulgar  audiences  the  very  obscenities  and 
scurrilities  of  which  Spenser  complained. 

Again,  if  we  examine  that  often-quoted  verse: 

And  he,  the  man  whom  Nature's  self  had  made 

To  mock  herself  and  Truth  to  imitate, 
With  kindly  counter,  under  mimic  shade, 

Our  pleasant  Willy,  ah  !  is  dead  of  late. 

The  word  counter  is  not  known  to  our  dictionaries  in  any  sense 
that  is  consonant  with  the  meaning  of  these  lines.  I  take  it  to  be  a 
poetical  abbreviation  of  "  counterfeit,"  and  this  view  is  confirmed 
by  the  further  statement  that  this  gentle-born  playwright,  who 
despised  the  base-born  play-makers,  imitated  truth  under  a  shade 
or  disguise;  and  this  disguise  was  a  mimic  one,  to-wit,  that  of  a 
mime —  an  actor. 

The  name  Willy  in  that  day,  as  I  have  shown  heretofore,  was 
generally  applied  to  all  poets. 

XVII.     Another  Extraordinary  Fact. 

It  is  sometimes  said:  How  can  you  undertake  to  deny  Shak- 
spere the  honor  of  his  own  writings,  when  the  Plays  were  printed 
during  his  life-time  with  his  name  on  the  title-page  of  each  and 
every  one  of  them  ? 

This  is  a  mistake.  According  to  the  list  of  editions  printed  in 
Halliwell-Phillipps'  Outlines  of  the  Life  of  Shakespeare,  p.  533  (and 
there  is  no  better  authority),  it  seems  that  the  name  of  Shakespeare 
did  not  appear  upon  the  title-page  of  any  of  the  Plays  until  1598. 
The  Venus  and  Adonis  and  Rape  of  Lucrece  contained,  it  is  true, 
dedicatory  letters  signed  by  Shakespeare;  but  the  first  play,  Titus 
Andronicus,  published  in  1594,  was  without  his  name;  the  First  Part 
of  the  Contention  of  the  two  Houses  of  Yorke  and  Lancaster,  published 
in  1594;  the  Tragedy  of  Richard,  Duke  of  Yorke,  published  in  1595; 
Romeo  and  Juliet,  published  in  1597;  Richard  LL.,  published  in  1597, 
and  Richard  LLL.,  printed  in  1597,  were  all  without  the  name  of 
Shakspere  or  any  one  else  upon  the  title-page.  It  was  not  until  the 
publication  of  Love's  Labor  Lost,  in  1598,  that  we  find  him   set  forth. 


286  FRANCIS  BACON    THE   AUTHOR    OF    THE   PLAYS. 

as   having  any   connection   with   the   play;  and   he    does  not   then 
claim  to  be  the  author  of  it.     The  title-page  reads: 

As  it  was  presented  before  her  Highness  this  last  Christmas.  Newly  corrected 
and  augmented  by  IV.  Shakespere. 

In  the  same  year  the  tragedy  of  Richard  II.  is  published,  and 
the  name  of  "William  Shake-speare  "  appears  as  the  author. 

It  thus  appears  that  during  the  six  years  from  1592  to  1598  eight 
editions  of  plays  which  now  go  by  the  name  of  Shakespeare  were 
published  without  his  name  or  any  other  name  upon  the  title-page. 

In  other  words,  not  only  did  the  Shakespeare  Plays  commence 
to  appear  while  Shakspere  was  still  in  Stratford,  and  were  captiva- 
ting the  town  while  the  author  was  holding  horses  or  acting  as  call- 
boy;  but  for  six  years  after  the  Plays  which  are  distinctively 
known  as  his,  and  which  are  embraced  in  the  Folio  of  1623,  had 
won  great  fame  and  profit  on  the  stage,  they  were  published  in 
numerous  quarto  editions  without  his  name  or  any  other  name 
on  the  title-page.     This  is  mystery  on  mystery's  head  accumulate. 

XVIII.     When  were  the  Plays  Written  ? 

But  it  will  be  argued  by  some  that  Francis  Bacon  had  not  the 
time  to  write  the  Shakespeare  Plays;  that  he  was  too  busy  with 
politics,  philosophy,  law  and  statesmanship;  that  there  was  no  time 
in  his  life  when  these  productions  could  have  been  produced;  and 
that  it  is  absurd  to  think  that  he  could  act  as  Lord  Chancellor  and 
write  plays  for  the  stage  at  the  same  time. 

In  the  first  place,  it  must  be  remembered  that  Francis  Bacon 
was  a  man  of  extraordinary  and  phenomenal  industry.  One  has 
but  to  look  at  the  twenty  volumes  of  his  acknowledged  writings  to 
concede  this.  In  illustration  of  his  industry,  we  are  told  that  he 
re-wrote  his  Essays  thirty  times !  His  chaplain  and  biographer,  Dr. 
Rawley,  says: 

I  myself  have  seen  at  the  least  twelve  copies  of  the  Instauration  [meaning,  says 
Spedding,1  the  Novum  Qrganuni\,  revised  year  by  year,  one  after  another,  and 
every  year  altered  and  amended  in  the  frame  thereof,  till  at  last  it  came  to  that 
model  in  which  it  was  committed  to  the  press;  as  many  living  creatures  do  lick 
their  young  ones,  till  they  bring  them  to  the  strength  of  their  limbs.  .  .  .  He 
would  suffer  no  moment  of  time  to  slip  from  him  without  some  present  improve- 
ment. 

1  JVorks,  vol.  i,  p.  47,  Boston  ed. 


CORROBORA  TING    CIRCUMSTANCES. 


287 


As  the  Novum  Organum  embraces  about  three  hundred  and  fifty 
octavo  pages  of  the  Boston  edition,  the  reader  can  conceive  the 
labor  required  to  re-write  this  twelve  times.  Let  these  things  be 
remembered  when  we  come  to  consider  the  vastly  laborious  cipher- 
story  written  into  the  Plays. 

But  an  examination  of  Bacon's  biography  will  show  that  he 
had  ample  leisure  to  have  written  the  Plays. 

In  the  spring  of  1579,  Bacon,  then  eighteen  years  of  age,  returned 
from  Paris,  in  consequence  of  the  death  of  his  father.  He  resided 
for  a  year  or  more  at  St.  Albans.  In  1581,  then  twenty  years  old, 
he  ''begins  to  keep  terms  at  Gray's  Inn."  In  1582  he  is  called  to 
the  bar.  For  three  years  we  know  nothing  of  what  he  is  doing. 
In  1585  he  writes  a  sketch  of  his  philosophy,  entitled  The  Greatest 
Birth  of  Time,  which,  it  is  supposed,  was  afterwards  broadened  out 
into  The  Advancement  of  Learning.  In  1585  the  Contention  between  the 
two  Houses  of  York  and  Lancaster  is  supposed  to  have  appeared.  In 
1586  he  is  made  a  bencher.  He  is  "///  umbra  and  not  in  public  or 
frequent  action."  "His  seclusion  is  commented  on."  In  this  year, 
according  to  Malone,  The  Taming  of  the  Shrew,  The  Two  Gentlemen 
of  Verona  and  Love 's  Labor  Lost  appear,  probably  in  imperfect  forms, 
like  the  first  of  those  thirty  copies  of  the  Essays.  In  1587  (the 
year  Shakspere  is  supposed  to  have  come  to  London),  Bacon  helps 
in  getting  up  a  play,  for  the  Gray's  Inn  revels,  called  The  Misfor- 
tunes of  Arthur.  He  also  assists  in  some  masks  to  be  played  before 
Elizabeth.  Here  certainly  we  have  the  leisure,  the  disposition  and 
the  kindred  employment.  In  1588  he  becomes  a  member  of  Par- 
liament for  Liverpool.  He  writes  a  short  paper  called  an  Adver- 
tisement Touching  the  Controversies  of  the  Church.  To  this  year 
Dr.  Delius  attributes  Venus  and  Adonis  and  Mr.  Furnival  Love's  L^abor 
Lost.  Shakspere  is,  at  this  time,  either  holding  horses  at  the  door 
of  the  play-house  or  acting  as  call-boy,  or  in  some  other  subordinate 
capacity  about  the  play-house.  In  1589-90  Bacon  puts  forth  a  letter 
to  Walsingham,  on  The  Government  and  the  Papists.  No  one  can 
tell  what  he  is  working  at;  and  yet,  knowing  his  industry  and 
energy,  we  may  be  sure  he  is  not  idle;  for  in  the  next  year  he 
writes  to  his  uncle  Burleigh: 

I  account  my  ordinary  course  of  study  and  meditation  to  be  more  painful  than 
most  parts  of  action  are. 


288  FRANCIS  BACON    THE  AUTHOR    OF   THE  PLAYS. 

And  again  he  says  in  the  same  letter: 

If  your  Lordship  will  not  carry  me  on,  ...  I  will  sell  the  inheritance  I  have 
and  purchase  some  lease  of  quick  revenue,  or  some  office  of  gain,  that  shall  be 
executed  by  deputy,  and  so  give  over  all  care  of  service  and  become  some  sorry 
book-maker,  or  a  true  pioneer  in  that  mine  of  truth  which,  Anaxagoras  said,  lay  so 
deep. 

In  1591  the  Queen  visits  him  at  his  brother's  place  at  Twicken- 
ham, and  he  writes  a  sonnet  in  her  honor. 
Mrs.  Pott  says: 

To  1 591  is  attributed  1st  Henry  VI.,  of  which  the  scene  is  laid  in  the  same 
provinces  of  France  which  formed  Bacon's  sole  experience  of  that  country.  Also 
The  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona  (probably  in  its  present  form),  which  reflects 
Anthony's  sojourn  in  Italy.  Henceforth  the  "Shakespeare"  Comedies  continue 
to  exhibit  the  combined  influence  of  Anthony's  letters  from  abroad,  with  Francis' 
studies  in  Gray's  Inn.1 

This  1st  Henry  VI.  is  the  play  referred  to  by  Halliwell-Phillipps, 
as  acted  for  the  first  time  March  3,  1592,  and  as  the  first  of  the 
Shakespeare  Plays. 

In  1592  Francis  is  in  debt,  borrowing  one  pound  at  a  time,  and  cast 
into  a  sponging-house  by  a  "hard  "  Jew  or  Lombard  on  account  of 
a  bond.  His  brother,  Anthony,  comes  to  his  relief.  Soon  after 
appears  The  Merchant  of  Venice,  in  which  Antonio  relieves  Bas- 
sanio.  Does  this  last  name  contain  a  hint  of  Bacon,  after  the  ana- 
grammatic  fashion  of  the  times? 

Dr.  Delius  attributes  Romeo  and  Juliet  to  this  date. 

In  1593  Bacon  composes  for  some  festive  occasion  a  device,  or 
mask,  called  A  Conference  of  Pleasure. 

During  all  these  years  Bacon  lives  very  much  retired.  He  says, 
in  1594,  he  is  "poor  and  sick  and  working  for  bread."  What  at  ? 
He  says,  at  another  time,  "  The  bar  will  be  my  bier."  He  writes  his 
uncle  Burleigh  in  1595: 

It  is  true,  my  life  hath  been  so  private  as  I  have  no  means  to  do  your  Lordship 
service. 

The  Venus  and  Adonis  appears  in  1593,  with  a  dedication  from 
William  Shakespeare  to  the  Earl  of  Southampton,  Bacon's  fellow 
in  Gray's  Inn.  When  the  fortunes  of  Bacon  and  Southampton 
afterward  separate,  because  of  Southampton's  connection  with  the 
Essex  treason,  the  poem  is  re-published  without  the  dedication. 

1  Did  Francis  Bacon  Write  Shakespeare  ?  p.  14. 


CORROBORATING   CIRCUMSTANCES.  289 

In  1594  Lady  Anne,  Bacon's  mother,  is  distressed  about  his  de- 
votion to  plays  and  play-houses.  In  1590  she  had  written  to  Anthony, 
complaining  of  his  brother's  irregular  hours  and  poet-like  habits: 

I  verily  think  your  brother's  weak  stomach  to  digest  hath  been  much  caused 
and  confirmed  by  untimely  going  to  bed.  and  then  musing  nescio  quid  when  he 
should  sleep,  and  then,  in  consequence,  by  late  rising  and  long  lying  in  bed, 
whereby  his  men  are  made  slothful  and  himself  sickly.1 

In  1594  Bacon  begins  his  P ramus  of  Formularies  and  Elegancies, 
which  has  been  so  ably  edited  by  Mrs.  Pott,  of  London,2  which 
fairly  bristles  with  thoughts,  expressions  and  quotations  found  in 
the  Shakespeare  Plays.  It  is  clearly  the  work  of  a  poet  who  is 
studying  the  elegancies  of  speech,  with  a  view  to  increase  his  capac- 
ity for  the  expression  of  beautiful  thoughts.  It  is  not  the  kind  of 
work  in  which  a  mere  philosopher  would  engage. 

In  this  year  1594  "Shakespeare's"  Comedy  of  Errors  appears 
(for  the  first  time),  at  Bacon's  law  school,  Gray's  Inn.  In  the  same 
year  Lucrece  is  published.  In  the  same  year  Bacon  writes  a  Device, 
or  mask,  which  Essex  presents  to  her  Majesty  on  the  "Queen's 
Day/'  called  The  Device  of  an  Indian  Prince.  In  this  year,  also, 
Bacon  is  defeated  by  Cecil  for  the  place  of  Attorney  or  Solicitor- 
General,  and,  as  Dr.  Delius  thinks,  the  play  of  Richard  III.,  in 
which  the  hump-backed  tyrant  is  held  up  to  the  detestation  of 
mankind,  appears  the  same  year  ! 

In  1604  Bacon  writes  to  Sir  Tobie  Matthew,  speaking  of  some 
important  matter,  that  he  cannot  recall  what  passed,  "my  head 
being  then  wholly  employed  upon  invention"  a  word  which  he  uses 
for  works  of  the  imagination. 

Here,  then,  we  have  the  proof  that  the  Plays  appeared  during 
Bacon's  unemployed  youth.  No  one  pretends  that  he  wrote  plays 
while  he  was  holding  great  and  lucrative  offices  in  the  state. 

XIX.     Some  Secret  Means  of  Income. 

And  we  have  evidences  in  Bacon's  letters  —  although  they  seem 
to  have  been  gone  over  carefully  and  excised  and  garbled  —  that 
he  had  some  secret  means  of  support. 

In  1595  he  writes  Essex: 

I  am  purposed  not  to  follow  the  practice  of  the  law,  and  my  reason  is  only 
because  it  drinketh  too  much  time,  which  I  have  dedicated  to  better  purposes. 

1  Lady  Bacon  to  Anthony  Bacon,  May  24,  1590  — Li'fe  and  Works,  vol.  1,  p.  114. 
■  Bacon's  Promns,  by  Mrs.  Henry  Pott.     Boston:  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co. 


290  FRANCIS  BACON   THE  AUTHOR   OF    THE  FLAYS. 

Mr.  Spedding  says: 

It  is  easier  to  understand  why  Bacon  was  resolved  not  to  devote  his  life  to  the 
ordinary  practice  of  a  lawyer,  than  what  plan  he  had  to  clear  himself  of  the  diffi- 
culties which  were  now  accumulating  upon  him,  and  to  obtain  means  of  living  and 
working.  What  course  he  betook  himself  to  at  the  crisis  which  had  now  arrived, 
I  cannot  possibly  say.  I  do  not  find  any  letter  of  his  which  can  possibly  be  assigned 
to  the  winter  of  1596,  nor  have  I  met  among  his  brother's  papers  with  any  tiling 
which  indicates  tvhat  he  was  about. 

And  two  years  before,  in  April,  1593,  we  find  Bacon  writing  to 
the  Earl  of  Essex  thus: 

I  did  almost  conjecture,  by  your  silence  and  countenance,  a  distaste  in  the 
course  I  imparted  to  your  Lordship  touching  mine  own  fortune.  .  .  .  And  for  the 
free  and  loving  advice  your  Lordship  hath  given  me,  I  cannot  correspond  to  the 
same  with  greater  duty  than  by  assuring  your  Lordship  that  I  will  not  dispose  of 
myself  without  your  allowance.  .  .  .  But  notwithstanding  I  know  it  will  be  pleas- 
ing to  your  good  Lordship  that  I  use  my  liberty  of  replying,  and  I  do  almost 
assure  myself  that  your  Lordship  will  rest  persuaded  by  the  answer  of  those  rea- 
sons which  your  Lordship  vouchsafed  to  open.  They  were  two;  the  one  that  I 
should  include.   .   .   . 

Mr.  Spedding  says: 

Here  our  light  goes  suddenly  out,  just  as  we  are  going  to  see  how  Bacon  had 
resolved  to  dispose  of  himself  at  this  juncture.1 

Is  it  not  very  remarkable  that  this  letter  should  be  clipped  off 
just  at  this  point  ?  We  are  forced  to  ask,  first,  what  was  the  course 
which  he  intended  to  take  "  touching  mine  own  fortune  ;  "  and 
secondly,  if  there  was  no  mystery  behind  his  life,  why  was  this 
letter  so  emasculated  ? 

And  it  seems  he  intimated  to  his  mother  that  he  had  some 
secret  means  of  obtaining  money.  Lady  Bacon  writes  to  Anthony 
at  the  same  time,  and  in  the  same  month  and  year: 

Besides,  your  brother  told  me  before  you  twice,  then,  that  he  intended  not  to 
part  with  Markes  [an  estate],  and  the  rather  because  Mr.  Mylls  would  lend  him 
^900;  and,  as  I  remember,  I  asked  him  how  he  was  to  come  out  of  debt.  His 
answer  was  that  means  would  be  made  without  that? 

Remember  that  it  was  not  until  January,  1598,  that  Bacon  pub- 
lished the  first  of  his  acknowledged  formal  works,  his  Essays.  And 
these  were  not  the  forty  long  essays  we  now  have,  but  ten  short, 
condensed  compositions,  which  occupied  but  thirteen  double  pages 
of  the  original  quarto  edition.  These,  with  a  few  brief  papers,  are 
the  only  acknowledged  fruits  we  have  to  represent  the  nineteen  years 

1  Life  and  Works,  vol.  i,  p.  235.  'Ibid.,  p.  244. 


CORROBORATING   CIRCUMSTANCES.  291 

between  the  date  of  his  return  from  Paris,  in  IS7<?,  a?id  the  publication 
of  his  ten  brief  essays  in  January,  Jjp<¥. 

What  was  that  most  fecund,  prolific,  laborious  writer  doing 
during  these  nearly  twenty  years?  He  was  brimful  of  energy, 
industry,  genius,  mirth  and  humor:  how  did  he  expend  it?  What 
was  that  painful  course  of  study  and  meditation  which  he  under- 
went daily,  as  he  told  his  uncle  Burleigh  ? 

Read  what  Hepworth  Dixon  says  of  him  at  the  age  of  twenty-four: 

How  he  appears  in  outward  grace  and  aspect  among  these  courtly  and  martial 
contemporaries,  the  miniature  by  Hilyard  helps  us  to  conceive.  Slight  in  build, 
rosy  and  round  in  flesh,  dight  in  sumptuous  suit;  the  head  well  set,  erect,  and 
framed  in  a  thick,  starched  fence  of  frill;  a  bloom  of  study  and  of  travel  on  the  fat. 
girlish  face,  which  looks  far  younger  than  his  years;  the  hat  and  feather  tossed  aside 
from  the  broad,  white  brow,  over  which  crisps  and  curls  a  mane  of  dark,  soft  hair; 
an  English  nose  —  firm,  open,  straight;  mouth  delicate  and  small  —  a  lady's  or  a 
jester's  mouth  —  a  thousand  pranks  and  humors,  quibbles,  ivhims  and  laughters  lurking 
in  its  twinkling,  tremulous  lines.     Such  is  Francis  Bacon  at  the  age  of  twenty-four.1 

Is  this  the  description  of  a  dry-as-dust  philosopher  ?  Is  it  not 
rather  the  picture  of  the  youthful  scholar,  the  gentleman,  the  wit, 
the  poet,  " fresh  from  academic  studies."  who  wrote  The  Two 
Gentlemen  of  Verona  and  Lore's  Labor  Lost  I 

In  brief,  the  Shakespeare  Plays  are  the  fruits  of  Bacon's  youth; 
for  it  is  in  youth  he  tells  us  that  the  imagination  streams  with 
divine  felicity  into  the  mind;  while  his  philosophical  works  are  the 
product  of  middle  life.  It  is  not  until  1603,  when  Bacon  was  forty- 
two  years  of  age,  that  he  published  the  first  of  his  scientific  works, 
entitled  Valerius  Terminus;  or,  the  Interpretation  of  Nature  :  with  the 
Annotations  of  Hermes  Stella.  And  who,  we  ask  passingly,  was 
"Hermes  Stella"?  Was  Bacon,  with  his  usual  secretiveness,  seek- 
ing another  weed — another  Shakspere  ?     Mrs.  Pott  says: 

There  is  something  so  mysterious  about  this  strange  title,  and  in  the  obscurity  of 
the  text  itself  as  well  as  in  the  meaning  of  the  astronomical  and  astrological  sym- 
bols written  on  the  blank  outside  of  the  volume,  that  Mr.  Ellis  and  Mr.fSpedding 
comment  upon  them,  but  can  throw  no  real  light  upon  them. 

XX.     Another  Mystery. 

W.  A.  A.  Watts,  in  a  paper  read  before  the  Bacon  Society  of 
London  while  this  work  is  going  through  the  press,2  calls  attention 
to  the  striking  fact   that   Ben  Jonson,  besides  stating  that   Bacon 

1  Dixon's  Personal  History  of  Lord  Bacon,  p.  25. 

3  Journal  0/  the  Baconian  Society,  Aug.,  1887,  p.  130. 


292  FRANCIS  BACON    THE  AUTHOR    OF    THE    PLAYS. 

had  "filled  all  numbers'   and  was  "the  mark  and  acme  of  our  lan- 
guage," in  a  poem  entitled  "Underwoods,"  addressed  to  Bacon  on 

his  birthday,  says: 

In  the  midst, 
Thou  stand'st  as  though  a  mystery  thou  didst. 

This  is  certainly  extraordinary.  What  was  the  mystery?  Was 
it  in  connection  with  those  "numbers"  which  excelled  anything  in 
Greek  or  Roman  dramatic  literature,  and  which  were  "the  mark 
and  acme  of  our  language"?      If  not,  what  did  Ben  mean? 

XXI.     Coke's  Insults. 

We  find   all  through   that  period  of  Bacon's  life,  between  1597 

and  his  accession  to  the  place  of  Lord  Chancellor,  that  he  was  the 

subject  of  a  great  many  slanders.     But  while  he  alludes  to  the 

slanders,  he  is  careful  not  to  tell  us  what  they  were.     Did  they  refer 

to  the  Shakespeare  Plays  ?     Did  they  charge  that  he  paid  his  debts 

with  money  taken  in  at  the  door  of  the  play-house  ?     For  we  may 

be   sure  that  among  the  actors  there   were  whisperings  which  it 

would  be  difficult  to  keep  from  spreading  abroad;  and 

Thus  comes  it  that  my  name  receives  a  brand, 

And  almost  thus  my  nature  is  subdued 
To  what  it  works  in,  like  the  dyer's  hand. 

But  there  has  come  down  to  us  a  letter  of  Bacon  which  gives 

us  some  account  of  the  insults  he  was  subjected  to.     In  it  Bacon 

complains,  in  1601,  to  his  cousin,   Lord  Secretary   Cecil,    that    his 

arch-enemy,  Mr.  Attorney-General  Coke,  had  publicly  insulted  him 

in  the  Exchequer.     He  tells  that  he  moved  for  the  reseizure  of  the 

lands  of  one  George  Moore,  a  relapsed  recusant,  fugitive  and  traitor 

He  says: 

Mr.  Attorney  kindled  at  it  and  said:  "  Mr.  Bacon,  if  you  have  any  tooth  against 
me  pluck  it  out,  for  it  will  do  you  more  hurt  than  all  the  teeth  in  your  head  will  do 
you  good."  I  answered  coldly,  in  these  very  words:  "Mr.  Attorney,  I  respect 
you;  I  fear  you  not;  and  the  less  you  speak  of  your  own  greatness  the  more  will  I 
think  of  it." 

He  replied:  "  I  think  scorn  to  stand  upon  terms  of  greatness  toward  you,  who 
are  less  than  little;  less  than  the  least;"  and  other  such  strange  light  terms  he  gave 
me,  with  such  insulting  which  cannot  be  expressed.  Herewith  I  stirred,  yet  I  said 
no  more  but  this:  "  Mr.  Attorney,  do  not  depress  me  so  far;  for  I  have  been  your 
better,  and  may  be  again,  when  it  please  the  Queen."  With  this  he  spake,  neither 
I  nor  himself  could  tell  what,  as  if  he  had  been  born  Attorney-General;  and  in  the 
end  bade  me  not  meddle  with  the  Queen's  business,  but  mine  own.  .  .  .  Then  he 
said  it  were  good  to  clap  a  capias  utlegatum  upon  my  back  !  To  which  I  only  said  he 
could  not,  and  that  he  was  at  fault;  for  he  hunted  upon  an  old  sent. 


CORROBORA  TING   CIRCUMSTANCES. 


293 


He  gave  me  a  number  of  disgraceful  words  besides,  which  I  answered  with 
silence.1 

And  Bacon  writes  Cecil,  evidently  with  intent  to  have  him 
silence  Coke. 

I  will  ask  the  reader  to  remember  this  letter  when  we  come  to 
the  Cipher  Narrative.  It  shows,  it  seems  to  me,  that  Cecil  knew 
of  something  to  Bacon's  discredit,  and  that  Coke,  Cecil's  follower, 
had  heard  of  it  and  blurted  it  out  in  his  rage  in  open  court,  and 
threatened  Bacon  with  arrest;  and  Bacon  writes  to  his  cousin  for 
protection  against  Coke's  tongue.  Spedding  says  the  threat  of  the 
capias  utlegatum  may  possibly  have  referred  to  a  debt  that  Bacon 
owed  in  1598;  but  what  right  would  Coke  have  to  arrest  Bacon  for 
a  debt  due  to  a  third  party,  and  which  must  have  been  paid  three 
years  before?  And  why  should  Bacon  say  "he  was  at  fault."  If 
Coke  referred  to  the  debt  he  was  not  "  at  fault,"  for  Bacon  cer- 
tainly had  owed  it. 

XXII.     Conclusion. 

In  conclusion  I  would  say  that  I  have  in  the  foregoing  pages 
shown  that,  if  we  treat  the  real  author  of  the  Plays,  and  Francis 
Bacon,  as  two  men,  they  belonged  to  the  same  station  in  society, 
to  the  same  profession — -the  law;  to  the  same  political  party  and 
to  the  same  faction  in  the  state;  that  they  held  the  same  religious 
views,  the  same  philosophical  tenets  and  the  same  purposes  in  life. 
That  each  was  a  poet  and  a  philosopher,  a  writer  of  dramatic  com- 
positions, and  a  play-goer.  That  Bacon  had  the  genius,  the  oppor- 
tunity, the  time  and  the  necessity  to  write  the  Plays,  and  ample 
reasons  to  conceal  his  authorship. 

I  proceed  now  to  another  branch  of  my  argument.  I  shall 
attempt  to  show  that  these  two  men,  if  we  may  still  call  them  such, 
pursued  the  same  studies,  read  the  same  books,  possessed  the  same 
tastes,  enjoyed  the  same  opinions,  used  the  same  expressions,  em- 
ployed the  same  unusual  words,  cited  the  same  quotations  and  fell 
into  the  same  errors. 

If  all  this  does  not  bring  the  brain  of  the  poet  under  the  hat  of 
the  philosopher,  what  will  you  have? 

1  Spedding,  Life  and  W'erks,  vol.  iii.  p.  2.     London  :  Longmans. 


PART   III. 


PARALLELISMS. 

CHAPTER  I. 
IDENTICAL    EXPRESSIONS. 

As  near  as  the  extremest  ends 
Of  parallels. 

Troilus  and  Cressida,  /,  J. 

^I^HO  does  not  remember  that  curious  word  used  by  Hamlet, 

»  »      to  describe  the  coldness  of  the  air,  upon  the  platform  where 

he  awaits  the  Ghost: 

It  is  very  cold. 
It  is  a  nipping  and  an  eager  air.1 

We  turn  to  Bacon,  and  we  find  this  very  word  used  in  the  same 

sense: 

Whereby  the  cold  becomes  more  eager.'1 

There  is  another  strange  word  used  by  Shakespeare: 

Light  thickens, 
And  the  crow  makes  wing  to  the  rocky  wood."5 

We  turn  again  to  Bacon,  and  we  find  the  origin  of  this  singular 
expression: 

For  the  over-moisture  of  the  brain  doth  thicken  the  spirits  visual.4 

In  the  same  connection  we  have  in  Bacon  this  expression: 
The  cause  of  dimness  of  sight  is  the  expense  of  spirits.1' 

We  turn   to  Shakespeare's  sonnets,  and   we  find   precisely   the 
same  arrangement  of  words: 

Tti  expense  of  spirit  in  a  waste  of  shame. 


1  Hamlet,  i,  4.  "  Macbeth,  iii,  2.  5  Ibid. 

2  Natural  History,  §  688.  4  Natural  History,  §  693. 

2Q5 


296  PARALLELISMS. 

One  of  the  most  striking  parallelisms  of  thought  and  expression 
occurs  in  the  following.     Bacon  says: 

Some  noises  help  sleep,  as  .  .  .  soft  singing.  The  cause  is,  for  that  they 
move  in  the  spirits  a  gentle  attention.* 

In  Shakespeare  we  have: 

I  am  never  merry  when  I  hear  sweet  music, 
The  reason  is,  your  spirits  are  attentive? 

Here  we  have  the  same  words  applied  in  the  same  sense  to  the  same 
thing,  the  effect  of  music;  and  in  each  case  the  philosopher  stops  to 
give  the  reason  —  "the  cause  is,"  "the  reason  is." 

Both    are  very   fond   of    the   expressions,   "parts   inward"   and 

"  parts  outward,"  to  describe  the  interior  and  exterior  of  the  body. 

Bacon  says: 

Mineral  medicines  have  been  extolled  that  they  are  safer  for  the  outward  than 
the  inward  parts. % 


And  again: 

While  the  life- 
nbers  trembled 

Shakespeare  has  it 


While  the  life-blood  of  Spain  went  inward  to  the  heart,  the  outward  limbs  and 
members  trembled  and  could  not  resist.4 


I  see  men's  judgments  are 
A  parcel  of  their  fortunes;  and  things  outward 
Do  draw  the  inward  quality  after  them, 
To  suffer  all  alike.5 

Falstaff  tells  us: 

But  the  sherris  warms  it  and  makes  it  course  from  the  inwards  to  the  parts 
extreme* 

Bacon  says: 

Infinite  variations. ' 
Shakespeare  says: 

Nor  custom  stale 

Her  infinite  variety* 

The  word  infinite  is  a  favorite  with  both  writers. 

Bacon  has: 

Occasions  are  infinite? 

Infinite  honor.10 

The  infinite  flight  of  birds.11 

1  Natural  History,  §  745.  *  2d  Henry  IV.,  iv,  3. 

2  Merchant  0/  Venice,  v,  1.  7  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii. 

3  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  \\.  8  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  ii,  2. 

4  Speech  in  Parliment,  39  Elizabeth  (1597-8)  ■  Wisdom  of  the  Ancients  —  Achelous . 

—  Life  and  Works,  vol.  ii,  p.  80.  10  Speech. 

•  A  ntony  and  Cleopatra,  iii,  2.  ' '  New  .  I  tlantis. 


IDENTICAL   EXPRESSIONS.  297 

Shakespeare  has: 

Conclusion  infinite  of  easy  ways  to  die.1 

Fellows  of  infinite  tongue. - 

A  fellow  of  infinite  jest.8 

Infinite  in  faculties.4 

Nature's  infinite  book  of  secrecy.5 

Bacon  says:  * 

Man  in  his  mansion,  sleep,  exercise,  passions,  hath  infinite  variations;  .  .  . 
the  facilities  of  the  soul.6 

Shakespeare  says: 

How  infinite  in  faculties? 

Bacon  speaks  of 

That  gigantic  state  of  mind  which  possesseth  the  troublers  of  the  -world,  such  as 
was  Lucius  Sylla.8 

This   is   a  very  peculiar  and   unusual   expression;    we   turn   to 

Shakespeare,   and   we    find   Queen   Margaret    cursing    the    bloody 

Duke  of  Gloster,  in  the  play  of  Richard  f II.,  in  these  words: 

If  heaven  have  any  grievous  plague  in  store, 
Exceeding  those  that  I  can  wish  upon  thee. 
Oh,  let  them  keep  it,  till  thy  sins  be  ripe, 
And  then  hurl  down  their  indignation 
On  thee,  the  troubler  of  tJie  poor  world's  peace.9 

In  Shakespeare  we  find: 

Which  is  to  bring  Signor  Benedick  and  the  Lady  Beatrice  into  a  mountain  of 
-affection,  the  one  with  the  other.1" 

This  was  regarded  as  such  a  strange  and  unusual  comparison 
that  some  of  the  commentators  proposed  to  change  it  into  "  a  moot- 
ing of  affection."  But  we  turn  to  Bacon  and  we  find  the  same 
simile: 

Perkin  sought  to  corrupt  the  servants  of  the  lieutenant  of  the  Tower  by  moun- 
tains of  prom  ises. ! ' 

Bacon  says: 

To  fall  from  a  discord,  or  harsh  accord,  upon  a  concord  of  sweet  accord. '- 

1  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  v,  2.  ''Hamlet,  ii,  2. 

2  Henry  V.,  v,  2.  8  Advancement  0/ Learning. 

3  Hamlet,  v,  1.  9  Richard  III.,  i,  3. 

4 Ibid.,  ii,  2.  I0 Much  Ado  about  Nothing,  ii,  2. 

5  A  ntony  a  nd  Cleopatra ,  i ,  2 .  ' 1  History  of  Hen  ry  I  VI. 

8  Advancement  0/ Learning,  book  ii.  l*  Advancement  0/ Learning. 


298 


PARALLELISMS. 


Shakespeare  says: 

That  is  not  moved  with  concord  of siveet  sounds.1 

Here  we  have  three  words  used  in  the  same  order  and  sense  by 

both  writers. 

We  find  in  Shakespeare  this  well-known  but  curious  expression:. 

There's  a  divinity  that  shapes  our  ends, 
Rough-hew  them  how  we  will.2 

This  word  occurs  only  once  in  the  Plays.    George  Stevens  says: 

Dr.  Farmer  informs  me  that  these  words  are  merely  technical.  A  woolman, 
butcher  and  dealer  in  skewers  lately  observed  to  him  that  his  nephew  (an  idle  lad) 
could  only  assist  him  in  making  them.  "He  could  rough-hew  them,  but  I  was 
obliged  to  shape  their  ends."  Whoever  recollects  the  profession  of  Shakspere's 
father  will  admit  that  his  son  might  be  no  stranger  to  such  terms.  /  have  fre- 
quently seen  packages  of  wool pinri d  up  xvith  sketvers. 

This  is  the  sort  of  proof  we  have  had  that  Shakspere  wrote  the 

Plays.     It  is  very  evident  that  the  sentence  means,  that  while  we 

may  hew  out  roughly  the  outlines  of  our  careers,  the  ends  we  reach 

are  shaped  by  some  all-controlling  Providence.    And  when  we  turn 

to  Bacon  we  find  the  very  word  used  by  him,  to  indicate  carved 

out  roughly: 

A  nmgh-hewn  seaman.3 

And  we  find  again  in  Shakespeare  the  same  idea,  that  while  we 
may  shape  our  careers  in  part,  the  results  to  be  attained  are  beyond 
our  Control: 

Our  thoughts  are  ours,  their  ends  none  of  our  own.4 

Bacon  says: 

Instruct  yourself  in  all  things  between  heaven  and  earth  which  may  tend  to 
virtue,  wisdom  and  honor.5 

Shakespeare  has: 

Crawling  between  heaven  and  earth.* 

There  are  more  things  in  heaven  and  earth,  Horatio, 
Than  are  dreamt  of  in  your  philosophy.1 

Bacon  refers  to 

The  particular  remedies  which  learning  doth  minister  to  all  the  diseases  of  the 
mind. 

Shakespeare  says: 

Canst  thou  not  minister  to  a  mind  diseased  ?* 

1  Merchant  of  Venice,  v,  1,  a  Hamlet,  v,  2.  ■  Apophthegms.  *  Hamlet,  iii,  2. 

5  Bacon's  Letter  to  the  Earl  of  Rutland,  written  in  the  name  of  the  Earl  of  Essex— Life  and 
Works,  vol.  ii,  p.  18.  '''Hamlet,  iii,  1.  7  Hamlet,  i,  5.  *  Macbeth,  V,  3. 


ID  EX  TIC  A I    EX  PRE  SSIONS. 


299 


Here  the  parallelism  is  complete.  In  each  case  it  refers  to 
remedies  for  mental  disease,  and  in  each  case  the  word  minister  is 
used,  and  the  "  diseases  of  the  mind"  of  the  one  finds  its  counter- 
part in  u  mind  diseased"  of  the  other,  a  change  made  necessary  by 
the  rhythm. 

Surely  the  doctrine  of  accidental  coincidences  will  not  explain 
this. 

Bacon  says: 

Men  have  their  time,  and  die  many  times,  in  desire  of  some  things  which  they 
principally  take  to  heart.1 

Shakespeare  says: 

Cowards  die  many  times  before  their  deaths.* 

Bacon  says: 

The  even  carriage  between  two  factions  proceedeth  not  always  of  moderation, 
but  of  a  tracness  to  a  man  s  self,  with  end  to  make  use  of  both.* 

And  again  he  says: 

Be  so  true  to  thyself as  thou  be  not  false  to  others* 

Shakespeare  says: 

To  thine  own  self  be  true, 
And  it  must  follow,  as  the  night  the  day, 
Thou  canst  not  then  be  false  to  any  man.5 

Bacon  says: 

The  ripeness  or  unripeness  of  the  occasion  must  ever  be  well  weighed. * 

Shakespeare  says: 

Ripeness  is  all.7 

In  Shakespeare  we  have  this  singular  expression: 

O  Heaven  !  a  beast,  that  wants  discourse  of  reason  > 

Would  have  mourned  longer.8 

This   expression   "discourse  of   reason"  is  a  very  unusual  one. 

Massinger  has: 

It  adds  to  my  calamity  that  I  have 
Discourse  and  reason. 

Gifford   thought   that   Shakespeare  had  written  "discourse  and 

reason,"  and  that  the  of  was  a  typographical  error;  but  Knight,  in 

discussing  the  question,  refers  to  the  lines  in  Hamlet: 

'Essay  O/Fr  tends hi '/>.  3  Essay  Of  Fact  ion.  ■  Hamlet,  i,  3.  7  Lear,  v,  2. 

"Julius  Ctrsar,  ii,  2.  *  Essay  Of  Wisdom.  'Essay  Of  Delays.  '•Hamlet,  i,  2. 


300  PA  RA  L  LEU  SMS. 

Sure  he  that  made  us  with  such  large  discourse, 
Looking  before  and  after,  gave  us  not 
That  capability  and  god-like  reason 
To  fust  in  us  unused.1 

But  when  we  turn  to  Bacon  we  find  this  expression,  which  has 
puzzled  the  commentators,  repeatedly  used.     For  instance: 
Martin  Luther  but  in  discourse  of  reason,  finding,  etc/2 
Also: 

God  hath  done  great  things  by  her  [Queen  Elizabeth]  past  discourse  of  reason. 3 
And  again: 

True  fortitude  is  not  given  to  man  by  nature,  but  must  grow  out  of  discourse  of 

.reason.* 

Bacon  has: 

But  men  ...  if  they  be  not  carried  away  with  a  whirlwind  or  tempest  of 
ambition.5 

Shakespeare  has: 

For  in  the  very  torrent,  tempest,  and,  as  I  may  say,  the  whirlwind  of  your 
passion.6 

Here  we  have  not  only  the  figure  of  a  wind-storm  used  to  repre- 
sent great  mental  emotions,  but  the  same  word,  nay,  the  same 
words,  tempest  and  whirlwind,  used  in  the  same  metaphorical  sense 
by  both. 

Mr.  James  T.  Cobb  calls  my  attention,  while  this  work  is  going 
through  the  press,  to  the  following  parallelism. 
Macbeth  says: 

Life's  but  a  walking  shadow? 

Bacon  writes  to  King  James: 

Let  me  live  <.o  serve  you,  else  life  is  but  the  shadow  of  death  to  your  Majesty's 
most  devoted  servant. 

And,  again,  Mr.  Cobb  notes  this. 
Bacon  says: 

It  is  nothing  else  but  words,  which  rather  sound  than  signify  anything. 

1  Act  iv,  scene  4.  ^Advancement  of  Learning,  book  i. 

3  History  of Squires'  Conspiracy — Life  and  Works,  vol.  ii,  p.  116. 

4  Bacon's  Letter  to  the  Earl  of  Rutland,  written  in  the  name  of  the  Earl  of  Essex—  L ife  and 
Works,  vol.  ii,  p.  12.         •  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii.         6  Hamlet,  iii,  2.         ''Macbeth,  v,  5. 


IDENTICAL   EXPRESSIONS.  Q1, 

Shakespeare  makes  Macbeth  say  of  human  life: 

'Tis  a  tale 
Told  by  an  idiot,  full  of  sound  and  fiery, 
Signifying  nothing} 

A.  J.  Duffield,  of  Delaware  Mine,  Michigan,  calls   my  attention 
to  the  following  parallelism. 
Shakespeare: 

What  a  piece  of  work  is      man  !  .  .  .   The  paragon  of  animals;  the  beauty  of 
the  world? 

While  Bacon  has: 

The  souls  of  the  living  are  the  beauty  of  the  world.3 

Both  writers  use  the  physical  eye  as  a  type  or  symbol  of  the^ 
intellectual  faculty  of  perception. 
Bacon  says: 

The  eyes  of  his  understanding? 

For  everything  depends  on  fixing  the  mind's  eye  steadily.6 

Illuminate  the  eyes  of  our  mind.''' 

While  in  Shakespeare  we  have: 

Hamlet.     My  father,—  methinks  I  see  my  father. 
Horatio.     Oh,  where,  my  lord? 
Hamlet.     In  my  mind's  eye,  Horatio. 

And  again: 

Mine  eye  is  my  mind.T 

Bacon  says: 

Pirates  and  impostors   .  .   .   are.  the  common  enemies  of  mankind.* 

Shakespeare  says: 

And  mine  eternal  jewel 
Given  to  the  common  enemy  of  man 
To  make  them  kings.9 

Shakespeare  also  says: 

Consider,  he's  an  enemy  to  mankind.™ 

Thou  common  whore  of  man  kind. " 

Mrs.  Pott12  points  out  a  very  striking  parallelism. 

1  Act  v,  scene  5.  '  Sonnet. 

2  Hamlet,  ii,  2.  8  History  of  Henry  VIT. 

3  Essay  Pan.  *  Macbeth,  iii,  1. 

4  History  of  Squires'  Conspiracy  —  Life  and  Works,  vol.  ii,  p.  113.  10  Twelfth  Night,  iii.  4. 

5  Introduction  to  Novum  Organum.  n  Timon  of  Athens,  iv,  3 

6  Prayer.  ia  Prom  its,  p.  24. 


302  PARALLELISMS. 

In  Bacon's  letter  to  King  James,  which  accompanied  the  sending 
of  a  portion  of  The  History  of  Great  Britain,  he  says: 

This  being  but  a  leaf  or  two,  I   pray  your  pardon   if  I   send  it  for  your  recrea- 
tion, considering  that  love  must  creep  wh ere  it  cannot  go. 

We  have  the  same  thought  in  the  same  words  in  TJie  Two  Gen- 
tlemen  of  Verona,  in  this  manner: 

Ay,  gentle  Thurio;  for  you  know  that  love 
Must  creep  in  service  ivhere  it  cannot  go. ] 

We  have  in  Bacon  the  word  varnish  used  as  a  synonym  for  adorn, 
precisely  as  in  Shakespeare. 
Bacon: 

But  my  intent  is,  without  varnish  or  amplification,  justly  to  weigh  the  dignity 
of  knowledge.2 

Shakespeare  has: 

I  will  a  round,  unvarnished  tale  deliver.3 

And  set  a  double  varnish  on  the  fame.4 

Beauty  doth  varnish  age.5 

J.  T.  Cobb  calls  attention  to  the  following  parallelism.     Bacon, 

in  his  letter  of  expostulation  to  Coke,  says: 

The  arising  to  honor  is  arduous,  the  standing  slippery,  the  descent  headlong. 

Shakespeare  says: 

Which,  when  they  fall,  as  being  slippery  standers, 
The  love  that  leaned  on  them  as  slippery,  too, 
Do  one  pluck  down  another,  and  together 
Die  in  the  fall.6 

The  image  of  passion  devouring  the  body  of  the  man  is  common 
to  both. 

Bacon  says: 

It  causeth  the  spirit  to  feed  upon  the  juices  of  the  body.1 

Envy  f 'cede th  upon  the  spirits.8 
Shakespeare  says: 

If  it  will  feed  nothing  else,  it  will  feed  my  revenge.9 

The  thing  that  feeds  their  fury.'0 

1  Act  iv,  scene  2.  6  Troitus  and  Cressida,  iii,  3. 

2  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  i.  7  History  0/  Life  and  Death. 

3  Othetto,  i,  3.  8j bid. 

4  //amtet,  iv,  7.  "  Merchant  of  Venice,  iii,  1. 

•"'  Love's  Labor  Lost,  iv,  3.  ,0  Taming  of  the  Shrew,  ii,  1. 


IDENTICAL   EXPRESSIONS.  303 

Feed  ivA.  the  ancient  grudge.1 

Advantage  feeds  him  fat.'- 

To  feed  contention  in  a  lingering  act.3 

J.  T.  Cobb  points  out  this  parallelism. 

Shakespeare: 

Assume  a  virtue  if  you  have  it  not.4 
Bacon  says: 

All  wise  men,  to  decline  the  envy  of  their  own  virtues,  use  to  ascribe  them  to 
Providence  and  Fortune;  for  so  they  may  the  better  assume  them.5 

Bacon  speaks  of 

The  accidents  of  life.6 

The  accidents  of  time.7 
Shakespeare  says: 

As  place,  riches,  favor, 
Prizes  of  accident  as  oft  as  merits 

With  mortal  accidents  opprest.q 

The  shot  of  accident,  the  dart  of  chance.1" 

Bacon  says: 

And  I  do  extremely  desire  there  may  be  a  full  cry  from  all  sorts  of  people. n 

Macbeth  says: 

And  I  have  bought 
Golden  opinions  from  all  sorts  of  peopled 

Here  we  have  the  same  collocation  of  words. 

Bacon  says: 

Not  only  that  it  may  be  done,  but  that  it  may  be  well  done.13 

If  that  be  done  which  I  hope  by  this  time  is  done,  and  that  other  matter  shall 
be  done  which  we  wish  may  be  done.14 

Shakespeare  says: 

If  it  were  done  when  'tis  done,  then  'twere  well 
It  were  done  quickly.15 

What's  done  cannot  be  undone.1* 


1  Merchant  of  Venice,  i,  3.  ,0  Othello,  iv,  1. 

*  1st  Henry  IV.,  iii,  2.  "  Letter  to  Villiers,  June  12,  1616. 

3  2d  Henry  IV.,  i,  i.  12  Macbeth,  i,  7. 

4  flamlet,  iii,  4.  13  Letter  to  Lord  Chancellor. 

5  Essay  Of  Fortune.  14  Letter   to  Sir  John   Stanhope  —  Life  and 

6  Letter  to  Sir  R.  Cecil.  Works,  vol.  ii,  p.  50. 

7  Letter  to  Villiers,  June  3,  1616.  ,s Macbeth,  i,  7. 

8  Troilus  and  Cressida,  iii,  3.                                16  Ibid.,  v,  I. 


9  Cymbeline,  v,  4. 


°r  rue   r\. 


3o4  PARALLELISMS. 

Bacon  says: 

Hut  I  will  pray  for  you  to  the  last  gasp.1 

Shakespeare  says: 

I  will  follow  thee 
To  the  last  gasp} 

Fight  till  the  last  gasp} 
Here  is  another  identical  collocation  of  words. 

Bacon  says: 

The  new  company  and  the  old  company  are  but  the  sons  of  Adam  to  rae.- 

Shakespeare  says: 

Adam's  sons  are  my  brethren.5 

Bacon  says: 

The  common  lot  of  mankind.6 

Shakespeare  has: 

The  common  curse  of  mankind.7 

Bacon: 

The  infirmity  of  the  human  understanding.8 

Shakespeare: 

The  infirmity  of  sense.9 


A  friend  should  bear  his  friend's  infirmities. 


And  Mr.  J.  T.  Cobb  has  called  my  attention  to  this  parallelism. 

Bacon  says: 

All  those  who  have  in  some  measure  committed  themselves  to  the  waters  of 
experience,  seeing  they  were  infirm  of  purpose,  etc.11 

While  in  Shakespeare  we  have: 

Infirm  of  purpose.     Give  me  the  daggers.12 

Bacon: 

Every  tangible  body  contains  an  invisible  and  intangible  spirit.™ 

Shakespeare: 

O,  thou  invisible  spirit  of  wine.14 


1  Letter  to  King  James,  1621.  9  Measure  for  Measure,  v,  1. 

2  As  You  Like  It,  li,  3.  10  Julius  Ceesar,  iv,  3. 

3  /st  Henry  VI.,  i,  1.  u  The  Interpretation  of  Nature,  Montagu 

4  Letter  to  Villiers.  ed.,  vol.  ii,  p.  550. 
*  Much  Ado  about  Nothing,  ii,  1.  1S  Macbeth*  ii,2. 

6  Introduction  to  Great  Instauration.  13  Novum  Organum,  book  ii. 

7  Troilus  and  Cressida,  ii,  3.  14  Othello,  ii,  3. 

8  Novum  Organum,  book  ii. 


IDENTICAL   EXPRESSIONS.  305 

Bacon: 

Flame,  at  the  moment  of  its  generation,  is  mild  and  gentle } 

Shakespeare: 

As  mild  and  gentle  as  the  cradled  babe.5 

He  was  gentle,  mild  and  virtuous.3 

I  will  be  mild  and  gentle  in  my  words.4 

Bacon: 

Custom   .    .   .   an  ape  of  nature} 
Shakespeare: 

This  is  the  ape  of  form,  monsieur  the  nice.6 

O  sleep,  thou  ape  of  death." 

Bacon  says: 

Another  precept  of  this  knowledge  is  to  imitate  nature,  which  doth  nothing  in 
vain.8 

In  artificial  works  we  should  certainly  prefer  those  which  approach  the  nearest 
to  an  imitation  of  nature* 

We  find  the  same  expression  in  Shakespeare: 

I  have  thought  some  of  Nature's  journeymen  had  made  men,  and  not  made 
them  well,  they  imitated  humanity  so  abominably.10 

And   in  the  preface  to  the  Folio  of  1623,  which  was  probably- 
written  by  the  author  of  the  Plays,  we  read: 

He  was  a  happy  imitator  of  nature. 

Bacon  speaks  of  a 

Medicine  .   .   .  of  secret  malignity  and  disagreement  toward  man's  body  ;  .   .   . 
it  worketh  either  by  corrosion  or  by  a  secret  malignity  and  enmity  to  nature.11 

Shakespeare  describes  the  drug  which  Hamlet's  uncle  poured 

into  his  father's  ear  as 

Holding  such  enmity  with  blood  of  man. 

And  again  we  have: 

A  lingering  dram,  that  should  not  work 
MaliHously  like  poison.12 

Though  parting  be  a  fretful  corrosive, 
It  is  applied  to  a  deathful  wound.13 


1  Novum  Organum,  book  ii.  8  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii. 

2  Henry  VI.,  iii,  2.  9  Novum  Organum,  book  ii. 

3  Richard  III.,  i,  2.  10  Hamlet,  iii,  2. 

*  Ibid.,  iv,  4.  u  Natural  History,  cent,  i,  §36. 
8  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii.  I2  Winter's  Tale,  i,  2. 

•  Love's  Labor  Lost,  v,  2.  ,s  2d  Henry  VI.,  iii,  2. 
7  Cymbeline,  ii,  2. 


306 


PARALLELISMS. 


Bacon  says: 

Of  all  substances  which  nature  has  produced,  man's  body  is  the  most  extremely 
compounded, 1 

Shakespeare  says: 

The  brain  of  this  foolish  compounded  clay,  man.2   " 

And  Bacon,  speaking  of  man,  says: 

Certain  particles  were  taken  from  divers  living  creatures,  and  mixed  and  tem- 
pered with  that  clayic  mass.3 

Bacon  says: 

The  heavens  turn  about  and  .   .   .   make  an  excellent  music* 

Shakespeare  says,  in  Hamlet: 

And  there  is  much  music,  excellent  voice  in  this  little  organ;  yet  cannot  you 
make  it  speak. 

Bacon  says: 

The  nature  of  sounds  in  general  hath  been  superficially  observed.     It  is  one  of 
the  subtilest  pieces  of  nature.1' 

Shakespeare  has  this  precise  collocation  of  words: 

A  ruined  piece  of  nature} 

We  also  find: 

When  nature  framed  this  piece} 

Thy  mother  was  a  piece  of  virtue} 

As  pretty  a  piece  of  flesh} 

Oh,  pardon  me,  thou  bleeding  piece  of  earth}0 

Bacon  also  says: 

The  noblest  piece  of  justice.11 

While  Shakespeare  says: 

What  a  piece  of  work  is  man ; 
How  noble  in  reason.12 

Bacon  says: 

A  miracle  of  time.13 
Shakespeare  says: 

O  miracle  of  men.14 


1  Wisdom  of  the  Ancients— Prometheus.  8  Tempest,  i,  2. 

2  2d  Henry  IV.,  i,  2.  9  Much  Ado  about  Nothings  iv,  2. 

3  Natural  History,  cent.  ii.  10  Julius  Ccesar,  Hi,  1. 

*  Ibid.  n  Charge  against  St.  John, 

s  Ibid.  12  Hamlet,  ii,  2. 

6  Lear,  iv,  6.  13  Of  a  War  with  Spain. 

7  Pericles,  iv,  3.  14  2d  Henry  IV.,  ii,  3. 


IDENTICAL   EXPRESSIONS.  307 

Bacon: 

The  fire  maketh  them  soft  and  tender} 

Shakespeare: 

The  soft  and  tender  fork  of  a  poor  worm.' 

Beneath  your  soft  and  tender  breeding.3 

As  soft  and  tender  flattery.4 

Here  again  it  is  identity  not  alone  of  a  word,  but  of  a  phrase. 

Bacon  says: 

Where  a  rainbow   seemeth   to   hang  over  or  to  touch,  there  breatheth  forth  a 
sweet  smell.5 

Shakespeare  says: 

Breathing  to  his  breathless  excellence 
The  incense  of  a  vow.6 

'Tis  her  breathing 
That  perfumes  the  chamber  thus." 

We  find  both  Shakespeare  and  Bacon  using  the  unusual  word 

disclose  for  hatch. 
Bacon  says: 

The  ostrich  layeth  her  eggs  under  the  sand,  where  the  heat  of  the  sun  discloseth 
them.8 

Shakespeare: 

Anon,  as  patient  as  the  female  dove, 
When  that  her  golden  couplets  are  disclosed, 
His  silence  will  sit  brooding.9 

Bacon  speaks  of 

The  elements  and  their  conjugations,  the  influences  of  heaven.10 

While  Shakespeare  speaks  of 

All  the  skiey  influences}1 

Bacon  says: 

For  those  smells  do  .   .   .   rather  7000  the  sense  than  satiate  it.12 

While  Shakespeare  says: 

The  air  smells  wooingly  here.13 


*  Natural  History,  §  630.  6  King  J  oh  «,  i  v,  3.  10  Natural  History,  §  835. 

*  Measure  for  Measure,  iii,  1.  7  Cymbeline,  ii,  2.  n  Measure  for  Measure,  iii,  1. 

3  Twelfth  Night,  v,  1.  8  Natural  History,  §856.  ia  Natural  History,  §833.  , 

4  Pericles,  iv,  4.  9  Hamlet,  v,  1.  13  Macbeth,  i,  6. 

5  Natural  History,  §  832. 


3o8 


PARALLELISMS. 


Speaking  of  the  smell  where  the  rainbow  rests,  Bacon  says: 
But  none  are  so  delicate  as  the  dew  of  the  rainbow.1 

Shakespeare  says: 

I  have  observed  the  air  is  delicate* 
We  also  have: 

A  delicate  odor.8 

Delicate  Ariel.4 

The  gentle  dew.h 
The  gentle  rain."'' 


Bacon  speaks  of 
Shakespeare,  of 


The  word  fantastical  is  a  favorite  with  both. 
Bacon  says: 


Shakespeare  says: 


Bacon  says: 
Shakespeare  says: 


Which  showeth  a  fantastical  spirit.1 

Fantastical  learning/ 

High  fantastical.  '•' 
A  mad,  fantastical  trick.10 
A  fantastical  knave.  • ' 
Telling  her  fantastical  lies.1 

A  malign  aspect  and  influence.13 
Malevolent  to  you  in  all  aspects.1* 


Bacon  says: 

So  as  your  wit 
11  have  the  crea 

Shakespeare  says: 


So  as  your  wit  shall  be  whetted  with  conversing  with  many  great  wits,  and  you 
shall  have  the  cream  and  quintessence  of  every  one  of  theirs.15 


What  is  this  quintessence  of  dust  ?16 
The  quintessence  of  every  sprite.17 


1  Natural  History ,  §  832. 

*  Macbeth,  i,  6. 

*  Pericles,  iii,  2. 
4  Tempest,  i,  2. 

6  Natural  History,  §  832. 

*  Merchant  of  Venice,  iv,  1. 

7  Civil  Conv. 

8  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  i. 

9  Twelfth  Night,  i,  1. 

10  Measure  for  Measure,  iii,  2. 


11  As  You  Like  It,  iii,  3. 

™  Othello,  ii,  1. 

13  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii. 

14 1st  Henry  IV.,  i,  2. 

15  Bacon's   Letter   to  the  Earl  of  Rutland, 

written  in  the  name  of  the  Earl  of  Essex. 

Life  and  Works,  vol.  ii,  p.  13. 
18  Hamlet,  ii,  2. 
17  As  You  Like  It,  iii,  2. 


IDENTICAL   EXPRESSIONS.  i  309 

Bacon  says: 

I  find  envy  beating  so  strongly  upon  me.1 

This  public  envy  seemeth  to  beat  chiefly  upon  principal  officers  or  ministers.1* 

Shakespeare  says: 

Nor  the  tide  of  pomp 
That  beats  upon  the  high  shore  of  this  world. :! 

Bacon  says: 

To  choose  time  is  to  save  time;  and  an  unseasonable  motion  is  but  beating  the 
tir.4 

Shakespeare  says: 

Didst  thou  beat  heaven  with  blessings.5 

Speaking  of  witchcrafts,  dreams  and  divinations,  Bacon  says: 

Your  Majesty  hath  .   .   .  with  the  two  clear  eyes  of  religion  and  natural  phil- 
>sophy  looked  deeply  and  wisely  into  these  shadows* 

And  again  he  says: 

All  whatsoever  you  have  or  can  say  in  answer  hereof  are  but  shadows.'1 

'  While  Shakespeare  has: 

A  dream  itself  is  but  a  shadow.4 

To  worship  shadows  and  adore  false  shapes.9 

Shadows  to-night  have  struck  more  terror  to  the  soul  of  Richard.10 

Hence,  horrible  shadow.™ 

Life's  but  a  walking  shadow.™ 

Bacon  enters  in  his  commonplace-book: 

The  Mineral wytts,  strong  poison  yf  they  be  not  corrected.13 

Shakespeare  has: 

The  thought  doth,  like  a  poisonous  mineral,  gnaw  my  inwards.14 

Bacon  says: 

Fullness  and  swellings  of  the  heart.15 

Bacon   to   Queen  Elizabeth  —  Life  8  Hamlet,  \\,  2. 

and  Works,  vol.  ii,  p.  160.  9  Two  Gentlemen  0/  Verona,  iv,  2, 

2  Essay  Of  Envy.  10  Richard  III. ,  v,  3. 

3  Henry  V.,'\\,\.  u  Macbeth,  iii,  4. 

4  Essay  Of  Despatch.  12  Ibid.,  v,  5. 

5  2d  Henry  IV.,  i,  3.  ls  Promus,  §  1403,  p.  454. 
*  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii.  I4  Othello,  ii,  1. 

7  Speech  at  Trial  of  Essex.  10  Essay  Of  Friendship. 


?  j  o  PA  RA  LLELISMS. 

Shakespeare  says: 

Malice  of  thy  swelling  heart. ' 

Their  swelling  griefs.2 

The  swelling  act  of  the  imperial  scene.3 

Bacon  says: 

The  most  base,  bloody  and  envious  persons.4 

Shakespeare  says: 

Of  base  and  bloody  insurrection.5 

Bacon: 

Matters  of  no  use  or  moment.* 
Shakespeare: 

Enterprises  of  great  pith  and  moment.'1 

In  both  we  have  the  word  sovereign  applied  to  medicines. 

Bacon: 

Sovereign  medicines  for  the  mind.8 
Shakespeare: 

The  sovereign' st  thing  on  earth 

Was  parmaceti  for  an  inward  bruise.9 

In  his  letter  of  submission  to  Parliament,  Bacon  says: 

This  is  the  beginning  of  -a  golden  world. 
Shakespeare,  in  The  Tempest,  says: 

I  would  with  such  perfection  govern,  sir, 
To  excel  the  golden  age.10 
In  former  golden  days." 
Golden  times.12 

Bacon  says: 

This  passion  [love],  which  loseth  not  only  other  things,  but  itself1* 
Shakespeare  says: 

A  loan  oft  loseth  both  itself  and  friend.14 

Bacon: 

A  kindly  and  pleasant  sleep.15 
Shakespeare: 

Frosty  but  kindly. xi 


1  jst  Henry  VI. %  Hi,  i.  9  ist  Henry  IV.,  i,  3. 

?■  3d  Henry  VI.,  iv,  8.  10Act  ii,  scene  1. 

3  Macbeth,  i,  3.  n 3d  Henry  VI.,  iii,  3. 

4  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  i.  ,2  2d  Henry  IV.,  v,  3. 
:'  id  Henry  IV.,  iv,  1.  ,3  Essay  Of  Love. 

6  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  i.  14  Hamlet,  i,  3. 

''Hamlet,  iii,  1.  15  Adz'ancement  of  Learning,  book  ii. 

8  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  i.  16  As  You  Like  It,  ii,  3. 


IDENTICAL   EXPRESSIONS.  3TI 

Bacon  says: 

The  quality  of  health  and  strength.1 

Shakespeare  says: 

The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strained.2 
The  quality  of  the  flesh."' 
The  quality  of  her  passion.4 

Bacon  says: 

The  states  of  Italy  be  like  little  quillets  of  freehold.5 
And  he  speaks  of 

A  quiddity  of  the  common  law.6 
Hamlet  says: 

Where  be  his  quiddcts  now,  his  quillets,  his  cases,  his  tenures.' 

Bacon  speaks  of  having  one's  mind 

Concentric  with  the  orb  of  the  universe. 
Shakespeare  says: 

His  fame  folds  in  this  orb  o'  the  earth.8 

Bacon  refers  to 

The  top  of  .   .   .   workmanship.9 

The  top  of  human  desires.10 

The  top  of  all  worldly  bliss.11 
Shakespeare  refers  to 

The  top  of  sovereignty.12 

The  top  of  judgment.13 

The  top  of  all  design.14 

On  the  other  hand,  Bacon  says: 

He  might  have  known  the  bottom  of  his  danger}* 
Shakespeare  says: 

The  bottom  of  my  place.™ 

1  Bacon's  Letter  to  the  Earl  of  Rutland,  8  Coriolanus,  v,  5. 

written    in  the  name  of  the  Earl  of  9  Prayer. 

Essex  —  Life  and  Works,  vol.  it,  p.  16.  ••  Advancement  of  Learning. 

2  Merchant  of  Venice,  iv,  1.  ll  History  of  Henry  I'll. 

3  Timon  of  Athens,  iv,  3.  ^Macbeth,  iv,  1. 

4  A  ntony  and  Cleopatra,  v.  1.  13  Measure  for  Measure,  ii,  2. 

5  Discourse   in   Praise   of   the   Queen—  "  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  v,  1. 

Life  and  Works.  I5  History  of  Henry  VII. 

*  Arraignment.  ,6  Measure  for  Measurey\.y  1. 

''Hamlet,  v,  1. 


-  x  2  PA  RALLELISMS. 

The  bottom  of  your  purpose} 
The  very  bottom  of  my  soul."- 
Searches  to  the  bottom  of  the  worst.3 

Bacon  has: 

Actions  of  great  peril  and  motion.4 

Shakespeare  has: 

Enterprises  of  great  pith  and  moment.5 

Bacon  speaks  of 

The  abuses  of  the  times.* 
Shakespeare  speaks  of 

The  poor  abuses  of  the  times."1 
Here  the  identity  is  not  in  a  word,  but  in  a  series  of  words. 

Bacon  says: 

I  will  shoot  my  fool's  bolt  since  you  will  have  it  so.8 
Shakespeare  says: 

A  fool's  bolt  is  soon  shot.9 

According  to  the  fool's  bolt,  sir.10 

Bacon  expresses  the  idea  of  the  mind  being  in  a  state  of  rest  or 
peace  by  the  words,  "  The  mind  is  free"  as  contradistinguished 
from  "the  mind  is  agitated."11 

Shakespeare  uses  the  same  expression: 

When  the  mind's  free 
The  body's  delicate.1'2 

The  doctor  refers  to  Lady  Macbeth's  mental  agony,  expressed 
even  in  sleep,  as  "this  slumbery  agitation." 

Bacon  says: 

In  the  midst  of  the  greatest  wilderness  of  waters. n 
Shakespeare  has: 

Environed  with  a  wilderness  of  sea.*4 

1  Air s  Well  that  Ends  Well,  iii,  7.  8  Letter  to  the  Earl  of  Essex,  1598. 

2  Henry  V.,  ii,  2.  9  Henry  V.,  iii,  7. 

3  Troilus  and  Cress/da,  ii,  2.  10  As  You  Like  It,  v,  4. 

4  Speech  in  Parliament,  39  Elizabeth.  ll  Novum  Organum. 
6 Hamlet,  iii,  1.  12  Lear,  iii,  4. 

•  Letter  to  the  King.  1 3  New  A  tlantis. 

7  1st  Henry  IV.,  1,  2.  14  Titus  Andronicus,  iii,  1. 


IDENTICAL    EXPRESSIONS.  3^ 

And  again: 

A  ^wilderness  of  monkeys.1 

A  wilderness  of  tigers* 

Bacon  says,  in  a  speech  in  Parliament: 

This  cloud  still  hangs  over  the  House* 

Shakespeare  has: 

And  all  the  clouds  that  lowered  upon  our  House. 

Bacon  speaks  of 

Any  expert  minister  of  nature.4 

Shakespeare  says: 

Angels  and  ministers  of  grace.5 

That  familiar  but  curious  expression  used  by  Mark  Antony  in 

his  speech  over  the  dead  body  of  Caesar  can  also  be  traced  back  to 

Bacon: 

Lend  me  your  ears.6 

Bacon,  describing  Orpheus'  power  over  the  wild  beasts,  paints 

them  as 

Standing  all  at  a  gaze  about  him,  and  lend  their  ears  to  his  music.7 

Again  Bacon  says,  referring  to  the  power  of  music: 

Orpheus  drew  the  woods  and  moved  the  very  stones  to  come.8 

Shakespeare,  referring  to  the  power  of  eloquence,  says  that  it 

Should  move 
The  stones  of  Rome  to  rise  and  mutiny.9 

Bacon  says: 

The  nature  of  the  vulgar  is  always  swollen  and  malignant}9 
Shakespeare  speaks  of 

The  malice  of  my  swelling  heart.11 

Bacon  says: 

With  an  undaunted  and  bold  spirit}'1 
Shakespeare  speaks  of  an 

Undaunted  spirit  in  a  dying  breast. " 

1  Merchant  of  I  'enice,  iii,  i.  8  Ibid. 

-  Titus  Andronicus,  iii,  i.  9  Julius  Cczsar,  iii,  2. 

3  Speech  about  Undertakers.  10  Wisdom  of  the  A  ncients. 

4  Wisdom  of  the  Ancients—  Proteus.  n  Titus  Andronicus,  v,  3. 

5  Hamlet :,  1,  4.  IS  Wisdom  of  the  A  ncients  — Sphynx, 
B  Julius  Ccesar,  iii,  2.  13 1st  Henry  IT.,  iii,  2. 

7  Wisdom  of  the  Ancients. 


3  1 4  PA  A' A  LLELIS. M S. 

The  phrase  "  mortal  men"  is  a  favorite  with  both.     Bacon  says: 

Ravish  and  rap  mortal  men} 
Shakespeare  says: 

Tush,  man,  mortal  men,  mortal  men} 
O  momentary  grace  of  mortal  men* 

Bacon  says: 

The  state  of  man.4, 

Shakespeare  says: 

The  state  of  matt} 

Bacon  speaks  of 

The  vapors  of  ambition.6 

Shakespeare  speaks  of 

The  vapor  of  our  valor.7 
The  vapor  of  my  glory.8 

Bacon  says: 

She  was  most  affectionate  of  her  kindred,  even  unto  faction* 
Shakespeare  says: 

And  drove  great  Mars  to  faction }{) 

We  find  Bacon  using  the  word  engine  for  a  device,  a  stratagem. 
Speaking  of  the  Lambert  Simnell  conspiracy  to  dethrone  King 
Henry  VII.,  he  says: 

And.  thus  delivered  of  this  so  strange  an  engine,  and  new  invention  of  fortune.1  J 

Iago  says  to  Roderigo: 

Take  me  from  this  world  with  treachery  and  devise  engines  for  my  life.12 

Bacon  says: 

Whereupon  the  meaner  sort  routed  together.13 

Shakespeare  says: 

Choked  with  ambition  of  the  meaner  sort}* 

Cheering  a  rout  of  rebels.15 

All  is  on  the  rout}'1' 


1  Wisdom  of  the  A  ncients  —  Sfihynx.  9  History  of  Henry  VII. 

2  ist  Henry  IF.,  iv.  2.  10  Troilus  and  Cressida,  Hi,  3. 

3  Richard  III.,  Hi,  4.  ' l  History  of  Henry  VII. 

4  Wisdom  of  the  Ancients  —  Prom.  ,a  Othello,  iv,  2. 
hfulius  Casar,  ii,  1.  13  History  of  Henry  VII. 
*  History  of  Henry  VII.  14  ist  Henry  VI.,  ii,  5. 
''Henry  V.,  iv,  2.  16  2d  Henry  IV.,  iv,  2. 

6  Richard  III. ,  i  i  i ,  7 .  • 6  2d  Henry  VI.,  v ,  2. 


ID  EN  TIC  A  L   EXP  RE  SSIONS. 


3*5 


Bacon  says: 

And  such  superficial  speculations  they  have;  like prospectives \  that  show  things 
inward,  when  they  are  but  paintings. x 

The  same  figure  occurs  in  Shakespeare: 

Divides  one  thing  entire  to  twenty  objects, 
Like  perspectives,  which  rightly  gazed  upon 
Show  nothing  but  confusion ;  eyed  awry 
Distinguish  form.-2 

And  Bacon,  in  describing  a  rebellion  in  Scotland  against  King 

James  III.,  tells  that  the  rebels  captured  the  King's  son  —  Prince 

James  —  and  used  him 

To  shadow  their  rebellion,  and  to  be  the  titular  and  painted  head  of  those 
arms.3 

This  is  a  very  peculiar  expression,  and  reminds  us  of  Lady  Mac- 

beth's  words: 

'Tis  the  eye  of  childhood 
That  fears  a, painted  devil.4 

And  again  Shakespeare  says: 

Men  are  but  gilded  loam  or  painted  clay. s 

Than  is  the  deed  to  my  most  painted  word.6 

Bacon  says: 

He  raised  up  the  ghost  of  Richard  .   .   .   to  walk  and  vex  the  King.7 
Shakespeare  says: 

Thy  father's  spirit, 
Doomed  for  a  certain  term  to  walk  the  night.8 

Spirits  oft  walk  in  death.9 


Bacon  says; 

The  news  the 
ce  of  York  was 

Shakespeare  says: 


The  news  thereof  came  blazing  and   thundering  over  into  England,  that  the 
Duke  of  York  was  sure  alive.10 


What  act 
That  roars  so  loud  and  thunders  in  the  index?11 

He  came  in  thunder;  his  celestial  breath 
Was  sulphurous  to  smell.1'2 
Hast  thou  not  spoke  like  thunder  on  my  side?13 

»  Sylva  Sylvarum.  "  Hamlet,  iii,  1.  10  History  of  Henry  VII. 

2  Richard  II.,  ii,  2.  '  History  0/ Henry  I  71.  ' l  Hamlet,  iii,  4. 

3  History  of  Henry  1 77.  B  Hamlet,  i,  5.  12  Cymbelinc,  v,  4. 
4 Macbeth,  ii,  2.  9  Ibid.,  i,  1.  13  Kingfohn,  iii,  1. 
5  Richard  II.,  i,  1. 


3 1 6  PA  RA  LLELISMS, 

The  fierce  blaze  of  riot.1 
The  blaze  of  youth.2 
Every  blazing  star.3 

Bacon  says: 

A  spice  of  madness.4 

Shakespeare  says: 

This  spice  of  your  hypocrisy.5 

Bacon  speaks  of 

Our  sea-walls  and  good  shipping.* 

Shakespeare  describes  England  as 
Our  sea-walled  garden.7 

The  word  pregna?it,  signifying  full  of  consequence  or  meaning, 
l  is  a  common  one  with  both  writers.     Bacon  says: 

Many  circumstances  did  feed  the  ambition  of  Charles  with  pregnant  and  appar- 
ent hopes  of  success.8 

Shakespeare  says: 

Crook  the  pregnant  hinges  of  the  knee.9 

Pregnant  instruments  of  wealth.10 

Were  very  pregnant  and  potential  spurs.11 

Bacon  says: 

His  people  were  hot  upon  the  business. x% 

Shakespeare  says: 

It  is  a  business  of  some  heat.]S 

Bacon  says,  speaking  of  old  age: 

He  promised  himself  money,  honor,  friends  and  peace  in  the  end.'4 

Shakespeare  says: 

And  that  which  should  accompany  old  age, 
As  honor,  love,  obedience,  troops  of  friends, 
I  must  not  look  to  have.15 


1  Richard  1 'I.,  ii,  i.  6  Speech  on  Subsidy.  11  Lear,  ii,  i. 

»  All's  Well  that  Etuis  Well,  v,  3.  7  Richard  17.,  iii,  4.  12  History  of  Henry  VII. 

3  Ibid.,  i.  3.  8  History  of  Henry  VII.  13  Othello,  i,  2. 

*  Of  War  with  Spain.  »  Hamlet,  iii,  2.  14  History  of  Henry  VII. 

*  Henry  VIII. ,  ii,  3.  ,0  Pericles,  iv,  Gower.  15  Macbeth,  v,  3. 


:>'7 


IDENTICAL   EXPRESSIONS. 

Bacon  says: 

This  bred  a  decay  of  people.1 

Shakespeare  speaks  of 

Decayed  men.' 

Bacon  says: 

Divers  things  that  were  predominant  in  the  King's  nature? 
Macbeth  says  to  the  murderers: 

Do  you  find 
Your  patience  so  predominant  in  your  nature?* 

Bacon  says: 

As  if  he  had  heard  the  news  of  some  strange  and  fearful  prodigy*" 

Shakespeare  says: 

A  prodigy  of  fear  and  a  portent 
Of  broached  mischief  to  the  unborn  times.6 

Now  hath  my  soul  brought  forth  her  prodigy.'1 

Bacon  says: 

Turned  law  and  justice  into  wormwood* 
Shakespeare  says: 

Weed  this  tvornnvood  irom  your  fruitful  brain.* 

Bacon  says: 

His  ambition  was  so  exorbitant  and  unbounded.™ 

And  again: 

Being  a  man  of  stomach,  and  hardened  by  his  former  troubles,  he  refused  to 
pay  a  mite.11 

God  seeth  that  we  have  unbridled  stomachs.™ 

While   in   Shakespeare    we   have   the   vastly   ambitious  Wolsey 

referred  to  as 

A  man  of  unbounded  stomach. u 

Bacon  says: 

As  for  her  memory,  it  hath  gotten  such  life,  in  the  mouths  and  hearts  of  men. 
as  that  envy,  being  put  out  by  her  death,  etc.14 

1  History  of Henry  VII.  6  ist  Henry  IV.,  V,  i.  J1Ibid. 

2  Comedy  of  Errors,  iv,  3.  7  Richard  II.,  ii,  2.  12  Letter  to  Lord  Coke. 

3  History  of  Henry  VII.  %  History  of  Henry  VII.  33  Henry  VIII.,  iv,  2. 

4  Macbeth,  iii,  1.  9  Love's  Labor  Lost,  v,  2.  14  Felic.  Queen  Rlizabetrk. 
6  History  of  Henry  VII.  10  History  of  Henry  VII. 


3i8 


PARALLELISMS. 


Shakespeare  says: 

So  shalt  thou  live  —  such  power  hath  my  pen  — 

Where  breath  most  breathes,  even  in  the  months  of  men.1 

Bacon  says: 

Vain  pomp  and  outward  shows  of  power.  - 

Shakespeare  says: 

Vain  pomp  and  glory  of  this  world,  I  hate  ye.* 

In  both  the  thought  of  retirement  is  expressed  in  the  word  cell 
—  referring  to  the  monastic  cells. 

Bacon  says: 

The  cells  of  gross  and  solitary  monks.4 
Again: 

For  it  was  time  for  me  to  go  to  a  cell.* 

It  were  a  pretty  cell  for  my  fortune.6 

In  Shakespeare  we  have: 

Nor  that  I  am  much  better 
Than  Prospero,  master  of  a  full  poor  cell, 
And  thy  no  greater  father.7 

O  proud  death! 
What  feast  is  forward  in  thine  eternal  cell} 

Bacon  says: 

The  spark  that  first  kindled  such  fire  and  combustion? 

And  again  he  says: 

The  King  chose  rather  not  to  satisfy  than  to  kindle  coals.10 

Shakespeare  has: 

Your  breath  first  kindled  the  dead  coal  of  wars.11 

Constance  would  not  cease 
Till  she  had  kindled  France  and  all  the  world.'2 

For  kindling  such  combustion  in  the  state.18 

As  dry  combustions  matter  is  to  fire.14 

Bacon  says: 

If  the  rules  and   maxims  of  law,  in  the  first  raising  of  tenures  in  capite,  be 
weakened,  this  nips  the  flower  in  the  bud.n 

1  Sonnet.  »  History  of  Henry  VII. 

2  Char.  Julius  Ca-sar.  1°  Ibid. 

3  Henry  VIII..  iii,  2.  n  King  John,  v,  2. 

4  Advancement  0/  Learning.  ,2  Ibid.,  i,  1. 

5  Letter.  ™  Henry  VIII.,  v,  3. 
8  Ibid.  14  Venus  and  Adonis. 

7  Tempest,  i,  2.  15  Argument,  Law's  Case  of  Tenures. 

8  Hamlet,  v,  2. 


IDENTICAL   EXPRESSIONS.  ^o 

Shakespeare  says: 

Nip  not  the  gaudy  blossoms  of  your  love.1 
Nips  his  root.'-' 

Bacon,  after  his  downfall,  speaks  of 

This  base  court  of  adversity,  where  scarce  any  will  be  seen  stirring. 

Shakespeare  puts  the  same  expression  into  the  mouth  of  Rich- 
ard II.  after  his  downfall: 

In  the  base  court?     Base  court,  where  kings  grow  base, 
To  come  at  traitors'  calls  and  do  them  grace. 
In  the  base  court,  come  down.3 

Bacon  says: 

He  strikes  terror.* 

Shakespeare  says: 

And  strike  such  terror  to  his  enemies.5    , 
Have  struck  more  terror  to  the  soul  of  Richard.6 

Bacon  says: 

It  is  greatness  in  a  man  to  be  the  care  of  the  higher  powers. } 

In  Shakespeare  we  have: 

Arming  myself  with  patience 
To  stay  the  providence  of  some  high  powers 
That  govern  us  below.8 

In  his  letter  to  Sir  Humphrey  May,  1625,  speaking  of  his  not 
having  received  his  pardon,  Bacon  says: 

I  deserve  not  to  be  the  only  outcast. 
While  Shakespeare  has: 

I  all  alone  bewail  my  outcast  state.9 
Bacon  says: 

And  successions  to  great  place  will  wax  vile;  and  then  his  Majesty's  preroga- 
tive goeth  down  the  -wind.™ 

1  Love's  Labor  Lost,  v,  2.  6  Richard  III.,  v,  2. 

2  Henry  VIII.,  iii,  2.  7  Essay  Of  Fortune. 

3  Richard  II.,  iii,  3.  8  Julius  Casar,  v,  1. 

4  Bacon's  Letter  to  Sir  Foulke  Greville  9  Sonnet. 

—  Life  and  Works,  vol.  ii,  p.  24.  I0  Letter  relating  to  Lord  Coke. 

5  1st  Henry  VI.,  ii,  3. 


320  PARALLELISMS. 

Othello  says: 

If  I  do  prove  her  haggard, 
Though  that  her  jesses  were  my  dear  heart-strings, 
I'd  whistle  her  off,  and  let  her  down  the  wind, 
To  prey  at  fortune.1 

And  here  we  have  a  singular  parallelism  occurring  in  connection 

with  the  same  sentence. 

Bacon  says: 

For  in  consent,  where  tongue-strings  and  not  heart-strings  make  the  music  that 
harmony  may  end  in  discord. 

Shakespeare  has: 

Though  that  her  jesses  were  my  dear  heart-strings* 
Also: 

He  grieves  my  very  heart-strings. % 

Shakespeare  says: 

My  love 
Was  builded  far  from  accident* 

Mr.  J.  T.  Cobb  points  a  similar  expression  in  Bacon: 

Another  precept  of  this  knowledge  is  not  to  engage  a  man's  self  too  peremp- 
torily in  anything,  though  it  seem  not  liable  to  accident* 

The  wheel  was,  curiously  enough,  a  favorite  image  with  both. 
Bacon  says: 

My  mind  doth  not  move  on  the  wheels  of  profit.6 

The  wheels  of  his  mind  keep  away  with  the  wheels  of  his  fortune.7 

Shakespeare  says: 

Then  can  I  set  the  world  on  7vheels.s 

Let  go  thy  hold,  when  a  great  wheel  runs  down  a  hill,  lest  it  break  thy  neck 
with  following  it;  but  the  great  one  that  goes  up  the  hill,  let  him  draw  thee  after.9 

Bacon  says: 

It  is  a  rule,  that  whatsoever  science  is  not  consonant  to  presuppositions,  must 
pray  in  aid  of  similitudes.10 

Shakespeare  says: 

A  conqueror  that  will  pray  in  aid  for  kindness, 
Where  he  for  grace  is  kneeled  to.11 

1  Othello,  iii,  3,  7  Essay  Of  Fortune. 

3  Ibid.,  iii,  2.  8  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  iii,  1. 

3  Two  Gentlenten  of  Verona,  iv,  2.  9  Lear,  ii,  4. 

4  Sonnet  cxxiv.  ' °  A dvancement  of  Learning. 

5  Advancement  of  Learning.  ' 1  A  ntony  and  Cleopatra,  v,  2. 

6  Letter. 


IDENTICAL  EXPRESSIONS. 


321 


Franklin  Fiske  Heard  says: 

Praying  in  aid  is  a  law  term,  used  for  a  petition  made  in  a  court  of  justice  for 
the  calling  in  of  help  from  another,  that  hath  an  interest  in  the  cause  in  question.1 

How  came  the  non-lawyer,  Shakspere,  to  put  this  English  law 
phrase  into  a  Roman  play  ? 

J.  T.  Cobb  draws  attention  to  this  parallelism. 

Bacon  says: 

For  the  poets  feigned  that  Orpheus  .  .  .  did  call  and  assemble  the  beasts  and 
birds  ...  to  stand  about  him,  as  in  a  theater;  and  soon  after  called  likewise  the 
stones  and  woods  to  remove.2 

Shakespeare  says: 

Therefore  the  poet 
Did  feign  that  Orpheus  drew  trees,  stones  and  floods.3 

Bacon  says: 

Let  him  commend  his  inventions,  not  ambitiously  or  spitefully,  but  first  in  a 
manner  most  vivid  and  fresh,  that  is  most  fortified  against  the  injuries  of  time. ,4 

Shakespeare  says,  in  one  of  the  sonnets: 

Injurious  time,  blunt  thou  the  lion's  paws. 

Bacon  says: 

A  man  that  hath  no  virtue  in  himself.5 

Shakespeare  says: 

The  man  that  hath  no  music  in  his  soul.6 

Here  the  resemblance  is  not  in  the  words,  but  in  the  rhythm 

and  balance  of  the  sentence. 

Bacon  speaks  of 

Justice  mixed  with  mercy? 
Says  Shakespeare: 

Let  mercy  season  justice.9. 

Bacon  says: 

These  winds  of  rumors  could  not  be  commanded  down.9 

Shakespeare  says: 

Thou  god  of  this  great  vast,  rebuke  these  surges, 
Which  wash  both  heaven  and  hell;  and  thou  that  hast 
Upon  the  winds  command,  bind  them  in  brass.10 

1  Shakespeare  as  a  Lawyer,  p.  82.  6  Merchant  of  Venice,  V,  1. 

a  The  Plantation  of  Ireland.  7  Proceedings  York  House. 

3  Merchant  0/  Venice,  v,  1.  8  Merchant  0/  Venice. 

4  Interpretation  of  Nature.  9  Letter  in  name  of  Anthony  Bacon  to  Essex,  i6cc 
6  Essay  Of  Envy.  10  Pericles,  iii,  1. 


322 


PARALLELISMS. 


But  it  may  be  urged,  by  the  unbeliever,  that  there  is  a  vast  body 
of  the  Shakespearean  writings,  and  a  still  vaster  body  of  Bacon's 
productions;  and  that  it  is  easy  for  an  ingenious  mind,  having 
these  ample  fields  to  range  over,  to  find  a  multitude  of  similarities. 
In  reply  to  this,  I  will  cite  a  number  of  quotations  from  Bacon's 
essay  Of  Death,  the  shorter  essay  on  that  subject,  not  published 
until  after  his  death,  and  which  is  found  in  the  first  volume  of  Basil 
Montagu's  edition  of  Bacon  s  Works,  on  pages  131,  132  and  133.  It 
is  a  small  essay,  comprising  about  two  pages  of  large  type,  and  does 
not  exceed  in  all  fifteen  hundred  words.  And  yet  I  find  hundreds 
of  instances,  in  this  short  space,  where  the  expressions  in  this  essay 
are  paralleled  in  the  Plays.  Let  me  give  you  a  few  of  the  most 
striking  examples. 

Bacon,  arguing  that  men  should  be  content  to  die,  says: 

And  as  others  have  given  place  to  us,  so  we  must  in  the  end  give  place  to 
others. 

Shakespeare  says,  speaking  of  death: 

Since  I  nor  wax  nor  honey  can  bring  home, 
I  quickly  were  dissolved  from  my  hive, 
To  give  some  laborers  room} 

We  find  a  kindred  thought  in  Hamlet: 

But,  you  must  know,  your  father  lost  a  father, 
That  father  lost,  lost  his,  and  the  survivor  bound, 
In  filial  obligation,  for  some  term 
To  do  obsequious  sorrow.2 

Bacon  says: 

God  sends  men  into  this  wretched  theater,  where  being  arrived,  their  first  lan- 
guage is  that  of  mourning. 

This  comparison  of  life  and  the  world  to  a  theater,  and  a 
melancholy  theater,  runs  all  through  Shakespeare: 

This  wide  and  universal  theater 
Presents  more  woeful  pageants.3 

I  hold  the  world  but  as  the  world,  Gratiano; 
A  stage  where  every  man  must  play  his  part, 
And  mine  a  sad  one.4 

All  the  world's  a  stage, 
And  all  the  men  and  women  merely  players.5 

1  All 's  Well  that  Ends  Welt,  i,  a.  3  As  You  Like  It,  ii,  7.  6  A s  You  Like  It,  i:,  7. 

9 Hamlet,  i,  2.  *  Merchant  of  Venice,  \,  1. 


IDENTICAL   EXPRESSIONS.  323 

But  let  us  look  a  little  farther  into  this  expression  of  Bacon. 

God  sends  men  headlong  into  this  wretched  theater,  where  being  arrived,  their 
Jirst  language  is  that  of  mourning. 

In  Shakespeare  we  have  precisely  the  same  thought: 

When  we  are  born  we  cry  that  we  are  come 
To  this  great  stage  of  fools.1 

Thou  knowest  the  first  time  that  we  smell  the  air 
We  wawl  and  cry.2 

We  came  crying  hither.3 

The  word  wretched,  here  applied  by  Bacon    to  the  theater,  is  a 

favorite  one  with  Shakespeare: 

A  -wretched  soul  bruised  with  adversity.4 

Art  thou  so  bare  and  full  of  wretchedness, 
And  fear'st  to  die  ? 5 

To  see  wretchedness  o'ercharged." 

Bacon  says: 

I  compare  men  to  the  Indian  fig-tree,  which,  being  ripened  to  his  full  height,  is 
said  to  decline  his  branches  down  to  the  earth. 

Says  Shakespeare: 

They  are  not  kind; 
And  nature,  as  it  grows  again  towards  earth, 
Is  fashioned  for  the  journey,  dull  and  heavy.1 

Bacon  says: 

Man  is  made  ripe  for   death. 

We  turn  to  Shakespeare  and  we  have: 

So  from  hour  to  hour  we  ripe  and  ripe, 

And  then  from  hour  to  hour  we  rot  and  rot.8 

Men  must  endure 
Their  going  hence,  even  as  their  coming  hither; 
Ripeness  is  all.9 

Bacon  continues: 

He  is  sowed  again  in  his  mother  the  earth. 
Shakespeare  says: 
Where  is  this  young  gallant  that  is  so  desirous  to  lie  with  his  mother  earth  ?xo 

1  Lear,  iv,  6.  5  Romeo  and  Juliet,  v,  i.  *  As   You  Like  It,  ii,  7. 

2  Ibid.  6  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  v,  1.  9  Lear,  v,  2. 

3  Ibid.  7  Titus  Andronicus,  ii,  2.  10  As  You  Like  It,  1,  2. 

4  Comedy  0/ Errors,  ii,  1. 


324  PA  RA  LLELISMS. 

Bacon  says: 

So  man,  having  derived  his  being  from  the  earth,  first  lives  the  life  of  a  tree, 
drawing  his  nourishment  as  a  plant. 

We  have  a  kindred,  but  not  identical,  thought  in  Shakespeare: 

Pericles.     How  durst  thy  tongue  move  anger  to  our  face  ? 
Helicanus.     How  dare  the  plants  look  up  to  heaven,  from  whence 
They  have  their  nourishment? 

The  eighth  paragraph  of  the  essay  Of  Death  is  so  beautiful,, 
pathetic  and  poetical,  and  has  withal  so  much  of  the  true  Shake- 
spearean ring  about  it,  that  I  quote  it  entire,  notwithstanding  the 
fact  that  I  have  made  use  of  part  of  it  heretofore: 

Death  arrives  gracious  only  to  such  as  sit  in  darkness,  or  lie  heavy-burdened 
with  grief  and  irons;  to  the  poor  Christian  that  sits  bound  in  the  galley;  to  de- 
spairful widows,  pensive  prisoners  and  deposed  kings;  to  them  whose  fortunes  run 
back  and  whose  spirits  mutiny:  unto  such  death  is  a  redeemer,  and  the  grave  a 
place  for  retiredness  and  rest. 

These  wait  upon  the  shore  of  Death  and  waft  unto  him  to  draw  near,  wishing 
above  all  others  to  see  his  star,  that  they  might  be  led  to  his  place,  wooing  the 
remorseless  sisters  to  wind  down  the  watch  of  their  life,  and  to  break  them  off 
before  the  hour. 

What  a  mass  of  metaphors  is  here  !  Fortune  running  backward, 
spirits  mutinying;  despairful  widows  and  deposed  kings  waiting  on 
the  shores  of  death,  beckoning  to  him,  watching  for  his  star,  wooing 
the  remorseless  sisters  to  wind  down  the  watch  of  their  life,  and 
break  them  off  before  the  hour  ?  And  how  many  suggestions  are  in 
all  this  of  Shakespeare  ?     In  the  word  gracious  we  are  reminded  of: 

There  was  not  such  a  gracious  creature  born.1 

So  hallowed  and  so  gracious  is  the  time.'2 
The   association   of  sitting  with  sorrow   is  common   in    Shake- 
speare: 

Wise  men  ne'er  sit  and  wail  their  loss, 

But  cheerly  seek  how  to  redress  their  harms.3 

Sitting  on  a  bank, 
Weeping  against  the  king,  my  father's,  loss.4 

Here  can  I  sit  alone,  unseen  of  any, 

And  to  the  nightingale's  complaining  notes 

Tune  my  distresses,  and  record  my  woes.5 

Let  us  sit  upon  the  ground 
And  tell  sad  stories  of  the  death  of  kings  — 
How  some  have  been  deposed,  some  slain  in  war.6 

1  King  John,  iii,  4.  3 jd  Henry  VI.,  v,  4.  6  Two  Gentlemen  0/  Verona,  V,  4. 

3  Hamlet,  i,  1.  4  Tempest,  i,  2.  «  Richard  //.,  iii,  2. 


IDENTICAL  EXPRESSIONS.  325 

AW  thee  down,  sorrow^ 

Woe  doth  the  heavier  sit 
Where  it  perceives  it  is  but  faintly  borne.2 

And  when  we  find  Queen  Constance,  in  King  John, 

Oppressed  with  wrongs,  and  therefore  full  of  fears; 
A  widow,  husbandless,  subject  to  fears; 
A  woman  naturally  born  to  fears,3 

crying  out  in  her  despair: 

Here  I  and  sorrows  sit; 
Here  is  my  throne,  let  kings  come  bow  to  it, 

we  seem   to  read  again  the  words  of  Bacon: 

Death  arrives  gracious    only  to    such    as   sit    in    darkness,  ...   to  despairful 
widows,  pensive  prisoners  and  deposed  kings. 

And  in  Shakespeare  we  have  another  deposed  king  saying: 

Let's  talk  of  graves,  of  worms  and  epitaphs, 
Make  dust  our  paper,  and  with  rainy  eyes, 
Write  sorrow  on  the  bosom  of  the  earth.4 

And  another,  a  deposed  queen,  wafts  to  Death  to  come  and  take 

.her  away,  and  cries  out: 

Where  art  thou,  Death? 

Come  hither,  come  !  come,  come,  and  take  a  queen 

Worth  many  babes  and  beggars.5 

Says  Bacon: 

To  them  whose  fortunes  run  back. 

Shakespeare  says: 

The  fated  sky 
Gives  us  free  scope;  only  doth  backward  pull 
Our  slow  designs,  when  we  ourselves  are  dull.' 

My  fortune  runs  against  the  bias.7 

Says  Bacon: 

Whose  spirits  mutiny. 

This  peculiar  metaphor  is  common  in  Shakespeare: 

Where  wrill  doth  mutiny  with  wit's  regard.8 

There  is  a  mutiny  in  his  mind.9 

That  should  move 
The  stones  of  Rome  to  rise  and  mutiny. 10 

My  very  hairs  do  mutiny. ,n 

1  Love's  Labor  Lost,  i,  i.  5  A  ntony  and  Cleopatra,  v,  2.  9  Henry  I  'III..,  iii,  2. 

'2  Richard II.,  i,  3.  ■ Julius  Ca-sar,  i,  2.  10 Julius  Ca-sar,  iii,  2. 

3  King  John,  iii,  1.  7  Richard  II.,  iii,  4.  '  ■  A  ntony  and  Cleopatra,  iii,  a. 

*  Richard  II.,  iii.  2.  -  Ibid.,  II,  t. 


326  PA  PA  LLELISMS. 

Bacon  says: 

Unto  such  death  is  a  redeemer. 

The  sick  King  Edward  IV.,  nigh  unto  death,  says: 

I  every  day  expect  an  embassage 

From  my  Redeemer  to  redeem  me  hence.' 

Bacon  says: 

And  the  grave  a  place  of  re  tiredness  and  rest. 

Shakespeare  says: 

That  their  souls 

May  make  a  peaceful  and  a  sweet  retire.* 
Again: 

His  new  kingdom  of  perpetual  rest.3 

Oh,  here 
Will  I  set  up  my  everlasting  rest.4 

Says  Bacon: 

Wooing  the  remorseless  sisters  to  wind  down  the  watch  of  their  life,  and  to 
break  them  off  before  the  hour. 

Wooing  is  a  favorite  word  with  Shakespeare,  and  applied,  as 

here,  in  a  peculiar  sense. 

That  wodd  the  slimy  bottom  of  the  deep, 

And  mocked  the  dead  bones  that  lay  scattered  by.5 

More  inconstant  than  the  wind  which  woos 
Even  now  the  frozen  bosom  of  the  north.6 

The  heavens'  breath 
Smells  wooingly  here.7 

Says  Bacon: 

To  wind  down  the  watch  of  their  life. 

Says  Shakespeare: 

He  is  winding  up  the  watch  of  his  wit.8 

This  is  indeed  an  odd  comparison  —  the  watch  of  his  life,  the 

watch  of  his  wit. 

Bacon  says: 

But  death   is   a  doleful  messenger  to  a  usurer,  and  fate  untimely  cuts  their 
thread. 

Shakespeare  has: 

Let  not  Bardolph's  vital  thread  be  cut} 

1  Richard  II 'I.,  ii,  1.  4  Romeo  and  Juliet,  v,  3.  ''Macbeth,  i,  6. 

9  Henry  V.,  iv,  3.  *  Ibid.,  i,  4.  8  Tempest,  ii,  1. 

3  Richard  III.,  ii,  2.  8  Romeo  and  Juliet,  i,  4.  !'  Henry  V.,  iii,  6. 


IDENTICAL   EXPRESSIONS.  327 

Had  not  churchmen  prayed, 
His  thread  of  life  had  not  so  soon  decayed.1 

Till  the  destinies  do  cut  his  thread  of  life.0 
In   the  same   paragraph   Bacon   alludes   to  the  remorseless  sisters, 

and  here  we  have: 

O  fates  !  come,  come, 
Cut  thread  and  thrum  .   .  . 
Oh,  sisters  three, 
Come,  come,  to  me, 
With  hands  as  pale  as  milk; 
Lay  them  in  gore, 
Since  you  have  shore, 
With  shears,  his  thread  oi  silk.3 

Here  we  not  only  have  the  three  weird  sisters  of  destiny  alluded 
to  by  both  writers,  but  in  connection  therewith  the  same  expres- 
sion, of  cutting  the  thread  of  life. 

Bacon  says,  speaking  of  death: 

But  I  consent  with  Caesar,  that  the  suddenest  passage  is  easiest. 

We  are  reminded  of  Cleopatra's  studies: 

She  hath  pursued  conclusions  infinite 
Of  easy  ways  to  die.4 


Says  Bacon: 

Nothing  more 
nee. 

We  are  reminded  of  Wolsey: 


Nothing  more  awakens  our  resolve  and  readiness  to  die  than  the  quieted  con- 
science. 


And  again: 


I  feel  within  me 
A  peace  above  all  earthly  dignities, 
A  still  and  quiet  conscience .5 

O  my  Wolsey, 

The  quiet  of  my  wounded  conscience.6 


Says  Bacon: 

Our  readiness  to  die. 

Hamlet  associates  the  same  word  readiness  with  death: 
If  it  be  not  now,  yet  it  will  come:  the  readiness  is  all.1 

Says  Bacon: 

My  ambition  is  not  to  fore  flow  the  tide. 

1 1st  Henry  VI.,  i,  i.  4  A  ntony  and  Cleopatra,  v,  2.  •  Ibid.,  ii,  2. 

3  Pericles,  i,  2.  5  Henry  VIII.,  iii,  2.  7  Hamlet,  v,  2. 

4  Midsummer  Night 's  Dream,  v,  1. 


328  PARALLELISMS. 

Shakespeare  says: 

For  we  must  take  the  current  when  it  serves, 
Or  lose  our  ventures.1 

Bacon  says: 

So  much  of  our  life  as  we  have  already  discovered  is  already  dead,  ...  for 
we  die  daily. 

In  Shakespeare  we  have: 

The  Queen  that  bore  thee, 
Oftener  upon  her  knees  than  on  her  feet, 
Died  every  day  she  lived? 

Bacon  says: 

Until  we  return  to  our  grandmother \  the  earth. 

Shakespeare  speaks  of  the  earth  in  the  same  way: 

At  your  birth 
Our  grandam,  earth,  having  this  distemperature, 
In  passion  shook.3 

Bacon  says: 

Art  thou  drotvned  in  security  ? 
Shakespeare  says: 


He  hath  a  sin  that  often  drowns  him.4 


Bacon  says: 


There  is  nothing  under  heaven,  saving  a  true  friend,  who  cannot  be  counted 
within  the  number  of  moveables. 

This  is  a'strange  phrase.     We  turn  to  Shakespeare,  and  we  find 
a  similar  thought: 

Katharine.  I  knew  you  at  the  first. 

You  were  a  moveable. 

Petruchio.  Why,  what's  a  movable? 

Katharine.     A  joint  stool.6 

And  again: 

Love  is  not  love 
Which  alters  where  it  alteration  finds, 
Or  bends  with  the  remover  to  remove* 

Bacon  says: 

They  desired  to  be  excused  from  Death's  banquet. 

^Julius  Ccesar,  iv,  3.  3 1st  Henry  IV.,  iii,  1.  5  Taming 0/ the  Shrew,  ii,i. 

a  Macbeth,  iv,  3.  *  Timon  of  Athens,  til,  5.  «  Sonnet  cxvi. 


IDENTICAL   EXPRESSIONS.  329 

Shakespeare  says: 

O  proud  death, 
What  feast  is  forward  in  thine  eternal  cell  ? l 

And  again: 

O  malignant  and  ill-boding  stars  ! 

Now  thou  art  come  unto  a  feast  of  death.'1 

This  is  certainly  an  extraordinary  thought  —  that  Death  devours 

and  feasts  upon  the  living. 

Speaking  of  death,  Bacon  further  says: 

Looking  at  the  blessings,  not  the  hand  that  enlarged  them. 

This  is  a  peculiar  expression  —  that  death  enlarges  and  liber- 
ates.    We  find  precisely  the  same  thought  in  Shakespeare: 

Just  death,  kind  umpire  of  men's  miseries, 
With  sweet  enlargement  doth  dismiss  me  hence.3 

Bacon  says: 

The  soul  having  shaken  off  her  flesh. 

Shakespeare  has  it: 

O  you  mighty  gods  ! 

This  world  I  do  renounce;  and  in  your  sights 

Shake  patiently  my  great  affliction  off} 

And  again: 

What  dreams  may  come, 
When  we  have  shuffled  off  this  mortal  coil.5 

Bacon  continues: 

The  soul  .   .   .   shows  what  finger  hath  enforced  her. 

Here  is  a  strange  and  unusual  expression  as  applied  to  God. 
We  turn  to  Shakespeare  and  we  find  it  repeated: 

The  fingers  of  the  powers  above  do  tune 
The  harmony  of  this  peace.6 

And  we  find  the  word  finger  repeatedly  used  by  Shakespeare  in 

a  figurative  sense: 

How  the  devil  luxury,  with  his  potato  finger,  tickles  these  two  together.7 

No  man's  pie  is  freed 
From  his  ambitious  finger.* 

1  Hamlet,  V,  2.  4  Lear,  iv,  6.  7  Trotlus  and  Cressida.  v,  -, , 

12 1st  Henry  VI.,  iv,  5.  5  Hamlet,  iii,  1.  8  Henry  I'll!.,  i,  1.  « 

3  Ibid.,  ii,  5.  6  Cymbeline,  v,  5. 


330  PARALLELISMS. 

They  are  not  as  a  pipe  for  fortune's  finger, 
To  sound  what  stop  she  please.1 

He  shall  not  knit  a  knot  in  his  fortunes  with  the  finger  of  my  substance.2 


And    the  word   utter^  as  applied  to   the  putting  out  of  music,  is 

also  found  in  the  same  scene: 

These  cannot  I  command  to  any  utterance  of  harmony: 
I  have  not  the  skill.3 

Bacon  says  that  the  soul 

Sometimes  takes  soil  in  an  imperfect  body,  and  so  is  slackened  from  showing 
her  wonders;  like  an  excellent  musician  which  cannot  titter  himself  upon  a  defective 
instrument. 

This  thought  is  very  poetical.  Shakespeare  has  a  similar  con- 
ception: 

How  sour  sweet  music  is 
When  time  is  broke,  and  no  proportion  kept ! 
So  is  it  in  the  music  of  our  lives.* 

The  comparison  of  a  man  to  a  musical  instrument  lies  at  the 

base  of  the  great  scene  in  Hamlet : 

Why,  look  you  now,  how  unworthy  a  thing  you  make  of  me.  You  would  play 
upon  me;  you  would  seem  to  know  my  stops;  you  would  pluck  out  the  heart  of 
my  mystery;  you  would  sound  me  from  my  lowest  note  to  the  top  of  my  compass; 
and  there  is  much  music,  excellent  voice,  in  this  little  organ;  yet  cannot  you  make 
it  speak.     'Sblood,  do  you  think  I  am  easier  to  be  played  upon  than  a  pipe  ?5 

Says  Bacon: 

Nor  desire  any  greater  place  than  the  front  of  good  opinion. 

Shakespeare  has: 

The  very  head  and  front  of  my  offending 
Hath  this  extent,  no  more.6 

Says  Bacon: 

I  should  not  be  earnest  to  see  the  evening  of  my  age;  that  extremity  of  itself 
being  a  disease,  and  a  mere  return  unto  infancy. 

Speaking  in  sonnet  lxxiii  of  his  own  age,  Shakespeare  says: 

In  me  thou  seest  the  twilight  of  such  day, 

As  after  sunset  fadeth  in  the  west, 
Which  by  and  by  black  night  doth  take  away. 

Bacon  says: 

The  extremity  of  age. 

1  Hamlet,  iii,  2.  *  Hamlet,  iii,  2.  *  Hamlet,  iii,  2. 

9  Merry  Wives 0/ Windsor,  ii,  1.  *  Richard  II.,  v,  5.  fi  Othello,  i,  3. 


IDENTICAL   EXPRESSIONS.  33, 

Shakespeare  has  it,  speaking  of  old  age: 

Oh!  time's  extremity, 
Hast  thou  so  cracked  and  splitted  my  poor  tongue.1 

And  again  he  says: 

The  middle  of  youth  thou  never  knowest,  but  the  extremity  of  both  ends.-2 

Says  Bacon: 

A  mere  return  unto  infancy. 

Shakespeare  says: 

Last  scene  of  all, 
That  ends  this  strange,  eventful  history, 
Is  second  childishness  and  mere  oblivion.3 

Says  Bacon: 

Mine  eyes  begin  to  discharge  their  watch. 

Shakespeare  says: 

Care  keeps  his  watch  in  every  old  man's  eye.4 

Says  Bacon: 

For  a  time  of  perpetual  rest. 

Says  Shakespeare: 

Like  obedient  subjects,  follow  him 
To  his  new  kingdom  of  perpetual  rest} 

I.     Conclusions. 

This  is  certainly  a  most  remarkable  series  of  coincidences  of 
thought  and  expressions;  and,  as  I  said  before,  they  occur  not  in 
the  ordinary  words  of  our  language,  the  common  bases  of  speech, 
without  which  we  cannot  construct  sentences  or  communicate  with 
each  other,  but  in  unusual,  metaphorical,  poetical  thoughts;  or  in 
ordinary  words  employed  in  extraordinary  and  figurative  senses. 

Thus  it  is  nothing  to  find  Bacon  and  Shakespeare  using  such 
words  as  day  and  dead,  but  it  is  very  significant  when  we  find  both 
writers  using  them  in  connection  with  the  same  curious  and 
abstruse  thought,  to-wit:  that  individuals  metaphorically  die  daily. 
So  the  use  of  the  word  blood  by  both  proves  nothing,  for  they  could 
scarcely  have  written  for  any  length  of  time  without  employing  it; 
but   when   we  find   it   used    by  both   authors    in   the   sense  of   the 

1  Comedy  of  Errors,  v,  i.  4  Romeo  and  Juliet,  ii,  3. 

8  Timoti  0/  Athens,  iv,  3.  s  Richard  III.%  ii,  2. 

8  A s  You  Like  It,  ii,  7. 


.33* 


PARALLELISMS. 


essential  principle  of  a  thing,  as  the  blood  of  virtue,  the  blood  of 
malice,  it  is  more  than  a  verbal  coincidence:  it  proves  an  identity 
in  the  mode  of  thinking.  So  the  occurrence  in  both  of  the  words 
death  and  banquet  means  nothing;  but  the  expression,  a  banquet  of 
death,  a  feast  of  death,  is  a  poetical  conception  of  an  unusual  char- 
acter. The  words  soul  and  shake,  and  even  shuffle,  might  be  found 
in  the  writings  of  all  Bacon's  contemporaries,  but  we  will  look  in 
vain  in  any  of  them,  except  Shakespeare,  for  a  description  of  death 
as  the  shaking  off  of  the  flesh,  or  the  shuffling  off  of  the  mortal  coil, 
to-wit,  the  flesh. 

To  my  mind  there  is  even  more  in  these  resemblances  of  modes 
of  thought,  which  indicate  the  same  construction  and  constitution 
of  the  mind,  and  the  same  way  of  receiving  and  digesting  and  put- 
ting forth  a  fact,  not  as  a  mere  bare,  dead  fact,  but  enrobed  and 
enfleshed  in  a  vital  metaphor,  than  in  the  similarity  of  thoughts, 
such  as  our  crying  when  we  come  into  the  world,  and  the  return  of 
man  in  old  age  to  mere  infancy  and  second  childishness;  for  these 
are  things  which,  if  once  heard  from  the  stage,  might  have  been 
perpetuated  in  such  a  mind  as  that  of  Bacon. 

This  essay  Of  Death  is  entirely  Shakespearean.  There  is  the 
same  interfusing  of  original  and  profound  thought  with  fancy;  the 
same  welding  together  of  the  thing  itself  and  the  metaphor  for  it; 
the  same  affluence  and  crowding  of  ideas;  the  same  compactness  and 
condensation  of  expression;  the  same  forcing  of  common  words  into 
new  meanings;  and  above  all,  the  same  sense  of  beauty  and  poetry. 

Observe,  for  instance,  that  comparison  of  the  soul  shut  up  in  an 
imperfect  body,  trying,  like  an  excellent  musician,  to  utter  itself 
upon  a  defective  instrument.  What  could  be  more  beautiful  ?  See 
the  picture  of  the  despairful  widows,  deposed  kings  and  pensive 
prisoners,  who  sit  in  darkness,  burdened  with  grief  and  irons,  on 
the  shore  of  Death,  waving  their  hands  to  the  grim  tyrant  to  draw 
near,  watching  for  the  coming  of  his  star,  as  the  wise  men  looked  for 
the  coming  of  the  star  of  Bethlehem,  and  wooing  the  remorseless 
sisters  three  to  break  them  off  before  the  hour.  Or  note  the  pathos 
of  that  comparison  (bearing  most  melancholy  application  to  Bacon's 
own  fate)  where  he  says: 

Who  can  see  worse  days  than  he  that,  while  yet  living,  doth  follow  at  the 
funeral  of  his  own   reputation? 


IDENTICAL    EXPRESSIONS.  333 

And  in  the  craving  for  a  period  of  ik  perpetual  rest,"  which 
shows  itself  all  through  this  essay,  we  catch  a  glimpse  of  the 
melancholy  which  overwhelmed  the  soul  of  him  who  cried  outr, 
through  the  mouth  of  Hamlet: 

Oh,  that  this  too,  too  solid  flesh  would  melt, 
Thaw  and  resolve  itself  into  a  dew  ! 
Or  that  the  Everlasting  had  not  fixed 
His  canon  'gainst  self-slaughter. 

All  through  the  essay  it  seems  to  be  more  than  prose.  From 
beginning  to  end  it  is  a  mass  of  imagery:  it  is  poetry  without 
rhythm.  Like  a  great  bird  which  as  it  starts  to  fly  runs  for  a  space 
along  the  ground,  beating  the  air  with  its  wings  and  the  earth  with 
its  feet,  so  in  this  essay  we  seem  to  see  the  pinions  of  the  poet 
constantly  striving  to  lift  him  above  the  barren  limitations  of 
prose  into  the  blue  ether  of  untrammeled  expression.  It  comes  to 
us  like  the  rude  block  out  of  which  he  had  carved  an  exquisite 
statue  full  of  life  and  grace,  to  be  inserted  perchance  in  some 
drama,  even  as  we  find  another  marvelous  essay  on  death  inter- 
jected into  Measure  for  Measure.1 

II.     The  Style  of  a  Barren  Mind. 

As  a  means  of  comparison  and  as  an  illustration  of  the  wide 
difference  between  human  brains,  I  insert  the  following  letter  from 
Lord  Coke,  who  lived  in  the  same  age  as  Bacon,  and  was,  like  him, 
a  lawyer,  a  statesman,  a  courtier  and  a  politician. 

Bacon's  language  overruns  with  flowers  and  verdure:  it  is  liter- 
ally buried,  obscured  and  darkened  by  the  very  efflorescence  of 
his  fancy  and  his  imagination.  Coke  speaks  the  same  English 
tongue  in  the  same  period  of  development,  but  his  thoughts  are  as 
bare,  as  hard,  as  soulless  and  as  homely  as  an  English  work-house, 
in  the  midst  of  a  squalid  village-common,  a  mile  distant  from  a 
flower  or  a  blade  of  grass.  When  we  read  the  utterances  of  the 
two  men  we  are' reminded  of  that  amusing  scene,  depicted  by  the 
humorous  pen  of  Mark  Twain,  where  Scotty  Briggs  and  the  village 
parson  carry  on  a  conversation  in  which  neither  can  understand 
a  word  the  other  says,  though  both  speak  the  same  tongue;  illus- 
trating that  in   the  same  language  there    may  be   many  dialects 

1  Act  iii,  scene  1. 


j  34  PARALLELISMS. 

separated  as  widely  from  each  other  as  French  from  German,  and 
depending  for  their  character  on  the  mental  constitution  of  the 
men  who  use  them.  The  speech  of  an  English  "navvy"  does  not 
differ  more  from  the  language  of  Tennyson's  Morte  d1  Arthur  than 
do  the  writings  of  Coke  from  those  of  Bacon.  It  will  puzzle  our 
readers  to  find  a  single  Shakespeareanism  of  thought  or  expression 
in  a  whole  volume  of  Coke's  productions. 

The  Humble  and  Direct  Answer  to  the  Last  Question  Arising  upon  Bagg's 

Case. 

It  was  resolved,  that  to  this  court  of  the  King's  bench  belongeth  authority  not 
only  to  correct  errors  in  judicial  proceedings,  but  other  errors  and  misdemeanors 
tending  to  the  breach  of  the  peace,  or  oppression  of  the  subjects,  or  to  the  raising 
of  faction  or  other  misgovernment:  so  that  no  wrong  or  injury,  either  public  or 
private,  can  be  done,  but  it  shall  be  reformed  and  punished  by  law. 

Being  commanded  to  explain  myself  concerning  these  words,  and  principally 
concerning  this  word,  "misgovernment," — 

I  answer  that  the  subject-matter  of  that  case  concerned  the  misgovernment  of 
the  mayors  and  other  the  magistrates  of  Plymouth. 

And  I  intended  for  the  persons  the  misgovernment  of  such  inferior  magistrates 
for  the  matters  in  committing  wrong  or  injury,  either  public  or  private,  punishable 
bylaw,  and  therefore  the  last  clause  was  added,  "and  so  no  wrong  or  injury, 
either  public  or  private,  can  be  dene,  but  it  shall  be  reformed  and  punished  by 
law;"  and  the  rule  is:   "  verba  inteliigenda  sunt  secundum  subjectam  materiam." 

And  that  they  and  other  corporations  might  know,  that  factions  and  other  mis- 
governments  amongst  them,  either  by  oppression,  bribery,  unjust  disfranchise- 
ments, or  other  wrong  or  injury,  public  or  private,  are  to  be  redressed  and  punished 
by  law,  it  was  so  reported. 

But  if  any  scruple  remains  to  clear  it,  these  words  may  be  added,  "  by  inferior 
magistrates,"  and  so  the  sense  shall  be  by  faction  or  misgovernment  of  inferior 
magistrates,  so  as  no  wrong  or  injury,  etc. 

All  which  I  most  humbly  submit  to  your  Majesty's  princely  judgment. 

Edw.  Coke. 

Now  it  may  be  objected  that  this  paper  is  upon  a  dry  and  grave 
subject,  and  that  Bacon  would  have  written  it  in  much  the  same 
style.  But  if  the  reader  will  look  back  at  the  quotations  I  have 
made  from  Bacon,  in  the  foregoing  pages,  he  will  find  that  many 
of  them  are  taken  from  his  law  papers  and  court  charges,  and  his 
weighty  philosophical  writings,  and  yet  they  are  fairly  alive  with 
fancy,  metaphor  and  poetry. 


CHAPTER    II. 
1 1)  EX  TIC  A  L    ME  TA  PHORS. 

Touchstone.     For  ail  your  writers  do  consent,  that  ipse  is  he; 

Now  you  are  not  ipse,  for  I  am  he. 

William.     Which  he,  sir?  A*  You  Like  ft,  v,  I. 

BOTH  Bacon  and  Shakespeare  reasoned  by  analogy.  When- 
ever their  thoughts  encountered  an  abstruse  subject,  they 
compared  it  with  one  plain  and  familiar;  whenever  they  sought  to 
explain  mental  and  spiritual  phenomena,  they  paralleled  them  with 
physical  phenomena;  whenever  they  would  render  clear  the  lofty 
and  great,  they  called  up  before  the  mind's  vision  the  humble  and 
the  insignificant.  All  thoughts  ran  in  parallel  lines;  no  thought 
stood  alone.  Hence  the  writings  of  both  are  a  mass  of  similes  and 
comparisons, 

I.     Humble  and  Base  Things  Used  as  Comparisons. 

We  have  seen  that  Bacon  and  his  double  were  both  philoso- 
phers, and  especially  natural  philosophers,  whose  observation  took 
in  "  the  hyssop  on  the  wall,  as  well  as  the  cedar  of  Libanus;  "  and 
when  we  come  to  consider  their  identity  of  comparisons,  we  shall 
find  in  both  a  tendency  to  use  humble  and  even  disgusting  things 
as  a  basis  of  metaphor. 

We  shall  see  that  Bacon  was  always  "  puttering  in  physic,"  and 
we  find  Shakespeare  constantly  using  medical  terms  and  facts  in 
his  poetry. 

We  find,  for  instance,  that  both  compared  the  driving-out  of 
evil  influences,  in  the  state  or  mind,  to  the  effect  of  purgative  medi- 
cines. 

Bacon  says: 

The  King  .  .  .  thought  ...  to  proceed  with  severity  against  some  of  the 
principal  conspirators  here  within  the  realm;  thereby  to  purge  the  ill  humors  in 
Flngland.1 

And  again: 

Some  of  the  garrison  observing  this,  and  having  not  their  minds  purged  of  the 
late  ill  blood  of  hostility.2 

tory  of  Henry  VII.  '2  Ibid. 

335 


3^6  PARALLELISMS. 

And  again: 

But  as  in  bodies  very  corrupt  the  medicine  rather  stirreth  and  exasperateth 
the  humor  than  pitrgeth  it,  so  some  turbulent  spirits  laid  hold  of  this  proceeding 
toward  my  lord,  etc.1 

While  Shakespeare  says: 

I 
Do  come  with  words  as  medicinal  as  true; 
Honest  as  either;  to  purge  him  of  that  humor 
That  presses  him  from  sleep.2 


And  again: 

And  again: 
And  again: 

Bacon  says: 


Blood  hath  been  shed  ere  now,  i'  the  olden  time, 
Ere  human  statute  pureed  the  gentle  weal.3 


Would  purge  the  land  of  these  drones.4 


And,  for  the  day,  confined  to  fast  in  fires, 

Till  the  foul  crimes   done  in  my  days  of  nature, 

Are  burnt  and  purged  away.5 


Sometimes  opening  the  obstructions* 
Shakespeare  says: 

Purge  the  obstructions."1 

And  the  same  thought  occurs  in  different  language. 

Bacon  says: 

And  so  this  traitor  Essex  made  his  color  the  scouring  of  some  noblemen  and 
counselors  from  her  Majesty's  favor. 

In  Shakespeare  we  have: 

What  rhubarb,  senna,  or  what  purgative  drug 
Will  scour  these  English  hence?8 

The  comparison  of  men  and  things  to  bodily  sores  is  common 
in  both  —  an  unusual  trait  of  expression  in  an  elevated  mind  and  a 
poet;  but  it  was  part  of  Bacon's  philosophy  "  that  most  poor  things 
point  to  rich  ends." 

Bacon  says: 

Augustus  Csesar,  out  of  great  indignation  against  his  two  daughters  and  Posthu- 
mus  Agrippa,  his  grandchild,  whereof  the  first  two  were  infamous,  and  the  last 

'Report  of  Judicial  Proceed-  3  Macbeth,  iv,  3.  *  History  of  Henry  I'll. 

ings  at  York  House.  4  Pericles,  ii,  1.  7  zd  Henry  IV. ,  iv,  1. 

2  Winter's  Tale,  ii,  3.  6  Hamlet,  i,  5.  8  Macbeth,  v,  3. 


IDENTICAL   METAPHORS.  337 

otherwise  unworthy,  would  say  "  that  they  were  not  his  seed,  but  some  imposthumes 
that  had  broken  from  him."1 

And  again  he  says: 

Should  a  man  have  them  to  be  slain  by  his  vassals,  as  the  posthumus  of  Alex- 
ander the  Great  was  ?  Or  to  call  them  his  imposlhumes,  as  Augustus  Caesar  called 
his?'2 

While  in  Shakespeare  we  have: 

This  is  the  impost hume  of  much  wealth  and  peace, 
That  inward  breaks,  and  shows  no  cause  without 
Why  the  man  dies.5 

And  we  find  precisely  the  same  thought  in  Bacon: 

He  that  turneth  the  humors  back  and  maketh  the  wound  bleed  inwards,  ingen- 
dereth  malign  ulcers  and  pernicious  i  mposthumations  .x 

We  have  a  whole  body  of  comparisons  of  things  governmental 

to  these  ulcers,  in  their  different  stages  of  healing. 

Bacon  says: 

We  are  here  to  search  the  wounds  of  the  realm,  not  to  skin  them  over.5 

Spain  having  lately,  with  much  difficulty,  rather  smoothed  and  skinned  over 
than  healed  and  extinguished  the  commotion  of  Aragon.6 

Shakespeare  says: 

A  kind  of  medicine  in  itself 
That  skins  the  vice  o'  the  top.1 

Mother,  for  love  of  grace, 
Lay  not  that  flattering  unction  to  your  soul, 
That  not  your  trespass,  but  my  madness  speaks: 
It  will  but  skin  and  film  the  ulcerous  place ; 
While  rank  corruption,  mining  all  within, 
Infects  unseen.8 

And  even  this  curious  word  mining  we  find  in  Bacon  used  in  the 

same  figurative  sense: 

To  search  and  mint  into  that  which  is  not  revealed.9 

And  we  find  this  same  inward  infection  referred  to  in  Bacon: 

A  profound  kind  of  fallacies,  ...  the  force  whereof  is  such  as  it  .  .  .  doth 
more  generally  and  inwardly  infect  and  corrupt.10 

And  then  we  have  in  both  the  use  of  the  word  canker  or  cancer 
as  a  source  of  comparison: 

1  Apophthegms.  «  Observations    on    a    Libel  —  Life   and 

2  Discourse  in  Praise  of  the  Queen  —  Life  Works,  vol.  i,  p.  162. 

and  Works,  vol.  i,  p.  140.  7  Measure  for  Measure,  ii,  2. 

3  Hamlet,  iv,  4.  e  Hamlet,  iii,  4. 

4  Essay  Of  Sedition.  9  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  i. 
6  Speech  in  Parliament.  10  Ibid.,  book  ii. 


338  PA  RA  LLELISMS. 

Bacon: 


Shakespeare: 


The  canker  of  epitomes.1 

The  cankers  of  a  calm  world  and  a  long  peace.2 
Banish  the  canker  of  ambitious  thoughts. :! 
This  canker  of  our  nature.4 
This  canker,  Bolingbroke.5 

Out  of  this  tendency  to  dwell  upon  physical  ills,  and  the  cure  of 
them,  we  find  both  coining  a  new  verb,  medicining,  or  to  medicine. 

Bacon: 

The  medicining  of   the  mind.6 
Again : 

Let  the  balm  distill  everywhere,  from  your  sovereign  hands  to  the  medicining 
of  any  part  that  complaineth.1 

Shakespeare  says: 

Great  griefs,  I  see,  medicine  the  less.8 

Not  poppy,  nor  mandragora, 
Nor  all  the  drowsy  sirups  of  the  world, 
Shall  ever  medicine  thee  to  that  sweet  sleep, 
Which  thou  owedst  yesterday.9 

We  find  the  same  tendency  in  both  to  compare  physical  ills 
with  mental  ills,  the  thing  tangible  with  the  thing  intangible. 
Bacon: 

We  know  diseases  of  stoppings  and  suffocations  are  the  most  dangerous  in  the 
body;  and  it  is  not  much  otherwise  in  the  mind:  you  may  take  sarsa  to  open  the 
liver,  steel  to  open  the  spleen,  flour  of  sulphur  for  the  lungs,  castareum  for  the 
brain;  but  no  receipt  openeth  the  heart  but  a  true  friend,  to  whom  you  may  impart 
griefs,  joys,  fears,  hopes,  suspicions,  counsels  and  whatsoever  lieth  upon  the  heart 
to  oppress  it. 10 

You  shall  know  what  disease  your  mind  is  aptest  to  fall  into.11 
Good  Lord,  Madam,  how  wisely  and  aptly  you  can  speak  and  discern  of  physic 
ministered  to  the  body,  and  consider  not  that  there  is  the  like  occasion  of  physic 
ministered  to  the  mind.n 

We  turn  to  Shakespeare,  and  we  find  him  indulging  in  the  same 
kind  of  comparisons.     In  Macbeth  we  have: 

1  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii.  8  Cymbeline,  iv,  2. 

2  ist  Henry  IV.,  iv,  2.  9  Othelto,  Hi,  3. 

3  2d  Henry  VI.,  i,  2.     •  10  Essay  Of  Friendship. 

*  Hamlet,  v,  2.  IJ  Bacon's  Letter  to  the  Earl  of  Rutland,  written 

3  ist  Henry  IV.,  i,  3.  in  the  name  of  the  Earl  of  Essex  —  Life  and 

6  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii.  Works,  vol.  ii,  p.  9. 

7  Gesta  Grayorum  —  Life  and  12  Apology. 

Works,  vol.  i,  p.  339. 


IDENTICAL   METAPHORS.  339 

Macbeth.     How  does  your  patient,  doctor? 
Doctor.     Not  so  sick,  my  lord. 
As  she  is  troubled  with  thick-coming  fancies 
That  keep  her  from  her  rest. 

Macbeth.  Cure  her  of  that: 

Canst  thou  not  minister  to  a  mind  diseased. 
Pluck  from  the  memory  a  rooted  sorrow. 
Raze  out  the  written  troubles  of  the  brain; 
And,  with  some  sweet  oblivious  antidote, 
Cleanse  the  stuffed  bosom  of  that  perilous  stuff 
Which  weighs  upon  the  heart  f 

Doctor.  Therein  the  patient 

Must  minister  to  himself.1 

In  both  these  extracts  the  stoppages  and  "suffocations"  of  the 
body  are  compared  to  the  stuffed  condition  of  the  mind  and  heart; 
in  both  the  heart  is  thus  oppressed  by  that  which  lies  upon  it;  in  both 
we  are  told  that  there  is  no  medicine  that  can  relieve  the  over- 
charged spirit. 

Malcolm  says: 

Be  comforted. 
Let's  make  us  tued'eines  of  our  great  revenge, 
To  cure  this  deadly  grief.'2 

II.     The  Organs  of  the  Body  Used  as  a  Basis  of  Com- 
parison. 

We  turn  to  another  class  of  comparisons.  In  both  writers  we  find 
the  organs  of  the  body  used  as  a  basis  of  metaphor,  just  as  we  have 
seen  the  "  medicining"  of  the  body  applied  to  the  state  of  the 
mind. 

Every  reader  of  Shakespeare  remembers  that  strange  expression 

in  Richard  III.: 

Thus  far  into  the  bowels  of  the  land 
Have  we  marched  without  impediment/1 

We  find  the  same  comparison  often  repeated: 

Into  the  bowels  of  the  battle.4 

The  bowels  of  ungrateful  Rome.5 

The  fatal  bowels  of  the  deep.6 
And  we  find  Bacon  employing  the  same  strange  metaphor: 
This  fable  is  wise  and  seems  to  be  taken  out  of  the  bowels  of  morality." 

1  Macbeth,  V,  3.  3  Richard  III.,  v,  2.  5  Coriolanns,  iv,  5. 

2  Ibid.,  iv,  3.  */st  Henry  VI.y  i,  1.  6  Richard  III.,  iii,  4. 

7  Wisdom  of  the  Ancients — Juno's  Suitor. 


340 


PARALLELISMS. 


If  any  state  be  yet  free  from  his  factions,  erected  in  the  bowels  thereof.1 
Speaking  of  the   fact   that  earthquakes  affecting  a  small   area 

reach   but  a  short  distance   into  the  earth.   Bacon  observes  that, 

where  they  agitate  a  wider  area, 

We  are  to  suppose  that  their  bases  and   primitive   seats   enter  deeper  into  the 
bowels  of  the  earth} 

This  is  precisely  the  expression  used  by  Hotspur: 

Villainous  saltpeter  dug  out  of  the  bowels  of  the  harmless  earth} 

And  this   comparison   of  the  earth   to  the  stomach,  and   of  an 

earthquake  to  something  which  disturbs  it,  we  find  in  Shakespeare: 

Diseased  nature  oftentimes  breaks  forth 
In  strange  eruptions:  oft  the  teeming  earth 
Is  with  a  kind  of  colic  pinched  and  vexed 
By  the  imprisoning  of  unruly  wind 
Within  her  womb.4 

And  we  find   the   processes  of   the    stomach,    in    both    sets   of 
writings,  applied  to  mental  operations: 
Shakespeare  says: 

How  shall  we  stretch  our  eye 
When  capital  crimes,  chewed,  swallowed  and  digested, 
Appear  before  us?5 

Bacon  says: 

Some  books  are  to  be  tasted,  others  to  be  swallowed,  and   some   few  to  be 
chewed and  digested} 

In  both  we  find  the  human  body  compared  to  a  musical   instru- 
ment. 

Bacon  says: 

The  office  of  medicine  is  to  tune  this  curious  harp  of  man's  body  and  reduce  it 
to  harmony.7 

In  Shakespeare,  Pericles  tells  the  Princess: 

You're  a  fair  viol,  and  your  sense  the  strings, 
Who,  fingered  to  make  man  his  lawful  music, 
Would  draw  heaven  down  and  all  the  gods  to  hearken. * 

And  the  strings  of  the  harp  furnish  another  series  of  compari- 
sons to  both.     Bacon  says: 

They  did  strike  upon  a  string  that  was  more  dangerous.9 

1  Discourse  in  Praise  of  the  Queen  —  Life  5  Henry  V„  ii,  2. 

and  Works,  vol.  i,  p.  137.  «  Essay  Of  Studies. 

2  Nature  of  Things.  7  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii. 
3 1st  Henry  IV.,  i,  3.  °  Pericles,  i,  1. 

4  Ibid.,  iii,  1.  ^History  of  Henry  I  'II. 


IDENTICAL   METAPHORS.  34I 


And  again 


The  King  was  much  moved,  .  .  .  because  it  struck  upon  that  string  which  even 
he  most  feared.1 

And  Shakespeare  says: 

Harp  not  on  that  string,  madam.'2 

And  again: 

I  would  'twere  something  that  would  fret  the  string, 
The  master-cord  on  's  heart.3 

And  the  word  harping  is  a  favorite  with  both.     Bacon  says: 

This  string  you  cannot  harp  upon  too  much.4 

And  again: 

Harping  upon  that  which  should  follow."1 

And  in  Shakespeare  we  have: 

Still  harping  on  my  daughter.6 

Harping  on  what  I  am, 
Not  what  he  knew  I  was.7 

Thou  hast  harped  my  fear  aright." 

We  have  the  disorders  of  the  body  of  man  also  made  a  source 
of  comparison  for  the  disorders  of  the  mind,  in  the  following 
instance. 

Bacon: 

High  conceits  do  sometimes  come  streaming  into  the  minds  and  imaginations 
of  base  persons,  especially  when  they  are  drunk  with  news,  and  talk  of  the  people.9 

Shakespeare: 

Was  the  hope  drunk 
Wherein  you  dressed  yourself?1" 

What  !  drunk  with  choler?11 

Hath  our  intelligence  been  drunk?1* 
Here  we  have  drunkenness  applied  to  the  affections  and  emo- 
tions—  to  the  mind  in  the  one  case,  to  the  intelligence  in  the  other; 
to  the  imagination  in  the  first  instance,  to  the  hope  and  the  temper 
in  the  last. 

We  have  the  joints  of  the  body  used  by  both  to  express  the  con- 
dition of  public  affairs. 

1  History  of  Henry  VII.  7  A  ntony  and  Cleopatra,  Hi,  3. 

3  Richard  III.,  iv,  4.  ■  Macbeth,  iv,  1. 

3  Henry  I'll  I. ,  iii,  2.  9  History  of  Henry  I  'II. 

4  Letter  to  Essex,  Oct.  4,  1596.  I0  Macbeth,  i,  7. 

5  Civil  Con?:  u  1st  Henry  IV.,  i,  3. 
■  Hamlet,  ii.  2.  12  King  John,  iv,  2. 


:>4- 


PARALLEL]  SMS. 


Bacon  says: 


We  do  plainly  see  in  the  most  countries  of  Christendom  so  unsound  and 
shaken  an  estate,  as  desireth  the  help  of  some  great  person,  to  set  together  and 
join  again  the  pieces  asunder  and  out  of  joint} 

In  Shakespeare  we  have  Hamlet's  exclamation,  also  applied  to 
the  condition  of  the  country: 

The  time  is  out  of  joint  —  Oh,  cursed  spite, 
That  ever  I  was  born  to  set  it  right.2 

We  have  the  body  of  man  made  the  basis  of  another  compari- 
son. 

Bacon  says: 

The  very  springs  and  sinews  of  industry.3 

We  should  intercept  his  [the  King  of  Spain's]  treasure,  whereby  we  shall  cut 
his  sinews* 

While  Shakespeare  says: 

The  portion  and  sinew  of  her  fortune.5 

Nay,  patience,  or  we  break  the  sinews  of  our  plot.6 

The  noble  sinews  of  our  power,7 

We  have  the  same  comparison  applied  to  the  blood-vessels  of 

the  body. 

Bacon: 

He  could  not  endure  to  have  trade  sick,  nor  any  obstruction  to  continue  in  the 
gate-vein  which  disperseth  that  blood.8 

Shakespeare: 

The  natural  gates  and  alleys  of  the  body.9 

We  have  in  both  the  comparison  of  the  body  of  man  to  a  taber- 
nacle or  temple  in  which  the  soul  or  mind  dwells. 
Bacon  says: 

Thus  much  for  the  body,  which  is  but  the  tabernacle  of  the  mind.10 
Shakespeare  says: 

Nothing  vile  can  dwell  in  such  a  temple. n 

1  Of  the  State  of  Europe.  7  Henry  /".,  i,  2. 

8  Hamlet,  i,  5.  8  History  0/  Henry  I  'II. 

8  Novum  Organum ,  book  i.  '  Hamlet,  i,  5. 

*  Letter  to  Essex,  June,  1596.  10  Advancement  of  Learning  book  ii. 
6  Measure  for  Measure,  iii,  j.  n  Tempest,  i,  2. 

•  Twelfth  Night,  il,  5. 


IDENTICAL    METAPHORS.  343 

And  again: 

For  nature,  crescent,  does  not  grow  alone 
In  thews  and  bulk;  but,  as  this  temple  waxes, 
The  inward  service  of  the  mind  and  soul 
Grows  wide  withal.1 

Oh,  that  deceit  should  dwell 
In  such  a  gorgeous  palace} 

Even  the  clothing  which  covers  the  body  becomes  a  medium  of 
comparison  in  both. 

Bacon: 

Behavior  seemeth  to  me  as  a  garment  of  the  mind.* 

This  curious  idea,  of  robing  the  mind  in  something  which  shall 

cover  or  adorn  it,  is  used  by  Shakespeare: 

With  purpose  to  be  dressed  in  an  opinion 
Of  wisdom.4 

And  dressed  myself  in  such  humility* 

Was  the  hope  drunk  wherein  you  dressed  yourself?6 

And  the  same  thought  occurs  in  the  following: 

The  garment  of  rebellion.7 
Dashing  the  garment  of  this  peace.8 

Part  of  the  raiment  of  the  body  is  used  by  both  as  a  comparison 
for  great  things. 
Bacon: 

The  motion  of  the  air  in  great  circles,  such  as  are  under  the  girdle  of  the  7vorld.* 

Shakespeare  says: 

Puck.      I'll  put  a  girdle  round  about  the  earth 
In  forty  minutes.10 

We  have  said  that  both  writers  were  prone  to  use  humble  and 
familiar  things  as  a  basis  of  comparison  for  immaterial  and  great 
things.     We  find  some  instances  in  the  following  extracts. 

The  blacksmith's  shop  was  well  known  to  both.     Bacon  says: 
There  is  shaped  a  tale  in  London's  forge  that  beateth  apace  at  this  time.'1 

1  Hamlet,  i,  3.  •  Macbeth,  i,  7. 

2  Romeo  and  Juliet,  iii,  2.  7  1st  Henry  IV.,  v,  1. 
8  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii.  8  Henry  VIII,  i,  1. 

4  Merchant  of  Venice,  i,  1.  9  Natural  History,  §  398. 

6  1st  Henry  IV.,  iii,  2.  10  Midsummer  Night's  Drcavi,  ii,  2. 

11  Letter  to  Lord  Howard. 


344 


PA  KA  LLEL1SM  S. 


Shakespeare: 

Mrs.  Page.  Come,  to  the  forge  with  it,  then;  shape  it.  I  would  not  have 
things  cool.1 

Here  we  have  in  the  one  case  a  tale  shaped  in  the  forge ;  in  the 

other  a  plan  is  to  be  shaped  in  the  forge. 

And  again  we  have  in  Shakespeare: 

In  the  quick  forge  and  working-house  of  thought* 

I  should  make  very  forges  of  my  cheeks, 
That  would  to  cinders  burn  up  modesty.3 

Again  we  find  in  Bacon: 

Though  it  be  my  fortune  to  be  the  anvil  upon  which  these  good  effects  are 
beaten  and  wrought.4 

Speaking  of  Robert  Cecil,  Bacon  says: 

He  loved  to  have  all  business  under  the  hammer* 

And  this: 

He  stayed  for  a  better  hour  till  the  hammer  had  wrought  and  beat  the  party 
of  Britain  more  pliant.6 

While  in  Shakespeare  we  have: 

I  cannot  do  it,  yet  I'll  hammer  it  out 
Of  my  brain.7 

Whereupon  this  month  I  have  been  hammering* 

The  refuse  left  at  the  bottom  of  a  wine-cask  is  used  by  both 
metaphorically. 

Bacon: 

That  the  [Scotch]  King,  being  in  amity  with  him,  and  noways  provoked,  should 
so  burn  in  hatred  towards  him  as  to  drink  the  lees  and  dregs  of  Perkin's  intoxication, 
who  was  everywhere  else  detected  and  discarded.9 

And  again  Bacon  says: 

The  memory  of  King  Richard  lay  like  lees  in  the  bottom  of  men's  hearts;  and  if 
the  vessel  was  but  stirred  it  would  come  up.10 

And  Bacon  speaks  of 

The  dregs  of  this  age.11 

We  turn  to  Shakespeare  and  we  find: 

He,  like  a  puling  cuckold,  would  drink  up 
The  lees  and  dregs  of  a  flat,  tamed  piece.12 

1  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  iv,  2.  7  Richard  II.,  v,  5. 

2  Henry  V.,  v,  cho.  8  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  i,  3. 

3  Othello,  iv,  2.  »  History  of  Henry  VII. 

4  Letter  to  the  Lords.  10  Ibid. 

5  Letter  to  King  James,  1612.  n  Bacon    to   Queen   Elizabeth  —  Life    and 
6 History  of  Henry  I'll.  Works,  vol,  ii,  p.  160. 

12  Troilus  and  Cress i da.  iv,   1. 


Again: 

Again: 
Again: 


I  DEN  TIC  A  L   ME  T.  1 PHORS. 

All  is  but  toys;  renown  and  grace  is  dead; 
The  wine  of  life  is  drawn,  and  the  mere  lees 
Is  left  this  vault  to  brag  of.1 

Some  certain  dregs  of  conscience.'' 

The  dregs  of  the  storm  be  past.' 


345 


And  the  floating  refuse  which  rises  to  the  top  of  a  vessel  is  also 
used  in  the  same  sense  by  both. 
Bacon  speaks  of 

The  scum  of  the  people.4 
Again  : 

A  rabble  and  scum  of  desperate  people.5 
While  Shakespeare  says  : 

A  scum  of  Bretagnes  and  base  knaves.6 

Again: 

The  tilth  and  scum  ot  Kent.7 

Again: 

Froth  and  scum,  thou  liest.8 

Another  instance  of  the  use  of  humble  and  physical  things  as  a 
basis  of  comparison  in  the  treatment  of  things  intellectual  is  found 
in  the  following  curious  metaphor: 

Bacon: 

He  that  seeketh  victory  over  his  nature,  let  him  not  set  himself  too  great  or  too 
small  tasks,  .  .  .  and  at  the  first  let  him  practice  with  helps,  as  swimmers  do  with 
bladders.9' 

While  Shakespeare  has: 

I  have  ventured, 
Like  little  wanton  boys,  that  swim  on  bladders, 
This  many  summers  in  a  sea  of  glory.10 

The  people  are  compared  by  both  to  mastiffs. 

Bacon : 

The  blood  of  so  many  innocents  slain  within  their  own  harbors  and  nests  by 
the  scum  of  the  people,  who,  like  so  many  mastiffs,  were  let  loose,  and  heartened 
and  even  set  upon  them  by  the  state.11 

1  Macbeth,  ii,  3.  5  History  0/ Henry  VII.  9  Essay  Of  Nature  in  Men. 

2  Richard  III,  i,  4.  8  Richard  III.,  v,  2.  »°  Henry  VIII.,  iii,  2. 

3  Tempest,  ii,  2.  7  2d  Henry  VI.,  iv,  2.  "  Felic.  Queen  Elisabeth. 

4  Felic.  Queen  Elizabeth.  8  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor ,  i,  1. 


346  PARALLELISMS. 

While  Shakespeare  says: 

The  men  do  sympathize  with  their  mastiffs,  in  robustious  and  rough  coming-on.F 

We  will  see  hereafter  how  much  Bacon   loved  the  pursuit  of 

gardening. 

He  says: 

He  entered  into  due  consideration  how  to  weed  out  the  partakers  of  the  former 
rebellion.2 

Again: 

A  man's  nature  runs  either  to  herbs  or  weeds;  therefore  let  him  seasonably 
water  the  one  and  destroy  the  other.3 

While  Shakespeare  has: 

So  one  by  one  we'll  weed  them  all  at  last.4 

And  again: 

The  caterpillars  of  the  commonwealth. 
Which  I  have  sworn  to  weed  and  pluck  away.5 

The  mirror  is  a  favorite  comparison  in  both  sets  of  writings,  as 
usual  the  thing  familiar  and  physical  illustrating  the  thing 
abstruse  and  intellectual. 

Bacon  says: 

God  hath  framed  the  mind  of  man  as  a  mirror  or  glass  capable  of  the  image  of 
the  universal  world.6 


Shakespeare: 


Now  all  the  youth  of  England  are  on  fire,   .  . 
Following  the  mirror  of  all  Christian  kings.7 


Bacon 


That  which  I  have  propounded  to  myself  is  ...  to  shoiu  you  your  true  shape 
in  a  glass.9, 

Shakespeare  says  of  play-acting: 

Whose  end  both  at  the  first,  and  now,  was  and  is,  to  hold,  as  'twere,  the  mirror 
up  to  nature;  to  show  virtue  her  own  feature,  scorn  her  own  image,  and  the  very 
age  and  body  of  the  time  his  form  and  pressure.9 

Bacon  says: 

If  there  be  a  mirror  in  the  world  worthy  to  hold  men's  eyes,  it  is  that  country." 

1  Henry  V.,  iii,  7.  *  Advancement  0/ Learning,  book  i. 

3  History  0/  Henry  VII.  »  Henry  V.,  ii.  cho. 

3  Essay  Of  Nature  in  Men,  6  Letter  to  Coke. 

*  2d  Henry  VI.,  i,  3.  9  Hamlet,  iii ,  2. 

•  Richard  II.,  ii,  3.  J0  New  Atlantis. 


WYEXStTY 


try  J 


IDENTICAL    METAPHORS.  347 


Shakespeare  says: 

The  mirror  of  all  courtesy.1 

He  was,  indeed,  the  glass 
Wherein  the  noble  youth  did  dress  themselves.2 

Here  is  another  humble  comparison. 

Bacon: 

He  thought  it  [the  outbreak]  but  a  rag  or  remnant  of  Bosworth-field.3 

Shakespeare  says: 

Away  !  thou  rag;  thou  quantity,  thou  remnant.* 
Here  we  have  both  words,  rag  and  remnant,  used   figuratively,, 
and  used  in  the  same  order. 

Again: 

Thou  rag  of  honor.5 

Not  a  rag  of  money.6 

Both  writers  use  the  humble  habitation  of  the  hog  as  a  medium 

of  comparison. 

Bacon:  • 

Styed  up  in  the  schools  and  scholastic  cells.7 

Shakespeare: 

And  here  you  sty  me 
On  this  hard  rock.8 

Here  is  a  comparison  based  on  the  same  familiar 'facts. 

Bacon  speaks  of 

The  wisdom  of  rats  that  will  be  sure  to  leave  a  house  somewhat  before  it  fall . * 

Shakespeare  says: 

A  rotten  carcass  of  a  butt,  not  rigged, 
Nor  tackle,  sail,  nor  mast ;  the  very  rats 
Instinctively  have  quit  it.10 

The  habits  of  birds  are  called   into  requisition  by  both  writers. 

Bacon  says: 

In  her  withdrawing-chamber  the  conspiracy  against   King  Richard  the  Third 
had  been  hatched.™ 

Shakespeare  says: 

Dire  combustion  and  confused  events 
New  hatched  to  the  woeful  time.1'2 

1  Henry  VIII.,  ii,  1.  •  Richard  Iff,  i,  3.  9  Essay  Of  Wisdom. 

1 2d  Henry  IV.,  ii,  3.  K  Comedy  0/ Errors,  iv,  4.  ,0  Tempest,  i,  2. 

3  History  of  Henry  VII.  7  Xatural  History.  u  History  of  Henry  VII- 

4  Taming  of  the  Shrew,  iv,  3.  "  Tempest,  i,  2.  ,a  Macbeth,  ii,  3. 


348  PARALLELISMS. 

And  again 


Such  things  become  the  hatch  and  brood  of  time.1 

Bacon  says: 

Will  you  be  as  a  standing  pool,  that  spendeth  and  choketh  his  spring  within 
itself?2 

Shakespeare  says: 

There  are  a  sort  of  men  whose  visages 

Do  cream  and  mantle  like  a  standing  pond." 

Even  the  humble  wagon  forms  a  basis  of  comparison. 

Bacon  says: 

This  is  the  axle-tree  whereupon  I  have  turned  and  shall  turn.4 

And  again  Bacon  says: 

The  poles  or  axle-tree  of  heaven,  upon  which  the  conversion  is  accomplished.5 

Shakespeare  has: 

A  bond  of  air  strong  as  the  axle-tree 
On  which  heaven  rides.6 

In  the  following  another  comparison  is  drawn  from  an  humble 
source;  and  here,  as  in  rag  and  remnant,  not  only  is  the  same  word 
used  in  both,  but  the  same  combination  of  words  occurs. 

Bacon  says: 

To  reduce  learning  to  certain  empty  and  barren  generalities;  being  but  the 
very  husks  and  shells  of  sciences.7 

Shakespeare  says: 

But  the  shales  and  husks  of  men.8 

Strewed  with  the  husks 
And  formless  ruin  of  oblivion.9 

Who  can  forget  Hamlet's  exquisite  description  of  the  heavens: 
This  majestic  roof  fretted  with  golden  fire.10 

Few  have  stopped  to  ask  themselves  the  meaning  of  the  word 
fretted.  We  turn  to  the  dictionary  and  we  find  no  explanation  that 
satisfies  us.  We  go  to  Bacon,  to  the  mind  that  conceived  the 
thought,  and  we  find  that  it  means  ornamented  by  fret-work. 

1  2ci Henry  IV.,  iii,  i.  6  Troilus  and  Cress/da,  i,  3. 

,J  Gesta  Grayomm  —  Life  and  II  'or  As,  vol.  i,  p.  339.  7  .  idvancement  of  Learning,  book  ii. 

3  Merchant  of  J'enice,  i,  1.  s  Henry  I'.,  iv,  2. 

4  Letter  to  Earl  of  Essex,  1600.  '•'  Troilus  and  Cressida,  iv,  5. 
*  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii.  ,8  Hamlet,  ii,  :;. 


I  DEN  TIC  A  L   ME  1  A  PIJOK  S. 


349 


For  if  that  great  Work-master  had  been  of  a  human  disposition,  he  would  have 
cast  the  stars  into  some  pleasant  and  beautiful  works  and  orders,  like  the  frets  in 
the  roofs  of  houses.1 

Here  we  have  a  double  identity:  first,  the  heavens  are  compared 
to  the  roof  of  a  house,  or,  more  properly,  the  ceiling  of  a  room;  and 
secondly,  the  stars  are  compared  to  the  fret-work  which  adorns 
such  a  ceiling. 

It  would  be  very  surprising  if  all  this  came  out  of  two  separate 
minds. 

In  the  following  we  have  another  instance  of   two  words  used 

together  in  the  same  comparison. 
-    Bacon: 

We  set  j/aot/j  and  seals  of  our  own  images  upon  God's  creatures  and  works. - 
Shakespeare  makes  the  nurse  say  to   the  black  Aaron,  bringing 

him  his  child: 

The  empress  sends  it  thee,  thy  stamp,  thy  seal, 
And  bids  thee  christen  it  with  thy  dagger's  point.3 

And  again: 

Nay,  he  is  your  brother  by  the  surer  side, 
Although  my  seal  he.  stamped upon  his  face.4 

Here  we  have  precisely  the  same  thought:  Aaron  had  set  "the 
stamp  and  seal  of  his  own  image  "  on  his  offspring. 

We  find  in  both  the  mind  of  man  compared  to  a  fountain. 
Bacon  says: 

When  the  books  of  hearts  shall  be  opened,  I  hope  I  shall  not  be  found  to  have 
the  troubled  fountain  of  a  corrupt  heart* 

Again : 

He  [the  King  of  Spain]  hath  by  all  means  projected  to  trouble  the  waters  here/' 

And  again: 

One  judicial  and  exemplar  iniquity  doth  trouble  the  fountains  of  justice  more 
than  many  particular  injuries  passed  over  by  connivance.7 

Pope  Alexander  .   .   .  was  desirous  to  trouble  the  waters  in  Italy.8 
Shakespeare  says: 

A  woman  moved  is  like  a  fountain  troubled* 

»  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii.  *  Report    on    Dr.    Lopez'    Treason— Li/i 
*  Exfier.  History.  and  Works,  vol.  i,  p.  275. 

3  Titus  A  ndronictis,  iv,  2.  7  Advancement  of  Learnings  book  ii.. 

4  Ibid.  8  History  of  Henry  Irff. 

6  Letter  to  the  King.  •  Taming  of  the  Skrew,  \\  2. 


350  PARALLELISMS. 

My  mind  is  troubled  like  a  fountain  stirred.' 

But  if  he  start, 
It  is  the  flesh  of  a  corrupted  heart.1'1 

In  both  we  find  the  thoughts  and  emotions  of  a  man  compared 
to  the  coals  which  continue  to  live,  although  overwhelmed  by  mis- 
fortunes which  cover  them  like  ashes. 

Bacon  says: 

Whilst  I  live  my  affection  to  do  you  service  shall  remain  quick  under  the  ashes 
of  my  fortune.3 

And  again: 

So  that  the  sparks  of  my  affection  shall  ever  rest  quick,  under  the  ashes  of  my 
fortune,  to  do  you  service.4 

Shakespeare  says: 

Pr'ythee  go  hence, 
Or  I  shall  show  the  cinders  of  my  spirits, 
Through  the  ashes  of  my  chance.5 


Again : 
Again : 


The  breath  of  heaven  hath  blown  his  spirit  out, 
And  strew'd  repentant  ashes  on  his  head.6 


This  late  dissension,  grown  betwixt  the  peers, 
Burns  under  feigned  ashes  of  forged  love, 
And  will  at  last  break  out  into  aflame."1 

And  the  expression  in  the  above  quotation  from  Bacon: 

The  sparks  of  my  affection, 

is  paralleled  in  Shakespeare: 

Sparks  of  honor.8 

Sparks  of  life.9 

Sparks  of  nature.10 

We  find  in  both    the   state  or  kingdom  compared  to  a  ship,  and 
the  king  or  ruler  to  a  steersman. 

Bacon  says: 

Statesmen  and  such  as  sit  at  the  helms  of  great  kingdoms." 

In  Shakespeare  we  find    Suffolk   promising  Queen  Margaret  the 
control  of  the  kingdom  in  these  words: 

1  Troilus  and  Cressida,  iii,  3.  6  King  John,  iv,  1. 

5  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  v,  5.  7  1st  Henry  VI.,  iii,  1. 

1  Letter  to  the  Earl  of  Bristol.  e  Richard  II.,  vx  6. 

4  Letter  to  Lord  Viscount  Falkland.  '  Julius  Cczsar,  i,  3. 

*  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  v,  2.  10  Cymbeline,  iii,  3;  Lear,  iii,  7. 

n/'/7/r.  Queen  Elizabeth, 


And  again: 
And  again : 


IDENTICAL   METAPHORS, 

So,  one  by  one,  we'll  weed  them  all  at  last, 
And  you  yourself  shall  steer  the  happy  helm} 

God  and  King  Henry  govern  England's  helm.'1 


A  rarer  spirit  never 
Did  steer  humanitv.3 


35 


We  have  seen  Bacon  speaking,  in  a  speech  in  Parliament,  of 
those  "viperous  natures  "  that  would  drive  out  the  people  from  the 
lands  and  leave  "  nothing  but  a  shepherd  and  his  dog." 

We  find  the  same  comparison,  used  in  the  same  sense,  in  Shake- 
speare: 

Where  is  this  viper ' 
That  would  depopulate  the  city, 
And  be  every  man  himself?4 

The  overwhelming  influence  of  music  on    the  soul  is  compared 

by  both  to  a  rape  or  ravishment. 

Bacon  says: 

Melodious  tunes,  so  fitting  and  delighting  the  ears  that  heard  them,  as  that  it 
ravished  and  betrayed  all  passengers.  .  .  .  Winged  enticements  to  ravish  and 
rape  mortal  men.5 

While  Shakespeare  says: 

Bv  this  divine  air,  now  is  his  soul  ravished.* 


And  again; 


And  again: 


When  we, 
Almost  with  ravished  listening,  could  not  find 
His  hour  of  speech  a  minute.7 

One  whom  the  music  of  his  own  vain  tongue 
Doth  ravish  like  enchanting  harmony.8 


We  have  in  both  the  great  power  of  circumstances  compared  to 
the  rush  of  a  flood  of  water. 

Bacon: 

In  this  great  deluge  of  danger.9 

Shakespeare: 

Thy  deed  inhuman  and  unnatural 
Provokes  this  deluge  most  unnatural.1" 

1  2d  Henry  VI.,  i,  3.  "  Much  Ado  about  Nothing,  ii,  5. 

^  Ibid.,  ii,  3.  ''Henry  VIII.,  i,  2. 

3  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  v,  1.  H  Love's  Labor  Lost,  i,  1. 

4  Coriolanus,  iii,  1.  9  Felic.  Queen  Elizabeth. 
8  Wisdom  0/ the  Ancients  — The  Sirens.  10  Richard  ///.,  i,  2. 


35  2 

Again: 
Again: 

Again: 


PARALLELISMS. 

Thisy5W/of  fortune.1 

And  such  a  flood  of  greatness  fell.2 

This  great  flood  of  visitors." 


In  their  effort  to  express  great  quantity  we  have  both  refer- 
ring to  the  ocean  for  their  metaphors. 

Bacon  has: 

He  came  with  such  a  sea  of  multitude  upon  Italy.4 

A  sea  of  air.5 
Shakespeare  has  precisely  the  same  curious  expression: 

A  sea  of  air.* 

Bacon  also  has: 

Vast  seas  of  time.' 

A  sea  of  quicksilver.8 
Again  Bacon  says: 

Will  turn  a  sea  of  baser  metal  into  gold.9 
In    Shakespeare    the   same    "large    composition"  of    the    mind 
drives  him  to  seek  in  the  greatest  of  terrestrial  objects  a  means  of 
comparison  with  the  huge  subjects  which  fill  his  thoughts: 

A  sea  of  joys.10 

A  sea  of  care.11 

Shed  seas  of  tears.12 

A  sea  of  glory.13 

That  sea  of  blood.14 

A  sea  of  woes.15 

We  also  find  in  Hamlet : 

A  sea  of  troubles.16 

This  word,  thus  employed,  has  been  regarded  as  so  peculiar  and 
unusual  that  the  commentators  for  a  long  time  insisted  that  it  was 
a  misprint.  Even  Pope,  himself  a  poet,  altered  it  to  read  "  a  siege 
of  troubles;"  others  would  have  it  "assail  of   troubles."     But  we 

1  Twelfth  Night,  iv,  3.  6  Timon  of  Athens,  iv,  2.  n  Henry  VIII.,  iii,  2. 

2  1st  Henry  IV.,  v,  1.  7  Advancement   of  Learn-  12  Rape  of  Lucrece. 

8  Timon  of  Athens,  i,  1.  ing,  book  i.  1S  1st  Henry  VI.,  iv,  7. 

*  Apophthegms.  8  Ibid.,  book  ii.  14  3d  Henry  VI.,  ii,  5. 

6  Advancement  of  Learn-  9  Natural  History,  §  326.  "  Timon  of  Athens,  i,  1. 

ing,  book  ii.  10  Pericles,  v,  1.  1B  Hamlet,  iii,  1. 


IDENTICAL    METAPHORS.  353 

see    that    it    was    a    common    expression    with    both     Bacon    and 
Shakespeare. 

Bacon  has  also: 

The  ocean  of  philosophy.1 

The  ocean  of  history.2 
Shakespeare  has: 

An  ocean  of  his  tears.3 

An  ocean  of  salt  tears.4 

In  the  same  way  the  tides  of  the  ocean  became  the  source  of 
numerous  comparisons. 

The  most  striking  was  pointed  out  some  time  since  by  Montagu 
and  Judge  Holmes.  Not  only  is  the  tide  used  as  a  metaphor,  but 
it  enforces  precisely  the  same  idea. 

Bacon: 

In  the  third  place,  I  set  down  reputation,  because  of  the  peremptory  tides 
and  currents  it  hath;  which,  if  they  be  not  taken  in  their  due  time,  are  seldom 
recovered.5 

Shakespeare  says: 

There  is  a  tide  in  the  affairs  of  men, 

Which,  taken  at  the  flood,  leads  on  to  fortune; 

Omitted,  all  the  voyage  of  their  life 

Is  bound  in  shallows  and  in  miseries. 

On  such  a  full  sea  are  we  now  afloat; 

And  we  must  take  the  current  when  it  serves, 

Or  lose  our  ventures.6 

Bacon  and  Shakespeare  recur  very  often  to  this  image  of  the 

tides: 

My  Lord  Coke  floweth  according  to  his  own  tides,  and  not  according  to  the 
tides  of  business.7 

Here    "tides    of   business"    is   the   same   thought  as   "tides   of 

affairs  "  in  the  foregoing  quotation  from  Shakespeare. 

Bacon  again  says: 

The  tide  of  any  opportunity,   .   .   .  the  periods  and  tides  of  estates.8 
And  again: 

Besides  the  open  aids  from  the  Duchess  of  Burgundy,  there  wanted  not  some 
secret  tides  from  Maximilian  and  Charles.9 

1  Exper.  History.  s  Advancement  0/ Learning,  book  ii. 

2  Great  Instauration.  6  Julius  Ccesar,  iv,  3. 

3  Two  Gentlemen  0/  Verona,  ii,  7.  7  Letter  to  the  King,  February  25,  1615. 

*  3d  Henry  VI.,  iii,  2.  8  Letter  to  Sir  Robert  Cecil.  I 

9  History  0/ Henry  I  'II. 


354  PARALLELISMS. 

And  again: 

The  tides  and  currents  of  received  errors.1 
■  • 
Shakespeare  says: 

The  tide  of  blood  in  me 
Hath  proudly  flowed  in  vanity  till  now; 
Now  doth  it  turn  and  ebb  back  to  the  sea; 
Where  it  shall  mingle  with  the  state  of  floods, 
And  flow  henceforth  in  formal  majesty.2 

And  it  will  be  observed  that  the  curious  fact  is  not  that  both 
should  employ  the  word  "tide"  for  that  was  of  course  a  common 
word  in  the  daily  speech  of  all  men,  but  that  they  should  both 
employ  it  in  a  metaphorical  sense;  as  the  "tide  of  affairs,"  "the 
tide  of  business,"  "the  tide  of  errors,"  "the  tide  of  blood,"  etc. 

And  not  only  the  ocean  itself  and  the  tides,  but  the  swelling  of 
the  waters  by  distant  storms  is  an  image  constantly  in  the  minds  of 
both. 

Bacon  says: 

There  was  an  unusual  swelling  in  the  state,  the  forerunner  of  greater  troubles. 8 

And  again: 

Likewise  it  is  everywhere  taken  notice  of  that  waters  do  somewhat  S7vell  and 
rise  before  tempests,* 

While  in   Shakespeare  we  have  the  same  comparison  applied  in 

the  same  way: 

Before  the  days  of  change,  still  is  it  so; 
By  a  divine  instinct,  men's  minds  mistrust 
Ensuing  danger;  as,  by  proof,  we  see 
The  waters  swell  before  a  boisterous  storm. 5 

And  here  we  have  this  precise  thought  in  Bacon: 

As  there  are  certain  hollow  blasts  of  wind  and  secret  swelling  of  seas  before  a 
tempest,  so  are  there  in  stales/' 

Can  any  man  believe  this  exact  repetition,  not  only  of  thought, 
but  of  the  mode  of  representing  it  by  a  figure  of  speech,  was  acci- 
dental ? 

And  from  this  rising  of  the  water  both  coin  an  adjective. 

Bacon  says: 

Such  a  swelling  season,1 

meaning  thereby  one  full  of  events  and  dangers. 

1  Statutes  of  Uses.  3  Fclic.  Queen  Elizabeth.  "  Richard  11/.,  ii,  3. 

8  2d  Henry  II'.,  V,  2.  *  Natural  History  of  Winds.  8  Kssay  Of  Sedition. 

''  History  of  Henry  VII, 


I  DEN  TIC  A  L    ME  7  'A  P  HOR  S.  ,  -  - 

While    Shakespeare    uses    the    adjective    in    the    same    peculiar 

sense: 

As  happy  prologues  to  the  swelling  act 
Of  the  imperial  theme.1 

Again: 

The  swelling  difference. - 

Again  : 

Behold  the  swelling  scene.3 
Again  : 

Noble,  swelling  spirits.4 

The    clouds,   in    both    writers,    furnish    similes    for    overhanging 

troubles. 

Bacon  says: 

Xevertheless,  since  1  do  perceive  that  this  cloud  hangs  over  the  House.1 

And  again  Bacon  says: 

The     King,   .   .   .   willing    to    leave    a    cloud    upon    him,    .    .   .   produced    him 
openly  to  plead  his  pardon /; 

Shakespeare  says: 

And  all  the  clouds  that  lowered  upon  our  house 
In  the  deep  bosom  of  the  ocean  buried.7 

And  again  Bacon  says  : 

But  the  cloud  of  so  great  a  rebellion  hanging  over  his  head,  made  him  work 
sure.8  , 

Shakespeare  says : 

How  is  it  that  the  clouds  still  hang  on  you  ?' 

Bacon  says: 

The  King  had  a  careful  eye  where  this  wandering  cloud  would  break.10 

Shakespeare: 

Can  such  things  be, 
And  overcome  us  like  a  summer's  cloud, 
Without  our  special  wonder?11 

Bacon  says: 

He  had  the  image  and  superscription  upon  him  of  the  Pope,  in  his  honor  of  Car- 
dinal.1' 

This  thought  is  developed  in   Shakespeare  into  the  well  known 

comparison: 

A  fellow  by  the  hand  of  nature  marked, 
Quoted  and  signed  to  do  a  deed  of  shame.13 

1  Macbeth,  i,  3.  5  Speech.  s  Hamlet,  i,  2. 

2  Richard  II.,  i,  1.  •  History  of  Henry  VII.  10  History  of  Henry  III. 

3  Henry  V.,  i,  cho.  »  Richard  III.,  i,  1.  »  Macbeth,  iii,  4. 

4  Othello,  ii,  3.  8  History  of  Henry  VII.  l8  History  of  Henry  VII. 

13  King  John,  iv,  2. 


356 


PARALLELISMS. 


In  the  one  case  the  superscription  of  the  Pope  marks  the  Cardinal 
for  honor;  in  the  other  the  hand  of  nature  has  signed  its  signature 
upon  the  man  to  show  that  he  is  fit  for  a  deed  of  shame. 

And  Bacon  uses  the  word  signature  in  the  following: 

Some  immortal  monument  bearing  a  character  and  signature  both  of  the 
power,  etc.1 

Bacon  says: 

Meaning  thereby  to  harrow  his  people.2 

Shakespeare  says: 

Let  the  Volsces 
Plow  Rome  and  harrow  Italy.3 

And  again: 

Whose  lightest  word  would  harrow  up  thy  soul.4 

Bacon  says: 

Intending  the  discretion  of  behavior  is  a  great  thief  of  meditation* 

Shakespeare  says: 

You  thief  of  love  * 

And  again: 

A  very  little  thief  of  occasion.' 

Bacon  says: 

It  was  not  long  but  Perkin,  who  was  make  of  quicksilver,  which  is  hard  to  hold 
or  imprison,  began  to  stir.8 

While  Shakespeare  says: 

The  rogue  fled  from  me  like  quicksilver* 

And  again: 

That,  swift  as  quicksilver,  it  courses  through 
The  natural  gates  and  alleys  of  the  body.10 

Here  Perkin  is  compared  to  quicksilver  by  Bacon;  and  the 
volatile  Pistol  is  compared  to  quicksilver  by  Shakespeare. 

Bacon  says: 

They  were  executed  ...  at  divers  places  upon  the  sea-coast  of  Kent,  Sussex 
and  Norfolk,  for  sea-marks  or  light-houses,  to  teach  Perkin's  people  to  avoid  the 
coast.11 

1  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  i.  *  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  iii,  2. 

2  History  of  Henry  VII.  7  Coriolanus,  ii,  1. 

8  Coriolanus,  v,  3.  *  History  of  Henry  I'll. 

*  Hamlet,  i,  5.  9  Hamlet,  i,  5. 

6  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii.  10  2/  Henry  II '.,  ii,  4- 

11  History  of  Henry  I'll. 


IDENTICAL    METAPHORS.  35; 

Shakespeare  uses  the  same  comparison: 

The  very  sea-mark  of  my  utmost  sail.1 

In  both  cases  the  words  are  used  in  a  figurative  sense. 

Bacon  says: 

The  King  being  lost  in  a  7vood  of  suspicion,  and  not   knowing  whom  to  trust.* 

Shakespeare: 

And  I  —  like  one  lost  in  a  thorny  wood, 

That  rents  the  thorns,  and  is  rent  with  the  thorns, 

Seeking  a  way,  and  straying  from  the  way; 

Not  knowing  how  to  find  the  open  air, 

But  toiling  desperately  to  find  it  out.3 

Speaking  of  the  Perkin  Warbeck  conspiracy,  Bacon  says: 

This  was  a  finer  counterfeit  stone  than  Lambert  Simnel;  being  better  done  and 
worn  upon  greater  hands;  being  graced  after  with  the  wearing  of  a  King  of 
France.4 

And  again: 

Virtue  is  like  a  rich  stone,  best  plain  set} 

In  Shakespeare,  Richmond  describes  Richard  III.  as 

A  base,  foul  stone,  made  precious  by  the  foil 
Of  England's  chair,  where  he  is  falsely  set.* 

Here  Bacon  represents  Warbeck  as  a  "counterfeit  stone;" 
Shakespeare  represents  Richard  III.  as  "a  foul  stone."  One  is 
graced  by  a  King's  wearing;  the  other  is  made  precious  by  being 
"set"  in  the  royal  chair  of  England. 

Bacon  says: 

Neither  the  excellence  of  wit,  however  great,  nor  the  die  of  experience,  how- 
ever frequently  east,  can  overcome  such  disadvantages.7 

And  again  Bacon  says: 

Determined  to  put  it  to  the  hazard. % 

Shakespeare  says: 

I  have  set  my  life  upon  a  cast, 

And  I  will  stand  the  hazard  of  the  die.9 

The  singular  thought  that  ships  are  walls  to  the  land  occurs  in 
Bacon: 

1  Othello,  v,  2.  6  Essay  Of  Beauty. 

2  History  of  Henry  I  'II.  8  Richard  III.,  v,  3. 

3  3d  Henry  VI.,  iii,  2.  7  Preface  to  Great  Instantiation. 

4  History  of  Henry  I'll.  s  Wisdom  of  the  A  ncients  —  Sphynx. 

»  Richard  III.,  v,  4. 


^^  PA  RA  L  LEI  ISM  S. 

And  for  the  timber  of  this  realm  ...   it  is  the  matter  for  our  walls,  walls  nor 
only  for  our  houses,  but  for  our  island} 

Shakespeare  speaks  of  the  sea  itself  as  a  wall: 

This  precious  stone  set  in  a  silver  sea, 
Which  serves  it  in  the  office  of  a  wall} 

Here  again  we  see  Bacon's  "Virtue  is  like  a  rich  slone,best  plain 

set" 

And  again  Shakespeare  says: 

When  our  sea-walled  garden,  the  whole  land, 
Is  full  of  weeds.3 

Bacon  says; 

To  speak  and  to  trumpet  out  your  commendations.4 
Shakespeare  says: 

Will  plead  like  angels,  ^r#w/><?/-tongued.5 

Bacon  says: 

This  lure  she  cast  abroad,  thinking  that  this  fame  and  belief  .  .  .  would  draw 
at  one  time  or  other  some  birds  to  strike  upon  it.6 

Shakespeare  employs  the  same  comparison. 

Petruchio  says  of  Katharine: 

My  falcon  now  is  sharp  and  passing  empty: 
And,  till  she  stoop,  she  must  not  be  full-gorged, 
For  then  she  never  looks  upon  her  lure.1 

Bacon  has: 

W'hose  leisurely  and  snail-like  pace* 

Shakespeare  has: 

Snail-paced  beggary.9 

Bacon  says: 

But  touching  the  reannexing  of  the  duchy   of  Britain,  .  .   .  the  embassador 
bare  aloof  from  it  as  if  it  7vas  a  rock}0 

In  the  play  of  Henry  VIII.,  Norfolk  sees  Wolsey  coming,  and 

says  to  Buckingham : 

Lo,  where  comes  that  rock 
That  I  advise  your  shunning." 


1  Case  of  Impeachment  of  Waste.  6  History  of  Henry  I'll. 

8  Richard  II.,  ii,  i.  7  Faming  of  the  Shrew,  iv, 

8  Ibid.,  iii,  4.  B  History  of  Henry  VII. 

4  Letter  to  Villiers,  June  12,  1616.  ■  Richard  III.,  iv,  3. 

6  Macbeth,  \,  7.  10  History  of  Henry  VII. 

"Henry  VIII.,  i,  1. 


IDENTICAL   METAPHORS.  359 

Both  use  the  tempering  of  wax  as  a  metaphor. 

Bacon : 

The  King  would  not  take  his  [Lambert's]  life,  taking  him  but  as  an  image  of 
wax  that  others  had  tempered  and  molded.1 

Falstaff  says : 

There  I  will  visit  Master  Robert  Shallow,  Esquire.  I  have  him  already  temper- 
ing between  my  finger  and  my  thumb,  and  shortly  I  will  seal  with  him.2 

Bacon  says : 

With  long  and  continual  counterfeiting,  and  with  oft  telling  a  lie,  he  was 
turned  by  habit  almost  into  the  thing  he  seemed  to  be;  and  from  a  liar  to  a 
believer? 

Shakespeare  says: 

Like  one 
Who  having  unto  truth,  by  telling  of  it, 
Made  such  a  sinner  of  his  memory 
To  credit  his  own  lie.4 

Bacon  says: 

Fortune  is  of  a  woman's  nature,  and  will  sooner  follow  by  slighting  than  by 
too  much  wooing.5 

Shakespeare  : 

Well,  if  fortune  be  a  woman,  she's  a  good  wench  for  this  gear.6 

Bacon: 

The  Queen  had  endured  a  strange  eclipse  by  the  King's  flight.7 

Shakespeare: 

I  take  my  leave  of  thee,  fair  son, 
Born  to  eclipse  thy  life  this  afternoon.8 

Bacon  says: 

The  King  saw  plainly  that  the  kingdom  must  again  be  put  to  the  stake,  and  that 
he  must  Jight  for  it.9 

Shakespeare  says: 

They  have  tied  me  to  the  stake  ;  I  cannot  fly, 
But,  bear-like,  I  must  fight  the  course.10 

And  again: 

Have  you  not  set  mine  honor  at  the  stake?  " 
Again: 

I  am  tied  to  the  stake,  and  I  must  stand  the  course.18 


1  History  of  Henry  VII.  5  Letter  to  Vilhers,  1616.  9  History  of  Henry  VII. 

2  2d  Henry  IV,  iv,  3.  *  Merchant  of  Venice,  ii,  2.  10  Twelfth  Night,  iii,  1. 

3  History  of  Henry  VII.  7  History  of  Henry  VII.  ' '  Macbeth,  v,  7. 
*  Tempest,  i,  2.  8  1st  Henry  VI.,  iv,  5.  I2  Lear,  iii,  7. 


360  PARALLELISMS. 

Speaking  of  the  rebellion  of  Lambert  Simnell,  Bacon  says: 

But  their  snow-ball  did  not  gather  as  it  went. 

Shakespeare  says: 

If  but  a  dozen  French 
Were  there  in  arms,  they  would  be  as  a  call 
To  train  ten  thousand  English  to  their  side; 
Or,  as  a  little  snow,  tumbled  about, 
Anon  becomes  a  mountain.1 

Both  conceive  of  truth  as  something  buried  deep  and  only  to  be 
gotten  out  by  digging. 
Bacon  says: 

As  we  can  dig  truth  out  of  the  mine.2 

Shakespeare  says: 

I  will  find 
Where  truth  is  hid,  though  it  were  hid  indeed 
Within  the  center.3 

Both  compare  human  life  to  a  pilgrimage. 
Bacon: 

In  this  progress  and  pilgrimage  of  human  life.4 
Shakespeare: 

How  brief  the  life  of  man 
Runs  his  erring  pilgrimage  ; 

That  the  stretching  of  a  span 
Buckles  in  his  sum  of  age.5 

Both  use  the  comparison  of  drowning  to  express  overwhelmed 
or  lost. 

Bacon: 

Truth  drowned  in  the  depths  of  obscurity.6 
Shakespeare  says: 

While  heart  is  drowned  in  cares.1 

I  drowned  these  news  in  tears.8 

Bacon  says: 

But  men  are  wanting  to  themselves  in  laying  this  gift  of  the  gods  upon  the 
back  of  a  silly,  slow-paced  ass.9 

1  King  John,  iv,  4.  6  As  You  Like  It,  iii,  2. 

*  History  0/ Henry  VII.  «  Wisdom  of  the  A  ncients  —  Prometheus. 

8  Hamlet,  i,  2.  7  2(i  Henry  VI.,  iii,  1. 

4  Wisdom  of  the  A  ncients  —  Sfhynx.  8  3d  Henry  VI.,  ii,  1. 

9  Wisdom  of  the  A  ncients  Prometheus. 


IDENTICAL   METAPHORS.  36i 

Shakespeare: 

If  thou  art  rich  thou  art  poor, 
For,  like  an  ass,  whose  back  with  ingots  bows. 
Thou  bear' st  thy  heavy  riches  but  a  journey, 
And  death  unloads  thee.1 

In  both  we  find  the  strange  and  unchristian  thought  that  the 
heavenly  powers  use  men  as  a  means  of  amusement;  and  both 
express  it  with  the  same  word,  sport. 

Bacon  says: 

As  if  it  were  a  custom  that  no  mortal  man  should  be  admitted  to  the  table  of 
the  gods,  but  for  sport.* 

Shakespeare  says: 

As  flies  to  wanton  boys  are  we  to  the  gods: 
They  kill  us  for  their  sport.1 

Bacon  says: 

Your  life  is  nothing  but  a  continual  acting  on  the  stage* 

While  Shakespeare  has: 

All  the  world's  a  stage, 
And  all  the  men  and  women  merely  players.5 

We  find  Bacon   making  this   comparison  in   the   address  of  the 

Sixth  Counselor  to  the  Prince: 

I  assure  your  Excellency,  their  lessons  were  so  cumbersome,  as  if  they  would 
make  you  a  king  in  a  play,  who,  when  one  would  think  he  standeth  in  great 
majesty  and  felicity,  is  troubled  to  say  his  part.6 

And  we  find  Shakespeare  making  use  of  the  same  comparison 

in  sonnet  xxiii: 

As  an  imperfect  actor  on  the  stage, 
Who  with  his  fear  is  put  beside  his  part. 

Bacon  says: 

The  maintaining  of  the  laws,  which  is  the  hedge  and  fence  about  the  liberty  of 
the  subject.7 

*    Shakespeare  uses  the  same  comparison: 

There's  such  divinity  doth  hedge  a  king.8 

Bacon  says: 

The   place  I  have   in   reversion,   as  it  standeth  now  unto  me.    is  like  another 

1  Measure/or  Measure,  iii,  i.  %  As    You  Like  It,  ii,  7. 

'-1  Wisdom  of  the  A  ncients  —  Nemesis.  *  Gesta  Grayorum  —  Life  and  M  'orks,  vol.  i,  p. 

3  Lear,  iv,  1.  7  Charge  against  St.  John. 

4  Mask  for  Essex.  '  ffam/et,  iv,  5. 


362  PARALLELISMS. 

man's  ground  reaching  upon   my  house,  which  may  mend  my  prospect,  but  doth; 
not  fill  my  barn.1 

While  Shakespeare  indulges  in  a  parallel  thought: 

Falstaff.     Of  what  quality  was  your  love,  then? 

Ford.  Like  a  fair  house  built  on  another  man's  ground;  so  that  I  have  lost 
my  edifice  by  mistaking  the  place  where  I  erected  it.2 

Bacon  says: 

Duty,  though  my  state  lie  buried  in  the  sands,  and  my  favors  be  cast  upon  the 
waters,  and  my  honors  be  committed  to  the  wind,  yet  standeth  surely  built  upon 
the  rock,  and  hath  been  and  ever  shall  be  unforced  and  unattempted.3 

And  Shakespeare  says: 

Yet  my  duty, 
As  does  a  rock  against  the  chiding  flood, 
Should  the  approach  of  this  wild  river  break 
And  stand  unshaken  yours.4 


Bacon,  speaking  of  popular  prophecies,  says: 

My  judgment  is  that  1 
ter  talk  by  the  fireside} 

Shakespeare  says; 


My  judgment  is  that  they  ought  all  to  be  despised  and  ought  but  to  serve  for 
winter  talk  by  the  fireside} 


Oh,  these  flaws  and  starts 
(Impostors  to  true  fear)  would  well  become 
A  woman's  story  by  a  winter-  s  fire, 
Authorized  by  her  grandam.6 

In  the  Advertisement  Touching  an  Holy  War,  Bacon  uses  the  com- 
parison of  a  fan,  separating  the  good  from  the  bad  by  the  wind 
thereof.  Speaking  of  the  extirpation  of  the  Moors  of  Valencia,  one 
of  the  parties  to  the  dialogue,  Zebedous,  says: 

Make  not  hasty  judgment,  Gamaliel,  of  that  great  action,  which  was  as 
Christ's  fan  in  those  countries. 

And  in  Troilus  and  Cressida  we  have  the  same  comparison: 

Distinction,  with  a  broad  and  powerful  fan, 
Puffing  at  all,  winnows  the  light  away.7 

Bacon  says: 

Though  the  deaf  adder  will  not  hear,  yet  is  he  charmed  that  he  doth  not  hiss. 

Shakespeare  says  in  the  sonnets: 

My  adder  sense 
To  critic  and  to  flatterer  stopped  is. 


1  Letter  to  the  Lord  Keeper.  4  Henry  Fill.,  iii,  2. 

2  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  ii,  2.  5  Essay  Of  Prophecies, 

3  Letter  written  for  Essex.  •  Macbeth,  iii,  4. 

7  Troilus  and  Cressida  i.  3. 


IDE.  Y  TIC  A  L    ME  7V  /  /  flOR  S. 


363 


Another  very  odd  and  unusual  comparison  is  used  by  both: 

Bacon,  referring  to  the  rebellion  of  Cornwall  and  the  pretensions 

of  Perkin  Warbeck  to  the  crown,  says: 

But  now  these   bubbles  began  to  meet  as  they  use   to  do  upon  the  top  of  the 
water.*  * 

And  again: 

The  action  in  Ireland  was  but  a  bubble? 

Shakespeare  says,  speaking  of  the  witches  in  Macbeth : 

The  earth  hath  bubbles  as  the  water  has, 
And  these  are  of  them.3 


And  again: 


Seeking  the  bubble,  reputation, 
Even  in  the  cannon's  mouth.4 


And  do  but  blow  them  to  their  trials,  the  bubbles  are  out. 


Bacon  says: 

But  it  was  ord; 
itself.6 

Shakespeare  says: 


But  it  was  ordained  that  this  winding-/^  of  a  Plantagenet  should  kill  the  true 
tree  itself.6 


That  now  he  was 
The  ivy  which  had  hid  my  princely  trunk 
And  suck'd  my  virtue  out  on  't.7 

Here  it  is  not  a  reference  merely  to  the  ivy,  but  to  the  ivy  as  the 
destroyer  of  the  tree,  and  in  both  cases  applied  metaphorically. 


Bacon  says: 

Upon  the  first 
oign,  Perkin  w; 

Shakespeare: 


Upon  the  first  grain   of  incense  that  was   sacrificed  upon  the  altar  of  peace  at 
Boloign,  Perkin  was  smoked  away.8 


Upon  such  sacrifices,  my  Cordelia, 
The  gods  themselves  throw  incense} 


Here  is  a  curious  parallelism: 

Bacon: 

The  last  words  of  those  that  suffer  death  for  religion,  like  the  songs  of  dying 
swans,  do  wonderfully  work  upon  the  minds  of  men,  and  strike  and  remain  a  long 
time  in  their  senses  and  memories.10 

1  History  of Henry  VII.  *  As  You  Like  It,  ii,  7.  7  Tempest,  i,  2. 

*  Ibid.  5  Hamlet,  v,  2.  8  History  of  Henry  VII. 

3  Macbeth*  i,  3.  6  History  of  Henry  I'll.  9  Lear,  v,  3. 

10  Wisdom  of  the  Ancients — Diomedes. 


364  PARALLELISMS. 

Shakespeare  says: 


And  again: 
And  again: 


The  tongues  of  dying  men 
Enforce  attention  like  deep  harmony.1 

Then  if  he  lose,  he  makes  a  swan-like  end, 
Fading  in  music.2 

'Tis  strange  that  death  should  sing. 
I  am  the  cygnet  to  this  pale,  faint  swan, 
Who  chants  a  doleful  hymn  to  his  own  death? 


Here  we  have  in  both  not  only  the  comparison  of  the  words 
of  dying  men  to  the  song  of  dying  swans;  but  the  fact  is  noted 
that  the  words  of  such  men  "  enforce  attention  "  and  "  strike  and 
remain  a  long  time  "  in  the  minds  and  memories  of  men. 

In  both,  the  liming  of  bushes  to  catch  birds  is  used  as  a  meta- 
phor.    Bacon  says: 

Whatever  service  I  do  to  her  Majesty,  it  shall  be  thought  to  be  but  servitium 
viscatum,  lime-twigs  and  fetches  to  place  myself.4 

Shakespeare  says: 

They  are  limed  with  the  twigs} 

Myself  have  limed  a.  bush  for  her.6 

O  limed  soul,  that,  struggling  to  be  free.' 

Like  lime- twigs  set.8 

Mere  fetches,  the  images  of  revolt.9 

In  both,  sickness  and   death  are  compared  to  an  arrest  by  an 

officer. 

Bacon  says,  alluding  to  his  sickness  at  Huntingdon: 

This  present  arrest  of  me  by  his  Divine  Majesty. 

Shakespeare  says: 

This  fell  sergeant,  Death, 
Is  strict  in  his  arrest.™ 

And  in  sonnet  lxxiv  Shakespeare  says,  speaking  of  his  death: 

But  be  contented;  when  that  fell  arrest, 
Without  all  bail,  shall  carry  me  away. 


»  Richard  II. ,  ii,  1.  5  AlTs  Well  that  Ends  Well,  iii,  5. 

5  Merchant  of  Venice,  iii,  2.  *  2d  Henry  VI.,  i,  3. 

3  King  John,  v,  7.  7  Hamlet,  iii,  3. 

4  Letter  to  F.  Greville  —  Life  and  Works,  8  2d  Henry  VI.,  iii,  3. 

vol.  i,  p.  359.  9  Lear,  ii,  4. 
'•  Hamlet,  v,  2. 


3^5 


I  DEN  TIC  A  L   ME  TA  PHOR  S. 
Bacon  speaks  of 

The  hour-glass  of  one  man's  life? 

Shakespeare  says: 

Turning  the  accomplishment  of  many  years 
Into  an  hour-glass.'2 


In  Bacon  we  have  the  odor  of  flowers  compared  to  music: 

The  breath  of  flowers  is  far  sweeter  in  the  air  (where  it  comes  and  goes  liks 
the  warbling  of  music)  than  in  the  hand.3 

Shakespeare  reverses  the  figure,  and   compares  the   sounds  of 

music  to  the  odor  of  flowers: 

That  strain  again;  —  it  had  a  dying  fall; 
Oh,  it  came  o'er  my  soul  like  the  sweet  south, 
That  breathes  upon  a  bank  of  violets, 
Stealing  and  giving  odor.4 

Bacon  says: 

That  repose  of  the  mind  which  only  rides  at  anchor  upon  hope.* 

Shakespeare  says: 

See,  Posthumus  anchors  upon  Imogen/ 

Whilst  my  invention,  hearing  not  my  tongue, 
Anchors  on  Isabel.7 

Bacon  says: 

The  desire  of  power  in  excess  caused  the  angels  to  fall* 

Shakespeare  says: 

I  charge  thee  fling  away  ambition: 
By  that  sin  fell  the  angels? 

We  have  in  Bacon  the  following  curious  expression: 

These  things  did  he  [King  Henry]  wisely  foresee,   .   .   .  whereby  all  things  fe/J 
into  his  lap  as  he  desired.10 

Shakespeare  says: 

Now  the  time  is  come 
That  France  must  veil  her  lofty  plumed  crest, 

And  let  her  head  fall  into  England's  lap?1 


1  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii.  6  Cymbeline,  v.  5. 

2  Henry  V.,  prologue.  7  Measure  for  Measure,  ii,  4^ 

3  Essay  0/  Gardens.  6  Essay  Of  Goodness. 
«  Twelfth  Night,  i,  1.                                                               ■  Henry  I  III.,  iii,  2. 

5  Med.  Sacra—  Of  Earthly  Hope.  10  History  of  Henry  I '//. 

11  Henry  7  Y.,  v,  2. 


°r  I'M  r    ^V 


366 


PARALLELISMS. 


We  all  remember  Keats'  touching  epitaph: 

Here  lies  one  whose  name  was  writ  in  water. 

We  find  the  original  of  this  thought  in  Shakespeare: 

Noble  madam, 
Men's  evil  manners  live  in  brass;  their  virtues 
We  write  in  water.1 

And  if  we  follow  back  the  pedigree  of  the  thought  we  find  it  in 

Bacon's 

High  treason  is  not  "written  in  ice.'1 

And  this  reappears  in  Shakespeare  thus: 

This  weak  impress  of  love  is  as  a  figure 
TrencJid  in  ice,  which  with  an  hour's  heat 
Dissolves  to  water,  and  does  lose  his  form.3 

Bacon: 

Your  beadsman  therefore  addresseth  himself  to  your  Majesty.4 

Shakespeare: 

Commend  thy  grievance  to  my  holy  prayers, 
For  I  will  be  thy  beadsman,  Valentine.5 

In  the  following  we  have  a  striking  parallelism.     Bacon  says: 

In  this  theater  of  man's  life  it  is  reserved,  etc.fi 

Shakespeare  says: 

This  wide  and  universal  theater 

Presents  more  woeful  pageants  than  the  scene 

Wherein  we  play.1 

And   we   have   the   same    thought    presented   in   another   form. 

Bacon  says: 

Your  life  is  nothing  but  a  continual  acting  upon  a  stage.9, 

Shakespeare  says: 

All  the  world's  a  stage, 
And  all  the  men  and  women  merely  players.'' 

Bacon  says: 

For  this  giant  bestrideth  the  sea;  and  I  would  take  and  snare  him  by  the  foot  on 
this  side.'0 

1  Henry  VIII. ,  IT,  2.  •  Advancement  of  Learning. 

*  Coll.  Sent.  7  As  You  Like  It,  ii,  6. 
8  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  iii,  2.  8  Mask. 

4  Letter  to  the  King.  9  As  You  Like  It.  ii,  7. 

*  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  i,  i.  l0  Duels. 


ID  EN  TIC  A  L   ME  TA  PHORS. 


367 


Shakespeare  says: 

His  legs  bestrid the  ocean} 
And  again : 


Why,  man,  he  doth  bestride  the  narrow  world 
Like  a  Colossus. - 


Bacon  says 


Many  were  glad  that  these  fears  and  uncertainties  were  overblown,  and  that  the 
die  was  cast.3 

Shakespeare  says: 

The  ague-tit  of  fear  is  overblown* 

Again: 

At  'scapes  and  perils  overblown* 

Bacon  says: 

Religion,  justice,  counsel  and  treasure  are  the  four  pillars  of  government* 

Shakespeare  says: 

Brave  peers  of  England,  pillars  of  the  state." 

The  triple  pillar  of  the  world.5 

These  shoulders,  these  ruined///. 'ars. * 

I  charge  you  by  the  law, 
Whereof  you  are  a  well-deserving  pillar}" 

The  seeds  of  plants  furnish   a   favorite   subject  of  comparison 
with  both  writers. 

Bacon  speaks  of  ideas  that 

Cast  their  seeds  in  the  minds  of  others.11 
He  also  refers  to 

The  secret  seeds  of  diseases. 1- 

Again  he  says: 

There  has  been  covered  in   my  mind  a  long  time  a  seed  of  affection  and  zeal 
loward  your  Lordship.13 

Shakespeare  says: 

There  is  a  history  in  all  men's  lives 
Figuring  the  nature  of  the  times  deceased; 

1  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  v,  ».  7  2d  Henry  I'/.,  i,  i. 

2 Julius  Ccesar,  i,  2.  8  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  i,  1. 

3  Begin.  History  0/  Great  Britain.  9  Henry  I'll  I.,  iii,  2. 

4  Richard  II.,  iii,  2.  10  Merchant  of  J'enice,  iv,  1. 

5  Taming-  of  the  Shrew,  v.     .  ' l  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  i. 
*  Essay  Of  Seditions.  »  2  Essay  Of  Despatch . 

12  Letter  to  Carl  of  Northumberland. 


368 


PARALLELISMS. 

The  which  observed,  a  man  may  prophesy, 
With  a  near  aim,  of  the  main  chance  of  things 
As  yet  to  come  to  life;  which  in  their  seeds 
And  weak  beginnings  lie  intreasured.1 

He  also  speaks  of 

The  seed  of  honor.2 


The  seeds  of  time. 


Bacon  compares  himself  to  a  torch: 

I  shall,   perhaps,  before  my  death  have  rendered  the  age  a  light  unto  posterity, 
by  kindling  this  new  torch  amid  the  darkness  of  philosophy.4 

Again  he  says: 

Matters  should  receive  success  by  combat  and  emulation,  and  not  hang  upon 
any  one  mans  sparkling  and  shaking  torch. h 

Shakespeare  says: 

Heaven  doth  with  us  as  we  with  torches  do, 
Not  light  them  for  themselves;  for  if  our  virtues 
Did  not  go  forth  of  us,  'twere  all  alike 
As  if  we  had  them  not.6 

Speaking  of  Fortune,  Shakespeare  says: 

The  wise  and  fool,  the  artist  and  unread, 
The  hard  and  soft,  seem  all  affin'd  and  kin: 
But  fn  the  wind  and  tempest  of  her  frown, 
Distinction,  with  a  broad  and  powerful  fan, 
Puffing  at  all,  winnows  the  light  away; 
And  what  hath  mass  or  matter,  by  itself 
Lies,  rich  in  virtue  and  unmingled? 

And  in  Bacon  we  have  the  same  comparison  of  the  winnowing 

fan   separating  the   light   from   the   heavy.     He  says,  speaking  of 

church  matters: 

And  what  are  mingled  but  as  the  chaff  and  the  corn,  which  need  but  a  fan  to 
sift  and  sever  them.8 

Shakespeare  says: 

Be  thou  as  lightning  in  the  eyes  of  France.9 

Bacon,  describing  Essex'  expedition  against  Cadiz,  said: 

This  journey  was  like  lightning.     For  in  the  space  of  fourteen  hours  the  King 
of  Spain's  navy  was  destroyed  and  the  town  of  Cales  taken.10 

1  2d  Henry  1 V. ,  iii ,  i .  5  Wisdom  of  the  A  ncieuts  —  Prometheus. 

2  Merchant  of  Venice \  ii,  9.  8  Measure  for  Measure,  i,  1. 

3  Macbeth,  i,  3.  7  Troilus  and  Cress  ida,  i,  3. 

4  Letter  to  King  James,  prefaced  to  Great  8  The  Pacification  of  the  Church. 

Jnstauration.  °  Kingfohn,  i,  1. 

10  Consid.  touching  War  with  Spain. 


IDENTICAL   METAPHORS.  360 

Bacon  called  one  of  his  great  philosophical  works 

The  scaling-ladder  of  the  intelligence. 

Shakespeare  has: 

Northumberland,  thou  ladder,  wherewithal 
The  mounting  Bolingbroke  ascends  my  throne.1 

Bacon  says: 

It  is  the  wisdom  of  crocodiles  that  shed  tears  when  they  would  devour.'2 

Shakespeare  says: 

Gloster's  show 
Beguiles  him,  as  the  mournful  crocodile 
With  sorrow  snares  relenting  passengers.3 

Says  Bacon: 

The  axe  should  be  put  to  the  root  of  the  tree.4 

Says  Shakespeare: 

We  set  the  axe  to  thy  usurping  root.5 

But  the  field  of  labor  in  this  direction  is  simply  boundless. 
One  whose  memory  is  stored  with  the  expressions  found  in  the  two 
sets  of  writings  cannot  open  either  one  without  being  vividly 
reminded  of  the  other.  Both  writers,  if  we  are  to  consider  them, 
for  the  sake  of  argument,  as  two  persons,  thought  in  the  same  way: 
the  cast  of  mind  in  each  was  figurative  and  metaphorical;  both 
vivified  the  driest  details  with  the  electricity  of  the  imagination, 
weaving  it  through  them  like  lightning  among  the  clouds;  and 
each,  as  I  have  shown,  was  very  much  in  the  habit  of  repeating 
himself,  and  thus  reiterated  the  same  figures  of  speech  time  and 
again. 

1  Richard  II.,  v,  i.  3  2d  Henry  VI.,  Hi,  1. 

a  Essay  Of  Wisdom  for  a  Man's  Self.  4  Proceedings  at  York  House. 

6 3d  Henry  VI.,  ii,  2. 


CHAPTER   III. 

IDENTICAL  OPINIONS. 

A  plague  of  opinion  !     A  man  may  wear  it  on  both  sides  like  a  leather  jerkin. 

Troilus  and  Cressida,  Hi,  3. 

WE   come    now  to   another   group   of   parallelisms  —  those  of 
thoughts,  opinions   or  beliefs,  where   the   identity  is   not  in 
the  expression,  but  in  the  underlying  conception. 

We  find  that  both  writers   had  great   purposes  or  intentions  of 
working  for  immortality;  the  one  figuring  his  works  as  "banks  or 
mounts,"    great    earthworks,    as    it    were;    the     other    as     great 
foundations  or  "bases"  on  which  the   future  might  build. 
Bacon  says: 

I  resolved  to  spend  my  time  wholly  in  writing,  and  to  put  forth  that  poor 
talent  or  half  talent,  or  what  it  is,  that  God  hath  given  me,  not,  as  hereto- 
fore, to  particular  exchanges,  but  to  banks  or  mounts  of  perpetuity,  which  will  not 
break.1 

Shakespeare  says: 

Were  it  aught  to  me  I  bore  the  canopy, 

With  my  extern  the  outward  honoring, 
Or  laid  great  bases  for  eternity, 

Which  prove  more  short  than  waste  or  ruining.2 

Here  the  same  idea  runs  through  both  expressions  —  "banks  of 
perpetuity"  and  "bases  for  eternity." 

Both  believed  that  a  wise  government  should  be  omniscient. 
Bacon  says: 

So  unto  princes  and  states,  especially  towards  wise  senators  and  councils,  the 
natures  and  dispositions  of  the  people,  their  conditions  and  necessities,  their  fac- 
tions and  combinations,  their  animosities  and  discontents,  ought  to  be,  in  regard 
to  the  variety  of  their  intelligence,  the  wisdom  of  their  observations  and  the  height 
of  their  station  where  they  keep  sentinel,  in  great  part  clear  and  transparent.3 

Shakespeare  says: 

The  providence  that's  in  a  watchful  state 
Knows  almost  every  grain  of  Plutus'  gold; 
Finds  bottom  in  the  uncomprehensive  deeps; 

1  Touching  a  Holy  War,  2  Sonnet  cxxv.  3  Advancement  0/  Learning,  bookii. 

370 


IDENTICAL    OPINIONS.  37i 

Keeps  place  with  thought,  and,  almost  like  the  gods, 

Does  thoughts  unveil  in  their  dumb  cradles. 

There  is  a  mystery  (with  whom  relation 

Durst  never  meddle)  in  the  soul  of  state; 

Which  hath  an  operation  more  divine 

Than  breath,  or  pen,  can  give  expression  to.1 

Both  had  noted  that  envy  eats  into  the  spirits  and  the  very  body 
of  a  man. 

Bacon  says: 

Love  and  envy  do  make  a  man  pine,  which  other  affections  do  not,  because 
they  are  not  so  continual.' 

Such  men  in  other  men's  calamities  are,  as  it  were,  in  season,  and  are  ever  on 
the  loading  part.3 

Envy  is  the  worst  of  all  passions,  and  feedeth  upon  the  spirits,  and  they  again 
upon  the  body.4 

Shakespeare  says: 

Yond'  Cassius  has  a  lean  and  hungry  look:  .   .   . 
Such  men  as  he  be  never  at  heart's  ease 
Whiles  they  behold  a  greater  than  themselves.5 

Both  speak  of  hope  as  a  medicine  of  the  mind.     Bacon  says: 

To  make  hope  the  antidote  of  human  diseases."5 
And  again: 

And  as  Aristotle  saith,  "That  young  men  may  be  happy,  but  not  otherwise 

but  by  hope.'" " 

Shakespeare  says: 

The  miserable  have  no  other  medicine 
But  only  hope.* 

Both  had  observed  the  shriveling  of  parchment  in  heat.  Bacon 
says: 

The  parts  of  wood  split  and  contract,  shins  become  shriveled,  and  not  only 
that,  but  if  the  spirit  be  emitted  suddenly  by  the  heat  of  the  fire,  become  so  hastily 
contracted  as  to  twist  and  roll  themselves  up.9 

Shakespeare  uses  the  same  fact  as  the  basis  of  a  striking  com- 
parison, as  to  King  John,  dying  of  poison: 

There  is  so  hot  a  summer  in  my  bosom, 
That  all  my  bowels  crumble  up  to  dust: 
I  am  a  scribbled  form,  drawn  with  a  pen 
Upon  a  parchment;  and  against  this  fire 
Do  I  shrink  up.10 


1  Troilus  and  Cressida,  iii,  3.  4  History  o/Life  and  Death.  7  Advancement  0/  Learning. 

8  Essay  Of Envy .  *  Julius  Caesar,  i,  2.  B  Measure  for  Measure,  iii,  1.  , 

3  Essay  Of  Goodness.  •  Med.  Sacra.  •  Novum  Organunt,  book  ii. 

••  King John,  v,  7. 


372 


PARALLELISMS. 


We  find   both  dwelling  upon  the  fact  that  a  shrewd  mind  will 

turn  even  disadvantages  to  use.     Bacon  says: 

Excellent  wits  will  make  use  of  every  little  thing} 

Falstaff  says: 

It  is  no  matter  if  I  do  halt;  I  have  the  wars  for  my  color,  and  my  pension 
shall  seem  the  more  reasonable.  A  good  wit  will  make  use  of  anything.  I  will 
turn  diseases  to  commodity.'2 

Both  had  observed  that  sounds  are  heard   better  at  night  than 

by  day.     Bacon  says: 

Sounds  are  better  heard,  and  farther  off,  in  the  evening  or  in  the  night,  than  at 
the  noon  or  in  the  day.  .  .  .  But  when  the  air  is  more  thick,  as  in  the  night,  the 
sound  spendeth  and  spreadeth.  As  for  the  night,  it  is  true  also  that  the  general 
silence  helpeth.3 

Shakespeare  says: 

Soft  stillness  and  the  night 
Become  the  touches  of  sweet  harmony.4 

And  again: 

Nerissa.  It  is  your  music,  madam,  of  the  house. 
Portia.  Nothing  is  good,  I  see,  without  respect; 
Methinks  it  sounds  much  sweeter  than  by  day.5 

In    the   following    it    appears    that    the    same    observation    had 

occurred  to  both  in  another  instance. 

Bacon  says: 

Anger  suppressed  is  also  a  kind  of  vexation,  and  causeth  the  spirit  to  feed 
upon  the  juices  of  the  body;  but  let  loose  and  breaking  forth  it  helpeth.6 


Shakespeare  says: 
And  again: 


The  grief  that  will  not  speak 
Whispers  the  o'erfraught  heart  and  bids  it  break. ' 


The  heart  hath  treble  wrong 
When  it  is  barred  the  aidance  of  the  tongue.8 

Both  allude  to  the  same  curious  belief.     Bacon  says: 

The  heavens  turn  about  in  a  most  rapid  motion,  without  noise  to  us  perceived; 
though  in  some  dreams  they  have  been  said  to  make  an  excellent  music.9 

1  Bacon's  letter  to  Sir  Foulke  Greville,  written  in  the  name  of  the  Earl  of  Essex  —  Life  and' 
Works,  vol.  ii,  p.  23. 

2  2d  Henry  IV.,  i,  2.  8  History  of  Life  and  Death. 

3  Natural  History,  cent,  ii,  §143.  7  Macbeth,  iv,  3. 

4  Merchant  of  Venice,  v,  t.  *  Poems. 

6  Ibid.  •  Natural  History  cent.  ii. 


IDENTICAL    OPIXIOXS.  373 

Shakespeare  idealizes  dreams  thus: 

There's  not  the  smallest  orb  which  thou  beholdest 
But  in  his  motion  like  an  angel  sings, 
Still  quiring  to  the  young-eyed  cherubims.1 

And  here  we  find  both  drawing  the  same  distinction   between 

the  approbation  of  the  wise  and  the  foolish. 

Hamlet  says  to  the  players: 

Now  this,  overdone,  or  come  tardy  off,  though  it  make  the  unskillful  laugh, 
cannot  but  make  the  judicious  grieve;  the  censure  of  the  which  one  must,  in  your 
allowance,  o'er-weigh  a  whole  theater  of  others." 

Bacon  says: 

So  it  may  be  said  of  ostentation,  "  Boldly  sound  your  own  praises,  and  some  of 
it  will  stick."  It  will  stick  in  the  more  ignorant  and  the  populace,  though  men  of 
wisdom  may  smile  at  it;  and  the  reputation  won  with  many  will  amply  countervail 
the  disdain  of  a  few.3 

This  conclusion  is,  of  course,  ironical. 

Bacon  compares  the  earth  to  an  ant-hill,  with  the  men. 

Like  ants,  crawKug  up  and  down.  Some  carry  corn  and  some  carry  their 
young,  and  some  go  empty,  and  all  —  to  and  fro  —  a  little  heap  of  dust* 

And  we  find  the  same  thought  in  Hamlet: 

What  should  such  fellows  as  I  do  crawling  between  earth  and  heaven.5 

Here   the   word   crawling  expresses   the   thought  of   something 

vermin-like,  insect-like,  and  the  comparison  of  the  whole  ant-hill  of 

the  crawling  world  to  "a  little  heap  of  dust"  was  in  Bacon's  mind 

when  he  wrote: 

What  a  piece  of  work  is  man!  .  .  .  And  yet  to  me  what  is  this  quintessence  of 
dust  ? 

Both  had  noticed  the  servility  of  the  creatures  that  fawn  on 
power.     Bacon  says: 

Such  instruments  as  are  never  failing  about  princes,  which  spy  into  their 
humors  and  conceits  and  second  them;  and  not  only  second  them,  but  in  second- 
ing increase  them;  yea,  and  many  times  without  their  knowledge  pursue  them 
farther  than  themselves  would.6 

Shakespeare  puts  these  words  into  the  mouth  of  King  John: 
It  is  the  curse  of  kings  to  be  attended 
By  slaves  that  take  their  humor  for  a  warrant 
To  break  within  the  bloody  house  of  life; 

1  Merchant  of  Venice,  v,  i.  4  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  i. 

*  Hamlet,  iii,  2.  5  Hamlet,  iii.  1. 

3  De  Attgrneniis,  book  \  iii,  p.  281.  6  Letter  to  Essex,  Oct.  4,  1596. 


374  PARA  LLELISMS. 

And,  on  the  winking  of  authority, 

To  understand  a  law;  to  know  the  meaning 

Of  dangerous  majesty,  when,  perchance,  it  frowns 

More  upon  humor  than  advised  respect.1 

Here  the  same  thought  is  followed  out  to  the  same  after- 
thought: that  the  creature  exceeds  the  purpose  of  the  king,  in  his 
superserviceable  zeal. 

Bacon  says: 

He  prays  and  labors  for  that  which  he  knows  he  shall  be  no  less  happy  with- 
out; ...  he  believes  his  prayers  are  heard,  even  when  they  are  denied,  and  gives 
thanks  for  that  which  he  prays  against. - 

Shakespeare  says: 

We,  ignorant  of  ourselves, 
Beg  often  our  own  harm,  which  the  wise  powers 
Deny  us  for  our  good;  so  find  we  profit 
.  By  losing  of  our  prayers.3 

The  Rev.  H.  L.  Singleton,  of   Maryland,   calls   my  attention   to 

the  following  parallelism. 

Bacon  says: 

And,  therefore,  it  is  no  wonder  that  art  hath  not  the  power  to  conquer  nature, 
and  by  pact  or  law  of  conquest  to  kill  her;  but  on  the  contrary,  it  turns  out  that  art 
becomes  subject  to  nature,  and  yields  obedience  as  wife  to  husband.4 

And  we  find  in  Shakespeare  the  same  philosophy  that  nature  is 

superior  to  the  very  art  which  seeks  to  change  her.     He  says: 

Perdita.  For  I  have  heard  it  said, 

There  is  an  art  which,  in  their  piedness,  shares 

With  great  creating  nature. 

Polixenes.  Say  there  be; 

Yet  nature  is  made  better  by  no  mean 

But  nature  makes  that  mean;  so,  over  that  art 

Which,  you  say,  adds  to  nature,  is  an  art 

That  nature  makes.5 

Again  Shakespeare  says: 

Nature's  above  art.6 
Compare  this  with  Bacon's  expression,  above: 

Art  becomes  subject  to  nature. 

And  Bacon  says  in  The  New  Atlantis  : 

We  make  by  art,  in  the  same  orchards  and  gardens,  trees  and  flowers  to  come 

1  King  John,  iv,  2.  4  Atalanta  or  Gain, 

2  Character  of  a  Believing  Christian,  §  22.  ;'  Winter's  Tale,  iv,  3. 
»  A  ntony  and  Cleopatra.                                                         *  Lear,  iv,  6. 


IDENTICAL    OPINIONS.  ^1$ 

earlier  or  later  than  their  seasons,  and  to  come  up  and  bear  more  speedily  than  by 
their  natural  course  they  do.  We  make  them  also  by  their  art  greater  than  their 
nature.1 

This  is   the  same    thought    that  we    find    in    the  verses    above 

quoted: 

That  art 
Which,  you  say,  adds  to  nature. 

Mr.  J.  T.  Cobb   calls  attention   to   the   following  parallelism  of 

thought.     In  book  ii,  Advancement  of  Learning,  Bacon  says: 

These  three,  as   in  the  body  so  in  the  mind,  seldom  meet  and  commonly  sever; 
.   .   .  and  sometimes  two  of  them  meet,  and  rarely  all  three. -' 

While  in  the  Shakespeare  sonnets  we  have: 

Three  themes  in  one,  which  wondrous  scope  affords, 
Fair,  kind  and  true,  have  often  lived  alone, 
Which  three,  till  now,  never  did  meet  in  one.:; 

Both  regarded  rather  the  fact  than  the  expression  of  it. 

Bacon  says: 

Here,  therefore,  is  the  first  distemper  of  learning,  when  men  study  words,  and 
not  matter.4 


We  seem  to  hear  Hamlet's  mocking  utterance 

What  read  you,  my  lord  ? 
Words,  words,  words.5 


Miss  Delia  Bacon  notea  that  both  held  the  same  view  as  to  the 

dependence  of  men  on  events. 

Shakespeare  says: 

So  our  virtues 
Lie  in  the  interpretation  of  the  times. 6 

While  Bacon  says: 

The  times,  in  many  cases,  give  great  light  to  true  interpretations. 

Mrs.    Pott    calls    attention    to    the    following    parallelism.       In 
Bacon's  Promus,  No.  972,  we  have  : 

Always  let  losers  have  their  words. 
And  Shakespeare  echoes  this  as  follows: 

Losers  will  have  leave 
To  ease  their  stomachs  with  their  bitter  words."1 

1  New  Atlantis.  4  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  i. 

* 1  Montagu,  p.  228.  ~°  Hamlet,  ii,  2. 

8  Sonnet  cv.  ,     *  Coriolanus,  iv,  7. 

7  Titus  Andronicus.  iii,  1. 


376  PARALLELISMS. 

Also: 

And  well  such  losers  may  have  leave  to  speak.1 

Bacon  says: 

For  protestations,  and  professions,  and  apologies,  I  never  found  them  very 
fortunate;  but  they  rather  increase  suspicion  than  clear  it..8 

In  Shakespeare  we  have: 

Hamlet.     Madam,  how  like  you  this  play? 
Queen.     The  lady  protests  too  much,  methinks.3 

Both  even  used  and  believed  in  the  same  drug. 

Bacon  says: 

For  opening,  I  commend  beads  or  pieces  of  carduus  benedictus.4 

In  Much  Ado  about  Nothing  we  have : 

Get  you  some  of  this  distilled  carduus  benedictus  and  lay  it  to  your  heart;  it  is 
the  only  thing  for  a  qualm.5 

Both  believed  that  murders  were  brought  to  light  by  the  opera- 
tion of  God.  Bacon  speaks  of  the  belief  in  the  wounds  of  the  mur- 
dered man  bleeding  afresh  at  the  approach  of  the  murderer,  and 
says: 

It  may  be  that  this  participateth  of  a  miracle,  by  God's  judgment,  zvho  usually 
bringeth  murders  to  light. 

Macbeth  says : 

It  will  have  blood;  they  say,  blood  will  have  blood;. 
Stones  have  been  known  to  move  and  trees  to  speak 
Augurs,  and  understood  relations  have 
By  magot-spies,  and  choughs  and  rooks,  brought  forth 
The  secretest  man  of  blood.6 

Bacon  speaks  of 

The  instant  occasion  flying  away  irreconcilably.'1 

Shakespeare  says: 

The.  flighty  purpose  never  is  d ertook 
Unless  the  act  go  with  it.8 

Church  speaks  of  Bacon's 

Great  idea  of  the  reality  and  boundless  worth  of  knowledge  .  .  .  which 
had  taken  possession  of  his  whole  nature.9 

1  2d  Henry  VI.,  iii,  i.  5  Much  Ado  about  Nothings  iii,  4. 

2  Speech  about  Undertakers.  6  Macbeth,  iii,  4. 

3  Hamlet,  iii,  2.  "  Speech  as  Lord  Chancellor. 
*  Natural  History,  cent,  x,  §963.  8  Macbeth,  iv,  1. 


IDENTICAL    OPINIONS.  377 

Shakespeare  says: 

There  is  no  darkness  but  ignorance.' 
Oh,  thou  monster,  ignorance  !  - 

Bacon  says: 

There  is  no  prison  to  the  prison  of  the  thoughts." 

Shakespeare  has  the  same  thought: 

Hamlet.     Denmark's  a  prison. 

Rosencrantz.     Then  is  the  world  one. 

Hani.  A  goodly  one;  in  which  there  are  many  confines,  wards  and  dungeons; 
Denmark  being  one  of  the  worst. 

Ros.     We  think  not  so,  my  lord.  ^ 

Ham.  Why,  then./tis  none  to  you;  for  there  is  nothing  either  good  or  bad  but 
thinking  makes  it  so;  to  me  it  is  a  prison.4 

As  this  book  is  going  through  the  press  Mr.  James  T.  Cobb  calls 
my  attention  to  the  following  parallelism. 

Bacon,  in  the  Novum  Organum,  referring  to  the  effect  of  opiates, 

says : 

The  same  opiates,  when  taken  in  moderation,  do  strengthen  the  spirits,  render 
them  more  robust,  and  check  the  useless  and  inflammatory  motion.5 

Falstaff,  describing  the  effect  of  wine  on  the  system,  says,  speak- 
ing of  the  "demure  boys,"  like  Prince  John: 

They  are  generally  fools  and  cowards;  which  some  of  us  should  be,  too,  but 
f  o  r  infla  m  m  at  ion} 

This  word  inflammation  is  uncommon:  this  is  the  only  occasion 
on  which  it  appears  in  the  Plays. 

Shakespeare  speaks  of 

Sermons  in  stones  and  good  in  everything. 
Bacon  says: 

There  is  found  in  every  thing  a.  double  nature  oi good? 

And  here  we  have  a  curious  parallelism.     Bacon  says: 

It  is  more  than  a  philosopher  morally  can  digest;  but,  without  any  such  high 
conceit,  I  esteem  it  like  the  pulling  out  of  an  aching  tooth,  which  I  remember, 
when  I  was  a  child  and  had  little  philosophy,  I  was  glad  of  when  it  was  done.® 

1  Twelfth  Night,  iv,  2.  4  Hamlet,  ii,  2.  '  Advancement  of  Learning 

2  Lozie's  Labor  Lost,  iv,  2.  5  Novum  Organum,  book  ii.  book  ii. 

3  Mask  for  Earl  of  Essex.  6  id  Henry  I\\,  iv.  •.  *  Letter  to  Essex. 


378 


PARALLELISMS. 


While  Shakespeare  links  the  philosopher  and  the  tooth-ache 
together  thus: 

For  there  was  never  yet  philosopher 
That  could  endure  the  tooth-ache  patiently; 
However,  they  have  writ  the  style  of  gods, 
And  made  a  pish  at  chance  and  sufferance.1 

The  various  modes  in  which  fortunes  are  obtained  had  occurred 
to  both  writers.     Bacon  says: 

Fortunes  are  not  obtained  without  all  this  ado;  for  I  know  they  come  tumbling 
into  some  men's  laps;  and  a  number  obtain  good  fortunes  by  diligence  in  a  plain 
way.2 

Shakespeare  says: 

Some  men  are  born  great;  some  achieve  greatness;  and  some  have  greatness 
thrust  upon  them.3 

That  is  to  say,  greatness  "  tumbles  into  their  laps." 

And  to  both  had  come  the  thought  that  while  fortune  gave  with 

one  hand  she  stinted  with  the  other. 

Bacon  says: 

It  is  easy  to  observe  that  many  have  strength  of  wit  and  courage,  but  have 
neither  help  from  perturbations,  nor  any  beauty  or  decency  in  their  doings;  some 
again  have  an  elegancy  and  fineness  of  carriage,  which  have  neither  soundness  of 
honesty  nor  substance  of  sufficiency;  and  some,  again,  have  honest  and  reformed 
minds  and  can  neither  become  themselves  or  manage  business;  and  sometimes 
two  of  them  meet,  and  rarely  all  three.4 

Shakespeare  says: 

Will  fortune  never  come  with  both  hands  full  ?  .  .   . 
She  either  gives  a  stomach  and  no  food  — 
Such  are  the  poor  in  health;  or  else  a  feast, 
And  takes  away  the  stomach  —  such  are  the  rich 
That  have  abundance  and  enjoy  it  not.5 

Bacon  says: 

It  is  not  good  to  look  too  long  upon  these  turning  wheels  of  vicissitude,  lest 
we  become  giddy.6 

Shakespeare  has: 

Fortune,  good-night;  smile  again, 
Turn  thy  wheel? 

Again: 

Giddy  Fortune 's  furious  fickle  wheel.* 

1  Much  Ado  about  Nothing,  v.  i.  B  2d  Henry  J I '.,  iv.  4,. 

2  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii.  fi  History  0/  Life  and  Death. 
*  Twelfth  Night,  iii,  5.  •  Lear,  ii,  2. 

4  Advancement  of  L earning,  book  ii.  8  Henry  /".  iii,  6. 


IDENTICAL    OPINIONS,  37o 

Again: 

Consider  it  not  so  deeply, 
That  way  madness  lies.1 

We    find   that  both    writers    realized    the    wonderfully   complex 

character  of  the  human  creature. 

Bacon  says: 

Of  all  things  comprehended  within  the  compass  of  the  universe,  man  is  a  thing 
most  mixed  and  compounded,  insomuch  that  he  was  well  termed  by  the  ancients 
a  little  world.   ...     It  is  furnished  with  most  admirable  virtues  and  faculties. % 

And  again: 

Of  all  the  substances  which  nature  hath  produced,  man's  body  is  most  extremely 
compounded:  ...  in  his  mansion,  sleep,  exercise,  passions,  man  hath  infinite 
variations.* 

The  Plays  were  written,  in  part,  to  illustrate  the   characteristics 

of  that  wonderfully  compounded   creature,  man.      And  in  them  we 

find: 

What  a  piece  of  work  is  man  !  How  noble  in  reason  !  How  infinite  in  faculty! 
In  form  and  moving,  how  express  and  admirable!  In  action,  how  like  an  angel  !  In 
apprehension  how  like  a  god  !    The  beauty  of  the  world  !    The  paragon  of  animals  !4 

These  are  the  admirable  faculties  referred  to  by  Bacon;  and 
"  the  little  world  "  of  the  ancients,  the  microcosm,  reappears  in  Shake- 
speare: 

If  you  see  this  in  the  map  of  my  microcosm,  follows  it  that  I  am  known  well 
enough  too?5 

And   in   the   play  of  Richard  II.   we  find    the  very  expression. 

"little  world,"  applied  to  the  human  being: 

My  brain  1*11  prove  the  female  to  my  soul; 

My  soul  the  father:  and  these  two  beget 

A  generation  of  still-breeding  thoughts, 

And  these  same  thoughts  people  this  little  world; 

In  humors  like  the  people  of  this  world/' 

Bacon  has  the  following  thought : 

Xo  doubt  in  him,  as  in  all  men,  and  most  of  all  in  kings,  his  fortune  wrought 
upon  his  nature,  and  his  nature  upon  his  fortune.7 

The  same  thought  occurs  in  Shakespeare: 
I  grow  to  what   I  work  in. 
Like  the  dver's  hand.8 


1  Macbeth,  ii,  2.  5  Coriolanus,  ii,  t. 

2  Wisdom  of  the  A  ncients  —  Prometheus.  8  Richard  II.,  v,  4. 

3  Advancement  0/ Learning,  book  ii.  7  History  0/  Henry  VII. 
*  Hamlet,  ii.  2.  a  Sonnet. 


°r  rut    + 


380  PARALLELISMS. 

And  both  concurred  in  another  curious  belief. 

Bacon  says: 

And  therefore  whatsoever  want  a  man  hath,  he  must  see  that  he  pretend  the 
virtue  that  shadoweth  it.1 

Shakespeare  says: 

Assume  a  virtue  if  you  have  it  not.2 

Bacon  says: 

Envy  makes  greatness  the  mark  and  accusation  the  game. 

Shakespeare  says: 

That  thou  art  blarhed  shall  not  be  thy  defect, 

For  slander's  mark  was  ever  yet  the  fair; 
The  ornament  of  beauty  is  suspect, 

A  crow  that  flies  in  heaven's  sweetest  air.;; 

Something  of  the  same   thought  is  found  in  Bacon's  Promus, 
No.  41: 

Dat  veniam  corvis  vexat  censura  columbas.     (Censure  pardons  crows,  but  bears 
hard  on  doves.) 

"  Slander's  mark  was  ever  yet  the  fair."     The  beautiful  dove  falls 

readily  under  suspicion;  but  censure  pardons  "  the  crow  that  flies 

in  heaven's  sweetest  air." 

Bacon  says: 

Health  consisteth  in  an  unmovable  constancy  and  a  freedom  from  passions, 
which  are  indeed  the  sicknesses  of  the  mind* 

Macbeth  asks  the  physician: 

Canst  thou  not  minister  to  a  mind  diseased?1 

Bacon  says: 

For  reverence  is  that  wherewith  princes  are  girt  from  God.6 

And  again: 

For  God  hath  imprinted  such  a  majesty  in  the  face  of  a  prince  that  no  private 
man  dare  approach  the  person  of  his  sovereign  with  a  traitorous  intent.7  ■ 

Shakespeare  surrounds  the  king  with  a  hedge  —  a  divine  hedge 
—  which  girts  him: 

There's  such  divinity  doth  hedge  a  king, 
That  treason  can  but  peep  to  what  it  would, 
Acts  little  of  his  will.8 


1  Advancement  of Learning,  book  ii. 
^  Hamlet,  iii,  4. 

3  Sonnet  lxx. 

4  Letter  to  Earl  of  Rutland,  written 

in  the  name  of  the  Earl  of  Essex. 


6  Macbeth,  v,  3. 

6  Essay  Of  Seditions. 

"  Speech  on  the  Trial  of  Essex. 

h  Hamlet,  iv,  5. 


38i 


IDENTICAL    OPINIONS. 

Says  Bacon: 

This  princess  having  the  spirit  of  a  man  and  malice  of  a  woman.1 
Shakespeare  has  a  similar  antithesis: 

I  have  a  man's  mind,  but  a  woman's  might.2 

The  indestructibility  of  thought  as  compared  with  the  tempo- 
rary nature  of  material  things  had  occurred   to  both.     Bacon  says: 

For  have  not  the  verses  of  Homer  continued  twenty-five  hundred  years,  with- 
out the  loss  of  a  syllable  or  a  letter,  during  which  time  infinite  palaces,  temples, 
castles,  cities  have  been  decayed  and  demolished.3 

And  Shakespeare,  in  a  magnificent  burst  of  egotism,  possible 

only  under  a  mask,  cries  out: 

Xot  marble, 
Nor  the  gilded  monuments  of  princes, 
Shall  outlive  this  powerful  rhyme.4 

Bacon  has  this  thought: 

For  opportunity  makes  the  thief.5 

Shakespeare  says: 

And  even  thence  thou  wilt  be  stolen,  1  fear, 
For  truth  proves  thievish  for  a  prize  so  dear.6 

And  again: 

Rich  preys  make  true  men  thieves.7 

And  again: 

How  oft  the  sight  of  means  to  do  ill  deeds 
Makes  ill  deeds  done.8 

Bacon  tells  us  that  King  Henry  VII.  sent  his  commissioners  to 

inspect  the  Queen  of  Naples  with  a  view  to  matrimony,  and  desired 

them 

To  report  as  to  her  "  complexion,  favor,  feature,  stature,  health,  age,  customs, 
behavior,  condition  and  estate,"  as  if  he  meant  to  find  all  things  in  one  woman.* 

And  in  Shakespeare  we  find  Benedick  soliloquizing: 

One  woman  is  fair;  yet  I  am  well:  another  is  wise;  yet  I  am  well:  another  vir- 
tuous; yet  I  am  well;  but  till  all  graces  be  in  one  woman,  one  woman  shall  not  come 
in  mv  grace.10 


1  History  of  Henry  I'/t.  6  Sonnet  xlviii. 

' Julius  Ccesar,  ii,  4.  7  Venus  and  Adonis. 

3  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  i.  8  King  John,  iv,  2. 

4  Sonnet.  9  History  of  Henry  17/. 

5  Letter  to  Essex,  1598.  10  Much  Ado  about  Nothing,  ii,  2, 


^  8  2  PA  RA  L  LELISMS. 

Bacon  says: 

The  corruption  of  the  best  things  is  the  worst.1 
Shakespeare  has  the  same  thought: 

Lilies  that  fester  smell  far  worse  than  weeds.*2 

Bacon  speaks  of 

The  mind  of  man  drawn  over  and  clouded  with  the  sable  pavilion  of  the  body.1 

And  Bacon  also  says: 

So  differing   a  harmony  there   is  between  the  spirit  of   man  and  the  spirit  of 
nature.4 

While  Shakespeare  says: 

Such  harmony  is  in  mortal  souls; 

But,  whilst  this  muddy  vesture  of  decay 

Doth  grossly  close  it  in,  we  cannot  hear  it.5 

Bacon  says: 

A  king  is  a  mortal  god  on  earth* 

Shakespeare  says: 

True  hope  is  swift,  and  flies  with  swallow's  wings, 
Kings  it  makes  gods,  and  meaner  creatures  kings.1 

Again: 

Kipgs  are  earth's  gods;  in  vice  their  law's  their  will.8 

Again: 

He  is  their  god;  he  leads  them  like  a  thing 
Made  by  some  other  deity  than  Nature.9 

Bacon  says: 

A  beautiful  face  is  a  silent  commendation.™ 

Shakespeare  says: 

The  beauty  that  is  borne  here  in  the  face 
The  bearer  knows  not,  but  commends  itseif 
To  others'  eyes.11 

We  find  a  curious  parallelism  in  the  following.     Bacon  says: 

For  we  die  daily;  and  as  others  have  given  place  to  us,  so  we  must  in  the  end 
give  way  to  others.12 

1  History  of  Henry  VII.  *  New  Atlantis.  8  Pericles,  i,  i. 

'2  Sonnet.  6  Merchant  of  Venice,  v,  i.  9  Coriolanus,  iv,  6. 

3  Advancement  of  Learn-  *TL8&a.yOfaKing:  10  Orna.  Rati. 

ing,  book  ii.  7  Richard  III.,  v,  2.  n  Troilits  and  Cressida,  iii,  3. 

"Essay  Of  Death. 


I  DEN  TIC  A  L    OP  IX  IONS. 


Shakespeare  puts  into  the  mouth  of  Orlando  these  words; 


38: 


Only  in  the  world  I  fill  up  a  place,  which  may  be  better  supplied  when  I  have 
made  it  empty.1 

Bacon  says: 

The  expectation  [of  death]  brings  terror,  and  that  exceeds  the  evil.2 

Shakespeare  says: 

Dost  thou  fear  to  die  ? 
The  sense  of  death  is  most  in  apprehension/1 

Bacon  says: 

Art  thou  drowned  in  security  ?     Then  say  thou  art  perfectly  dead. 

Shakespeare  says: 

You  all  know,  security 
Is  mortal's  chiefest  enemy.4 

Hamlet   discusses   the   length   of   time  a  body  will  last   in    the 

earth.     And   Bacon   had   studied  the  same  curious  subject,  and  he 

notes  the  fact  that 

In  churchyards  where  they  bury  much,  the  earth  will  consume  the  corpse  in  far 
shorter  time  than  other  earth  will.8 

Bacon  says: 

The  green   caterpillar  breedeth  in  the  inward  parts  of   roses,    especially   not 
blown,  where  the  dew  sticketh.6 

Shakespeare  says: 

But  let  concealment,  like  a  worm  i'  the  bud, 
Feed  on  her  damask  cheek.7 


H.  L.  Haydel,  of  St.  Louis,  calls  my  attention  to  the  following 
parallelism  noted  by  Rev.  Henry  N.  Hudson,  in  his  note  upon  a 
passage  in  Hamlet,  i,  4. 

Mr.  Hudson  gives  the  passage,  in  his  edition  of  the  Plays,  as  fol- 
lows: 

Their  virtues  else  —  be  they  as  pure  as  grace, 

As  infinite  as  man  may  undergo  — 

Shall  in  the  general  censure  take  corruption 

From  that  particular  fault;  the  dram  of  leaven 

Doth  all  the  noble  substance  of  'em  sour 

To  his  own  scandal. 

Hudson  says  in  his  foot-note: 

The  meaning  is  that  the  dram  of  leaven  sours  all  the  noble  substance  of  their 

1  As  ]  'on  Like  It,  i,  2.  *  Macbeth,  iii,  5.  •  Ibid,  §  728. 

2  Essay  Of  Death.  3  Natural  History,  §  330.  7  Twelfth  Night,  ii,  4.  ' 
:i  Measure  for  Measure,  iii,  1. 


384  PARALLELISMS. 

virtues.   .   .   .  And  so  in  Bacon's  History  of  Henry  I'll.:  "And  as  a  little  leaven  of 
new  distaste  doth  commonly  sour  the  whole  lump  of  former  merits." 

Here  again  we  find  the  critics  reading  the  obscure  passages  in 
Shakespeare  by  the  light  of  Bacon's  utterances. 

Both  writers  felt  a  profound  contempt  for  the  authority  of  books 
alone.  In  Shakespeare  this  was  most  remarkable.  A  mere  poet, 
with  no  new  philosophy  to  introduce,  seeking  in  the  writings  of 
preceding  ages  only  for  the  beautiful,  could  have  had  no  motive 
for  thus  attacking  existing  opinions.  And  yet  we  find  him 
saying: 

Study  is  like  the  heavens'  glorious  sun, 

That  will  not  be  deep-searched  with  saucy  looks; 

Small  have  continual  plodders  ever  won, 
Save  base  authority,  from  others'  books.1 

In  Bacon  we  find  the  same  opinion  and  the  reason  for  it.  His 
whole  life  was  a  protest  against  the  accepted  conclusions  of  his 
age;  his  system  could  only  rise  upon  the  overthrow  of  that  of  Aris- 
totle.    He  protested  against 

The  first  distemper  of  learning,  when  men  study  words  and  not  matter.2 

Again  he  says: 

In  the  universities  of  Europe  men  learn  nothing  but  to  believe;  first  to  believe 
that  others  know  that  which  they  know  not;  and  after,  themselves  to  believe  that 
they  know  that  which  they  know  not.3 

And  again: 

Are  we  richer  by  one  poor  invention  by  reason  of  all  the  learning  that  hath 
been  these  many  hundred  years.4 

And  again  he  says: 

Neither  let  him  embrace  the  license  of  contradicting  or  the  servitude  of 
authority} 

This  is  the  very  expression  of  Shakespeare: 

Small  have  continual  plodders  ever  won, 
Save  base  authority. 

And  again  Bacon  says: 

To  make  judgment  wholly  by  their  rules  [studies]  is  the  humor  of  a  scholar. 
Crafty  men  contemn  them,  simple  men  admire  them,  and  wise  men  use  them. 

1  Love's  Labor  Lost,  i,  1.  4  Ibid. 

2  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  i.  5  Interpretation  0/  Nature. 

3  In  Praise  0/  Knowledge.  6  Essay  Of  Studies. 


IDENTICAL    OPINIONS.  385 

And  Shakespeare  says: 

Why  universal  plodding  prisons  up 
The  nimble  spirits  in  the  arteries.1 

And  in  this  connection  we  have  the  following  opinion  of  Bacon: 

It  seems  to  me  that  Pygmalion's  frenzy  is  a  good  emblem  or  portraiture  of  this 
vanity,  for  words  are  but  the  images  of  matter;  and,  except  they  have  life  of 
reason  and  invention,  to  fall  in  love  with  them  is  all  one  to  fall  in  love  with  a 
picture. 

We  hear  the  echo  of  this  thought  in  Hamlet's  contemptuous 
iteration: 

Words,  7cords,  ivords. 

And  Bacon's  very  thought  is  found  again  in  the  following: 

Idle  words,  servants  to  shallow  fools. 

Unprofitable  sounds,  weak  arbitrators  ! 
Busy  yourselves  in  skull-contending  schools; 

Debate,  where  leisure  serves,  with  dull  debaters.2 

Both  writers  regarded  the  lusts  or  passions  of  the  mind  with 
contempt,  and  perceived  their  unsatisfying  nature.     Bacon  says: 

And  they  all  know,  who  have  paid  dear  for  serving  and  obeying  their  lusts, 
that  whether  it  be  honor,  or  riches,  or  delight,  or  glory,  or  knowledge,  or  anything 
else  which  they  seek  after,  yet  are  they  but  things  cast  off,  and  by  divers  men  in 
all  ages,  after  experience  had  utterly  rejected  and  loathed.3 

And  we  find  the  same  thought  in  Shakespeare: 

The  expense  of  spirit  in  a  waste  of  shame 

Is  lust  in  action;  and  till  action,  lust 
Is  perjured,  murderous,  bloody,  full  of  blame, 

Savage,  extreme,  rude,  cruel,  not  to  trust; 
Enjoyed  no  sooner  but  despised  straight; 

Past  reason  hunted;  and  no  sooner  had, 
Past  reason  hated,  as  a  swallowed  bait, 

On  purpose  laid  to  make  the  taker  mad: 
Mad  in  pursuit  and  in  possession  so; 

Had,  having,  and  in  quest  to  have,  extreme; 
A  bliss  in  proof  —  and  proved  a  very  woe; 

Before,  a  joy  proposed;  behind,  a  dream.4 

And  again: 

If  the  balance  of  our  lives  had  not  one  scale  of  reason  to  poise  another  of 
sensuality,  the  blood  and  baseness  of  our  natures  would  conduct  us  to  most  pre- 
posterous conclusions.5 

Both  believed  that  the  influences  of  evil  were  more  persistent  in 
the  world  than  those  of  goodness. 

1  Love 's  Labor  Lost ';  iv,  3.  -Poems.  3  Wisdojn  of  the  Ancients — Dionysius.i 

4  Sonnet  exxix.  h  Othello,  i.  %. 


3  86  PARALLELISMS. 

Bacon  says: 

Those  that  bring  honor  into  their  family  are  commonly  more  worthy  than  most 
that  succeed;  .  .  .  for  ill  to  man's  nature  (as  it  stands  perverted)  hath  a  natural 
motion  strongest  in  continuance;  but  good,  as  a  forced  motion,  strongest  at  first.1 

Shakespeare  says: 

The  evil  that  men  do  lives  after  them, 
The  good  is  oft  interred  with  their  bones.'2 

And  again: 

Men's  evil  manners  live  in  brass;  their  virtues 
We  write  in  water.3 

Neither  writer  assented  to  the  belief  of  the  age  (since  by  scien- 
tific tests  made  a  verity)  that  the  condition  of  the  patient's  health 
was  shown  by  the  appearance  of  his  urine. 

Bacon  says: 

Those  advertisements  which  your  Lordship  imputed  to  me  I  hold  to  be  no 
more  certain  to  make  judgment  upon  than  a  patient's  water  to  a  physician.4 

In  Shakespeare  we  find  the  following: 
Falstaff.     Sirrah,  you  giant,  what  says  the  doctor  to  my  water? 
Page.     He  said,  sir,  the  water  itself  was  a  good,   healthy  water;  but  for  the 
party  that  owned  it,  he  might  have  more  diseases  than  he  knew  for. 

Both  believed  that  too  long  a  continuance  of  peace  caused  the 

people  to   degenerate.     Bacon  argued   that,   as   the   body   of  man 

could   not  remain   in  health  without  exercise,  the  body  of  a  state 

needed  exercise  also  in  the  shape  of  foreign  wars.     He  says: 

If  it  seem  strange  that  I  account  no  state  flourishing  but  that  which  hath 
neither  civil  wars  nor  too  long  peace,  I  answer  that  politic  bodies  are  like  our  natur- 
al bodies,  and  must  as  well  have  some  natural  exercise  to  spend  their  humors,  as 
to  be  kept  from  too  violent  or  continual  outrages  which  spend  their  best  spirits.5 

And  we  find  the  same  thought,  of  the  necessity  of  expelling  the 

humors  of  the  body  by  the  exercise  of  war,  in  Shakespeare: 

This  is  the  impost  hume  of  much  wealth  and  peace, 
That  inward  breaks,  and  shows  no  cause  without 
Why  the  man  dies.6 

Again  Bacon  says: 

This  want  of  learning  hath  been  in  good  countries  ruined  by  civil  wars,  or  in 
states  corrupted  through  wealth  or  too  great  length  of  peace.1, 

1  Essay.  the  name  of  the  Earl  of  Essex — Life 

2 Julius  Ccesar,  iii,  2.  and  Works,  vol.  ii,  p.  12. 

3  Henry  VIII.,  iv,  2.  B  Ilam/et,  iv,  4. 

4  Letter  to  Essex  concerning  Earl  of  7  Letter  to  the  Earl  of  Rutland,  written  in 

Tyrone.  the  name  of  the  Earl  of  Essex  —  Life 

6  Letter  to  the  Earl  of  Rutland,  written  in  and  Works,  vol.  ii,  p.  12. 


WEN  TIL  'A  L    OP IX 10 XS. 


!»7 


And  in  the  foregoing  we  have  the  very  collocation  of  wealth  and 
peace  used  by  Hamlet,  and  the  same  thought  of  corruption  at  work 
in  both  cases. 

Shakespeare  says: 

This  peace  is  nothing  but  to  rust  iron,  increase  tailors  and  breed  ballad- 
makers.1 

And  again: 

Discarded,  unjust  servingmen,  younger  sons  to  younger  brothers,  revolted 
tapsters,  and  ostlers  trade-fallen;  the  cankers  of  a  calm  world  and  a  long  peace} 

Both  writers  regarded  the  period  of  youth  as  one  of  great 
danger. 

Bacon  says: 

For. those  persons  which  are  of  a  turbulent  nature  or  appetite  do  commonly 
pass  their  youth  in  many  errors;  and  about  their  middle,  and  then  and  not  before, 
they  show  forth  their  perfections.3 

And  again: 

He  passed  that  dangerous  time  of  his  youth  in  the  highest  fortune,  and  in  a 
vigorous  state  of  health.4 

Shakespeare  makes  the  same  observation: 

Thou  hast  passed  by  the  ambush  of  young  days. 
Either  not  assailed,  or  victor,  being  charged.5 

And  this  word  ambush,  then  an  unusual  one,  is  also  found  in 
Bacon's  writings:  he  speaks6  of  the  Sphynx  "lying  in  ambush  for 
travelers." 

We  find  a  group  of  identities  in  reference  to  the  use  of  intoxi- 
cating drinks.  These  I  have  already  given  in  the  chapter  on  "The 
Purposes  of  the  Plays." 

But  while  both  condemned  drunkenness  they  agreed  in  believ- 
ing that,  within  reasonable  limits,  the  use  of  intoxicating  liquors 
strengthened  and  elevated  the  race. 

Bacon  says: 

•  The  use  of  wine  in  dry  and  consumed  bodies  is  hurtful:  in  moist  and  full  bodies 
it  is  good.  The  cause  is,  for  that  the  spirits  of  the  wine  do  prey  upon  the  dew  or 
radical  moisture,  as  they  call  it,  of  the  body,  and  so  deceive  the  animal  spirits. 
But  where  there  is  moisture  enough  or  superfluous,  there  wine  helpeth  to  digest,  and 
desiccate  the  moisture." 
I 

1  Coriolamts,  iv,  5.  *  In  Praise  0/ Henry  Prince  of  Wales. 

2  rst  Henry  IV. ,  iv.  2.  5  Sonnet  lxx. 

3  Civil  Character  of  A  ugustus  Ccesar.  6  Wisdom  of  the  A  ncients  —  Sphynx.  < 

1  Natural History \  §  727. 


388  PARALLELISMS. 

And  again: 

I  see  France,  Italy  or  Spain  have  not  taken  into  use  beer  or  ale;  which,  per- 
haps if  they  did,  would  better  both  their  healths  and  their  complexions} 

And  Shakespeare  puts  into  the  mouth  of  Falstaff,  who  was 
" moist  and  full"  enough,  in  a  state  of  ''constant  dissolution  and 
thaw,"  as  he  said  himself,  the  same  opinion: 

A  good  sherris-sack  hath  a  two-fold  operation  in  it.  It  ascends  me  into  the 
brain;  dries  me  there  all  the  foolish  and  dull  and  crudy  vapors  which  environ  it.  .  .  . 
It  illuminateth  the  face;  which,  as  a  beacon,  gives  warning  to  all  the  rest  of  this 
little  kingdom,  man,  to  arm;  and  then  the  vital  commoners,  the  inland  petty  spirits, 
muster  me  all  to  their  captain,  the  heart,  who,  great  and  puffed  up  with  this  reti- 
nue, doth  any  deed  of  courage.2 

Here  we  have  the  same  belief  as  to  the  virtues  of  wine,  and  the 
same  reason,  the  drying  or  desiccating  of  the  superfluous  humors; 
and  in  both  cases  we  have  the  belief  that  the  spirits  of  the  man  are 
acted  upon  by  the  wine  —  a  belief  we  shall  touch  upon  hereafter. 
And  in  Bacon  we  will  find  another  reference  to  this  ascending  of 
the  spirits  into  the  head.    .He  says: 

The  vapors  which  were  gathered  by  sitting  fly  more  up  into  the  head.3 

But   the   identity  of  belief   upon   this   point   goes   still  farther. 

Each  writer  held  to  the  opinion  that  the  children  of  drunken  men 

were  more  likely  to  be  females  than  males.     Bacon  says: 

It  hath  been  observed  by  the  ancients,  and  is  yet  believed,  that  the  sperm  of 
drunken  men  is  unfruitful.  The  cause  is,  for  that  it  is  over-moistened  and 
wanteth  spissitude;  and  we  have  a  merry  saying,  that  they  that  go  drunk  to  bed 
get  daughters .4 

Shakespeare  says: 

There's  never  any  of  these  demure  boys  come  to  any  proof;  for  their  drink 
doth  so  overcool  their  blood,  and  making  many  fish-meals,  that  they  fall  into  a 
kind  of  male  green-sickness;  and  then,  when  they  marry,  they  get  wenches.  .  .  . 
If  I  had  a  thousand  sons,  the  first  principle  I  would  teach  them  should  be,  to  for- 
swear thin  potations  and  to  addict  themselves  to  sack.5 

And  again: 

He  was  gotten  in  drink.    Is  not  the  humor  conceited  ? 
His  mind  is  not  heroic,  and  there's  the  humor  of  it.6 

And  we  find  the  same  thought,  that  great  vigor  and  vitality 
causes  the  offspring  to  be  masculine  in  gender,  in  Macbeth's 
exclamation  to  Lady  Macbeth: 

1  Natural  History,  %  705.  3  Natural  History,  %  734.  6  2d  Henry  IV.,  iv,  3. 

2 2d  Henry  IV. ,  iv,  3.  4  Ibid.,  §  723.  fi  Merry  Wives  of  H'indsor,  i,  2.. 


IDENTICAL    OPINIONS.  389 

Bring  forth  men-children  only, 
For  thy  undaunted  mettle  should  compose 
Nothing  but  males.1 

Both  writers  recognize  the  vast  superiority  of  the  intellectual 
forces  over  the  bodily. 
Bacon  says: 

The  mind  is  the  man.   ...   A  man  is  but  what  he  knoweth.2 
Shakespeare  has  the  same  thought: 

In  nature  there's  no  blemish,  but  the  mind,* 
'Tis  the  mind  that  makes  the  body  rich.4 
I  saw  Othello's  visage  in  his  mind,1 

Bacon  says: 

Pain  and  danger  be  great  only  by  opinion.6 
Shakespeare  says: 

For  there  is  nothing  either  good  or  bad  but  thinking  makes  it  so.7 

The  discrimination  which  we  find  in  Shakespeare  between  appe- 
tite and  digestion,  and  their  relations  one  to  another,  reappears  in 
Bacon. 

Macbeth  says: 

Now  good  digestion  wait  on  appetite, 
And  health  on  both.8 

Bacon  speaks  of 

Appetite,  which  is  the  spur  of  digestion.9 

Both  writers  believed  that  the  strict  course  of  justice  should  be 
moderated  by  mercy. 
Bacon  says: 

He  [the  King]  must  always  resemble  Him  whose  great  name  he  beareth  .  .  . 
in  manifesting  the  sweet  influence  of  his  mercy  on  the  severe  stroke  of  his  justice.10 

And  again: 

In  causes  of  life  and  death,  judges  ought  (as  far  as  the  law  permitteth)  in  justice 
to  remember  mercy,  and  to  cast  a  severe  eye  upon  the  example,  but  a  merciful  eye 
upon  the  person.11 

1  Macbeth,  i,  7.  8  Letter  to  the  Earl  of  Rutland,  written  in 
a  Praise  of  Knoiuledge.  the  name  of  the  Earl  of  Essex. 

3  Twelfth  Night,  iii,  4.  7  Hamlet,  ii,  2. 

4  Taming  of  the  Shrew,  iv,  3.  ■  Macbeth,  iii,  4. 

*  Othello,  i,  3.  »  History  of  Life  and  Death. 

10  Essay  Of  a  King. 
11  Essay  Of  fudicature. 


39° 


PARALLELISMS. 


The    same    humane    spirit    is    manifested    in    the    Shakespeare 

writings: 

It  is  an  attribute  to  God  himself; 

And  earthly  power  doth  then  show  likest  God's 

When  mercy  seasons  justice.1 

And  again: 

Wilt  thou  draw  near  the  nature  of  the  gods  ? 
Draw  near  them,  then,  in  being  merciful.  - 

And  again: 

Alas,  alas  ! 
Why,  all  the  souls  that  are  were  forfeit  once; 
And  He  that  might  the  vantage  best  have  took 
Found  out  the  remedy:     How  would  you  be, 
If  He,  which  is  the  top  of  judgment,  should 
But  judge  you  as  you  are?     Oh,  think  on  that; 
And  mercy  then  will  breathe  within  your  lips 
Like  man  new  made.3 

Both  were  keenly  alive  to  the  purity  and  sweetness  of  the 
atmosphere. 

In  his  History  of  Life  and  Death  4  Bacon  discusses  "  the  healthful- 
ness  of  the  air"  and  the  modes  of  testing  its  purity,  as  by  exposing 
a  lock  of  wool  or  a  piece  of  flesh,  etc. 

He  says  in  another  place: 

At  Gorhambury  there  is  sweet  air  if  any  is.5 

And  again: 

The  discovery  of  the  disposition  of  the  air  is  good  .  .  .  for  the  choice  of 
places  to  dwell  in;  at  the  least  for  lodges  and  retiring-places  for  health.6 

And  in  the  same  chapter  in  which  he  discusses  the  purity  of  the 

air  in  dwelling-houses  and  the  mode  of  ascertaining- it,  he  refers  to 

birds: 

Which  use  to  change  countries  at  certain  seasons,  if  they  come  earlier,  do  show 
the  temperature  of  weather  according  to  that  country  whence  they  came.7 

For  prognostics  of  weather  from  living  creatures,  it  is  to  be  noted,  that 
creatures  that  live  in  the  open  air,  sub  dio,  must  needs  have  a  quicker  impression 
from  the  air  than  men  that  live  most  within  doors;  and  especially  birds,  that  live 
in  the  air  freest  and  clearest.8 

And  again  he  notes  that 

Kites  flying  aloft  show  fair  and  dry  weather,  .  .  .  for  that  they  mount  most 
into  the  air  of  that  temper  wherein  they  delight.9 

1  Merchant  of  I  'cuke,  iv,  i.  4  §29,  etc.  7  Ibid.,  §816. 

2  Titus  Andronicus,  i,  2.  5  Letter  to  Buckingham,  1619.  8  Ibid.,  §822. 
*  Measure  for  Measure,  ii,  2.        •  Natural History,  §808.  9  Ibid.,  §824. 


IDENTICAL    OPINIONS.  39I 

And  we  have  the  same  set  of  thoughts  —  the  sweetness  of  the 
air  in  special  places,  and  the  delight  of  birds  in  pure  air — in  the 
famous  words  uttered  by  Duncan  and  Banquo: 

Daman.     This  castle  hath  a  pleasant  seat:  the  air 

Nimbly  and  gently  recommends  itself 

Unto  our  senses. 

Banquo.  This  guest  of  summer, 

The  temple-haunting  martlet,  does  approve, 

By  his  loved  mansionry,  that  the  heaven's  breath 

Smells  wooingly  here:  no  jutty,  frieze, 

Buttress,  nor  coigne  of  vantage,  but  this  bird 

Hath  made  his  pendent  bed  and  procreant  cradle: 

Where  they  most  breed  and  haunt,  I  have  observed 

The  air  is  delicate.1 

Both  refer  to  the  effect  of  terror  upon  the  rising  of  the  hair. 

Bacon  says: 

The  passions  of  the  mind  work  upon  the  body  the  impressions  following:  fear 
causeth  paleness,  trembling,  the  standing  of  the  hair  upright,  starting  and  shriek- 
ing.'1 

Shakespeare  says: 

The  time  has  been,  my  senses  would  have  cooled 
To  hear  a  night-shriek;  and  my  fell  of  hair 
Would  at  a  dismal  treatise  rouse,  and  stir 
As  life  were  in  't.3 

Both,  while  to  some  extent  fatalists,  believed  that  a  man  pos- 
sesses to  a  large  extent  the  control  over  his  own  fortune. 
Bacon  says: 

Chiefly  the  mould  of  a  man's  fortune  is  in  his  own  hands.4 
And  again: 

It  is  not  good  to  fetch  fortune  from  the  stars.'0 

While  Shakespeare  says: 

The  fault,  dear  Brutus,  is  not  in  our  stars, 
But  in  ourselves,  that  we  are  underlings.6 

And  curiously  enough,  both  drew  the  same  conclusions  as  to 

reading  character  by  personal  appearance,  while  they  held    that, 

as  Shakespeare  says: 

There's  no  art 
To  read  the  mind's  construction  in  the  face.7 

1  Macbeth,  i,  6.  s  Macbeth,  v,  5.  5  History  of  Henry  I  II. 

2  Natural  History,  §  713.  4  Essay  Of  Fortune.  6  Julius  Ccesar,  i,  2. 

7  Macbeth,  i,  1. 


392 


PA  RA  LLELISMS. 


And  again : 

No  more  can  you  distinguish  of  a  man 

Than  of  his  outward  show,  which,  God  he  knows, 

Seldom,  or  never,  jumpeth  with  the  heart.1 

And  Bacon  argued : 

Neither  let  that  be  feared  which  is  said,  Fronti  nulla  fides:  which  is  meant  of 
a  general  outward  behavior,  and  not  of  the  private  and  subtle  motions  and  labors 
of  the  countenance  and  gesture. '- 

And  this  distinction,  between  the  revelations  made  by  the  mere 
cast  or  shape  or  controlled  attitudes  of  the  face,  and  the  expres- 
sions of  the  face  or  motions  of  the  body,  appears  in  Shakespeare: 
There  was  speech  in  their  dumbness,  language  in  their  very  gestures.3 

Again  we  find  it  in  Ulysses'  wonderful  description  of  Cressida: 

Fie,  fie  upon  her  ! 
There's  language  in  her  eye,  her  cheek,  her  lip, 
Nay,  her  foot  speaks;  her  wanton  spirits  look  out 
At  every  joint  and  motive  [motion  ?]  of  her  body.4 

And  we  find  Bacon  observing: 

For  every  passion  doth  cause,  in  the  eyes,  face  and  gesture,  certain  indecent 
and  ill-seeming,  apish  and  deformed  motions.5 

And  again  he  says: 

So  in  all  physiognomy  the  lineaments  of  the  body  will  discover  those  natural 
inclinations  of  the  mind  which  dissimulation  will  conceal  or  discipline  will 
suppress.6 

And  we  find  Shakespeare  putting  into  the  mouth  of  King  John 

these  words,  descriptive  of  Hubert: 

Hadst  thou  not  been  by, 
A  fellow  by  the  hand  of  nature  marked, 
Quoted  and  signed  to  do  a  deed  of  shame.7 

And  Bacon  says: 

For  Aristotle  hath  very  ingeniously  and  diligently  handled  the  features  of  the 
body,  but  not  the  gestures  of  the  body,  which  are  no  less  comprehensible  by  art, 
and  of  greater  use  and  advantage.  For  the  lineaments  of  the  body  do  disclose  the 
disposition  and  inclination  of  the  mind  in  general,  but  the  motions  of  the  counte- 
nance and  parts  do  not  only  so,  but  do  further  disclose  the  present  humor  and  state 
of  the  mind  and  will.8 

And  in  this  connection  we  find  another  parallelism.  Bacon 
says: 

It  is  necessary  to  use  a  steadfast  countenance,  not  wavering  with  action,  as  in 

1  Richard  III.,  iii,  I,  5  Wisdom  of  the  Ancients  —  Dionysiiis. 

2  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii.  6  Natural  History,  cent.  ix. 

3  Winter's  Tale,  v,  2.  7  Kingfohn,  iv,  2. 

4  Troilus  and  Cressida,  iv,  5.  8  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii. 


IDENTICAL    OPINIONS.  ^ 

moving  the  head  or  hand  too  much,  which  showeth  a  fantastical,  light  and  fickle 
spirit.1  • 

And  Hamlet,  in  his  instructions  to  the  players,  says: 
Nor  do  not  saw  the  air  too  much  —  your  hand  thus;  but  use  all  gently.2 

Both   had   the  same  high  admiration   for  the  capacity  to  bear 

misfortunes  with  patience  and  self-control. 

Bacon  says: 

Yet  it  is  a  greater  dignity  of  mind  to  bear  evils  by  fortitude  and  judgment  than 
by  a  kind  of  absenting  and  alienation  of  the  mind  from  things  present  to  things 
future,  for  that  it  is  to  hope.  ...  I  do  judge  a  state  of  mind  which  in  all  doubtful 
expectations  is  settled  and  fioateth  not,  and  doth  this  out  of  good  government 
and  composition  of  the  affections,  to  be  one  of  the  principal  supporters  of  man's 
life;  but  that  assurance  and  repose  of  the  mind  which  only  rides  at  anchor  itpori 
hope,  I  do  reject  as  wavering  and  weak.3 

Shakespeare  says: 

For  thou  hast  been 
As  one,  in  suffering  all,  that  suffers  nothing; 
A  man  that  fortune's  buffets  and  rewards 
Has  ta'en  with  equal  thanks;  and  blessed  are  those 
Whose  blood  and  judgment  are  so  well  commingled 
That  they  are  not  a  pipe  for  fortune's  finger 
To  sound  what  stop  she  please.4 

And   the  expression  of  Bacon  quoted  above,  "  the  mind  which 

only  rides  at  anchor  upon  hope,"  is  paralleled  in  Shakespeare: 

If  eyes,  corrupt  by  over-partial  looks, 

Be  anchored  in  the  bay  where  all  men  ride.5 

Both  believed  in  the  universal  presence  and  power  of  goodness. 

Ba-on  said: 

The  inclination  to  goodness  is  deeply  implanted  in  the  nature  of  man;  inso- 
much, that  if  it  issue  not  toward  man  it  will  take  unto  other  living  creatures.6 

And  again: 

There  is  formed  in  everything  a  double  nature  of  good.7 

And  again: 

For  the  affections  themselves  carry  ever  an  appetite  to  good,  as  reason  doth.- 

Shakespeare  has: 

There  is  some  soul  of  goodness  in  things  evil 
Would  men  observingly  distill  it  out.9 

1  Civil  Conversations.  5  Sonnet  cxxxvii. 

5  Hamlet,  iii,  2.  6  Essay  0/  Goodness. 

3  Med.  SacrcB —  Of  Earthly  Hope.  ''Advancement  0/ Learning,  book  ii. 

-*  Hamlet,  iii,  2.  8  Ibid.  » 

9  Henry  J'.,  iv,  1. 


394  PARALLELISMS, 

And  again: 

And  this  our  life,  exempt  from  public  haunt, 
Finds  tongues  in  trees,  books  in  the  running  brooks, 
Sermons  in  stones,  and  good  in  everything.^ 

Bacon  says: 

And  we  willingly  place  the  history  of  arts  among  the  species  of  natural  history, 
because  there  have  obtained  a  now  inveterate  mode  of  speaking  and  notion,  as  if 
art  were  something  different  from  nature,  so  that  things  artificial  ought  to  be  dis- 
criminated from  things  natural,  as  if  wholly  and  generically  distinct.  .  .  .  And 
there  has  insinuated  into  men's  minds  a  still  subtler  error,  namely  this,  that  art  is 
conceived  to  be  a  sort  of  addition  to  nature,  the  proper  effect  of  which  is  mere  words 
and  rhetorical  ornament.2 

Shakespeare  has  the  following: 

Perdita.  For  I  have  heard  it  said, 

There  is  an  art  which  in  their  piedness  shares 

With  great  creating  nature. 

Polixenes.  Say  there  be; 

Yet  nature  is  made  better  by  no  mean, 

But  nature  makes  that  mean;  so  o'er  that  art, 

Which  you  say  adds  to  nature,  is  an  art  that  nature  makes. 

Here  we  have,  in  the  same  words,  a  reference  to  an  opinion, 
held  by  others,  that  art  is  an  addition  to  nature,  and  a  dissent  from  it 
by  the  writer,  in  each  case. 

And  that  other  thought,  that  man's  art  shares  with  God  the 

creative  force  and   faculty,  Judge  Holmes  shows  had  also  occurred 

to  Bacon: 

Art  or  man  is  added  to  the  universe;  and  it  must  almost  necessarily  be  con- 
cluded that  the  human  soul  is  endowed  with  providence,  not  without  the  example, 
intention  and  authority  of  the  greater  providence.3 

That  is  to  say,  that  man  is  a  sort  of  a  deputy  of  God  to  carry 
forward  the  work  of  creation. 

And  we  find  Shakespeare  alluding,  in  the  same  spirit,  to  "the 
providence  that's  in  a  watchful  state,"4  as  if  "the  human  soul,"  gov- 
erning the  state,  "was  endowed  with  providence." 

And  we  find  the  same  thought,  that  man  is  a  species  of  lesser 

God,  to   whom   the   creative   force   has   been   delegated,  expressed 

again  in  these  lines: 

We,  Hermia,  like  two  artificial  gods, 

Have  with  our  needles  created  both  one  flower, 

Both  on  one  sampler,  sitting  on  one  cushion.5 

1  As  You  Like  It,  ii,  i.  3  Authorship  of  Shak.,  p.  5x2^ 

2  Intell.  Globe,  chapter  iii.  4  Troilus  ami  Cressida,  iii,  3. 

8 Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  i,  2. 


IDENTICAL    OPINIONS.  395 

Both    believed   that    sickness  or  weakness  left   the   mind  open 

to  the  influence  of  external  spirits.     Bacon  says: 

So  much  more  in  impressions  from  mind  to  mind,  or  from  spirit  to  spirit,  the 
impression  taketh,  but  is  encountered  and  overcome  by  the  mind  and  spirit. 
.  .  .  And,  therefore,  they  work  most  upon  weak  minds  and  spirits,  as  those  of 
women,  sick  persons,  superstitious  and  fearful  persons.1 

Shakespeare  makes  Hamlet  say: 

The  spirit  that  I  have  seen 
May  be  the  devil;  and  the  devil  hath  power 
To  assume  a  pleasing  shape;  yea,  and,  perhaps, 
Out  of  my  weakness  and  my  melancholy, 
(As  he  is  very  potent  with  such  spirits), 
Abuses  me  to  damn  me.2 

Here  we  have  precisely  the  same  idea. 

The  author  of  A  New  Study  of  Shakespeare •,  Mr.  W.  F.  C.  Wigston, 

calls  attention  to  the  following  parallelism. 

Bacon  says: 

It  is  evident  that  the  dullness  of  men  is  such,  and  so  infelicitous,  that  when 
things  are  put  before  their  feet,  they  do  not  see  them,  unless  admonished,  but 
pass  on. 

Shakespeare  says: 

The  jewel  that  we  find  we  stoop  and  take  it, 
Because  we  see  it;   but  what  we  do  not  see 
We  tread  upon,  and  never  think  of  it.3 

Both  had  observed  the  fear  that  men  have  of  making  their  wills 
until  the  last  moment. 
Bacon  says: 
When  their  will  is  made  they  think  themselves  nearer  the  grave  than  before.4 

In  Shakespeare  we  find  the  following: 

Slender.     Now,  good  Mistress  Anne. 

Anne.     What  is  your  will  ? 

Slender.  My  will?  Ods-hart-lings,  that's  a  pretty  jest  indeed.  I  ne'er  made 
my  will  yet,  I  thank  Heaven:  I  am  not  such  a  sickly  creature,  I  give  Heaven 
praise.5 

Mrs.  Pott  calls  attention  to  the  following  parallelism. 

Bacon  has  in  his  Protnus  this  note: 

It  is  in  action  as  it  is  in  ways;  commonly  the  nearest  is  the  foulest.6 

1  Xatural  History,  §901.  *  Essay  Of  Death. 

2  Hamlet,  ii,  2.  .  5  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  iii,  4. 

3  Measure  for  Measure,  ii,  1.  *  Protnus,  No.  532. 


396 


PA  HA  LLELISMS. 


Shakespeare  has  it: 

[Your  heart]  is  too  full  of  the  milk  of  human  kindness 
To  catch  the  nearest  way.1 

That  is,  the  foul  way  of  murder,  which  was   the  nearest  way  to 

the  crown. 

I  might  continue  this  chapter  to  greater  length;  but  I  think  I 
have  given  enough  to  show  that  the  same  wonderful  parallelism 
which  exists  between  the  forms  of  expression  in  the  two  sets  of 
writings  extends  also  to  the  opinions  and  beliefs  set  forth  therein. 

It  will,  of  course,  be  easy  for  a  dishonest  mind  to  treat  these 
parallelisms  as  Richard  Grant  White  did  those  in  Mrs.  Pott's 
Promus — that  is,  ignore  the  strongest  ones,  and  select  the  least 
striking  and  put  them  forth  as  the  strongest.  But  in  the  long  run 
truth  is  not  to  be  arrested  by  such  tricks,  nor  can  a  great  argument 
be  conducted  by  men  who  are  mean  enough  to  resort  to  them. 

1  Macbeth,  i,  2. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

IDENTICAL    QUOTA  TIOXS, 

And  these  same  thoughts  people  this  little  world. 

Richard  II.,  v,j. 

IF  the  two  minds  were  one,  if  they  thought  the  same  thoughts,, 
and  employed  the  same  comparisons  and  expressions,  it  might 
be  that  we  would  find  them  quoting  the  same  things  from  the 
same  books. 

I  remember  a  few  instances  of  this  kind,  and  many  more  might 
be  found  by  a  diligent  examination  of  the  two  sets  of  writings. 
Bacon  says: 

In  this  they  fall  into  the  error  described  in  the  ancient  fable,  in  which  the 
other  parts  of  the  body  did  suppose  the  stomach  had  been  idle,  because  it  neither 
performed  the  office  of  motion,  as  the  limbs  do,  nor  of  sense,  as  the  head  doth;  but 
yet,  notwithstanding,  it  is  the  stomach  that  digesteth  and  distributeth  to  all  the 
rest.1 

In  Shakespeare  we  have  the  following: 

There  was  a  time  when  all  the  body's  members 

Rebelled  against  the  belly;  thus  accused  it: 

That  only  like  a  gulf  it  did  remain 

I'  the  midst  o'  the  body,  idle  and  unactive, 

Still  cupboarding  the  viands,  never  bearing 

Like  labor  with  the  rest;  where  the  other  instruments 

Did  see  and  hear,  devise,  instruct,  walk,  feel, 

And  mutually  participate;  did  minister 

Unto  the  appetite  and  affection  common 

Of  the  whole  body.     The  belly  answered,   .   .  . 

"'  True  it  is,  my  incorporate  friends,"  quoth  he, 

"  That  I  receive  the  general  food  at  first, 

Which  you  do  live  upon:  and  fit  it  is; 

Because  I  am  the  storehouse  and  the  shop 

Of  the  whole  body.    But,  if  you  do  remember, 

I  send  it  through  the  rivers  of  your  blood 

Even  to  the  court,  the  heart,  to  the  seat  o'  the  brain,. 

And  through  the  cranks  and  offices  of  man : 

The  strongest  nerves,  and  small  inferior  veins, 

From  me  receive  that  natural  competency 

Whereby  they  live."2 

1  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii.  2  Coriolanus,  i,  i. 

397 


398  PARALLELISMS. 

And  here  I  would  refer  to  the  anecdote  which  Bacon  tells  in  his 

Apophthegms : 

Sir  Nicholas  Bacon,  being  appointed  a  judge  for  the  northern  circuit,  .  .  .  was, 
by  one  of  the  malefactors,  mightily  importuned  to  save  his  life,  which,  when  nothing 
that  he  had  said  did  avail,  at  length  desired  his  mercy  on  the  account  of  kindred. 
"  Prythee,"  said  my  lord  Judge,  "  how  came  that  in  ?"  "  Why,  if  it  please  you,  my 
lord,  your  name  is  Bacon  »and  mine  is  Hog,  and  in  all  ages  hog  and  bacon  have 
been  so  near  kindred  that  they  are  not  to  be  separated."  "  Ay,  but,"  replied  Judge 
Bacon,  "  you  and  I  cannot  be  kindred  except  you  be  hanged,  for  hog  is  not  bacon 
until  it  be  well  hanged." 

Shakespeare  has  this: 

Evans.     I  pray  you,  have  remembrance,  child:  Accusativo,  hung,  hang,  hog. 
Quickly.     Hang  hog  is  Latin  for  Bacon,  I  warrant  you.1 

Bacon  says: 

Such  men  in  other  men's  calamities  are,  as  it  were,  in  season,  and  are  ever  on 
the  loading  part;  not  so  good  as  the  dogs  that  licked  Lazarus'  sores,  but  like  flies 
that  are  still  buzzing.2 

Shakespeare  says: 

Ragged  as  Lazarus  in  the  painted  cloth;  where  the  glutton's  dogs  licked  his 
sores.3 

Bacon  says: 

Philo  Judaeus  saith  that  the  sense  is  like  the  sun;  for  the  sun  seals  up  the 
globe  of  heaven  [the  stars]  and  opens  the  globe  of  earth;  so  the  sense  doth  obscure 
heavenly  things  and  reveals  earthly  things.4 

When  Lorenzo  contemplates  the  heavens  by  night,  thick  ''inlaid 

with  patines  of  bright  gold,"  he  speaks  of  the  music  of  the  spheres, 

and  adds: 

Such  harmony  is  in  immortal  souls, 
But  whilst  this  muddy  vesture  of  decay 
Doth  grossly  close  it  in,  we  cannot  hear  it.5 

Bacon  says: 

For  of  lions  it  is  a  received  belief  that  their  fury  and  fierceness  ceaseth  toward 
anything  that  yieldeth  and  prostrateth  itself.6 

Shakespeare  has  the  following: 

Brother,  you  have  a  vice  of  mercy  in  you, 


And  again 


Which  better  fits  a  lion  than  a  man.7 

For  'tis  the  nature  of  that  noble  beast 

To  prey  on  nothing  that  doth  seem  as  dead. 


1  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  iv,  1.  •'  Merchant  of  Venice,  v,  1. 

3  Essay  Of  Goodness.  6  Med.  Sacra—  Exaltation  of  Charity. 

3  1st  Henry  IV.,  iv,  2.  »  Troilus  and  Cressida,  v,  3. 

4  Apophthegms.  'As  You  Like  It,  iv,  3. 


IDENTIC  A  I.    QUOTA  TIO  XS.  399 

Bacon  says: 

But  these  three  are  the  true  stages  of  knowledge,  which,  to  those  that  are  puffed 
up  with  their  own  knowledge  and  rebellious  against  God,  are  indeed  no  better  than 
the  giant's  three  hills: 

"  Ter  sunt  coiiatl  imponere  Pelio  Ossatn, 

Scilicet  atque  Ossce  frondosum  involvere  Olympum." 

[Mountain  on  mountain  thrice  they  strove  to  heap: 

Olympus,  Ossa,  piled  on  Pclioii  s  steep.]  l 

And  we  find  Shakespeare  employing  the  same  quotation: 

Now  pile  your  dust  upon  the  quick  and  dead; 
Till  of  this  flat  a  mountain  you  have  made, 
To  o'ertop  old  Pelion,  or  the  skyish  head 
Of  old  Olympus,  .  .  . 

Till  our  ground, 
Singeing  his  pate  against  the  burning  zone, 
Make  Ossa  like  a  wart.'2 

Here  we  have  the  three  mountains  named  in  the  quotation  — 
Olympus,  Pelion,  Ossa  —  and  the  comparison  in  both  cases  is  that 
of  piling  one  on  top  of  the  other. 


Describing  the  chameleon,  Bacon  says: 

He  feedeth  not  only  upon  the  air,  though  that  be  his  principal  sustenance.3 

Again: 

And  so  feed  her  [the  Queen]  with  expectation.4 

We  turn  to  Shakespeare,  and  we  find  the  following: 

King.     How  fares  our  cousin  Hamlet? 

Ham.     Excellent,    i'    faith;    of   the    chameleon  s  dish:    I    eat  the  air,    promise- 
crammed.     You  cannot  feed  capons  so.5 


Bacon  says: 

And  therefore 
fess  their  secre 

Shakespeare  says: 


And  therefore  the  poet  doth  elegantly  call   passions  tortures,  that  urge  men  to 
confess  their  secrets. 


Better  be  with  the  dead, 
Whom  we.  to  gain  our  peace,  have  sent  to  peace, 
Than  on  the  torture  of  the  mind  to  lie 
In  restless  ecstacy.6 

Bacon  has  the  following: 

It  was  both  pleasantly  and  wiSely  said  ...  by  a   Pope's  nuncio,   returning 
from  a  certain  nation  where  he  served  as  lieger;  whose  opinion  being  asked  touch- 

1  De  A  ugmentis,  book  iii.  *  Letter  to  Essex,  October  4,  1596. 

2  Hamtet,  v,  1.  5  Hamlet,  iii,  2. 

3  Natural  History,  %  360.  6  Macbeth,  iii,  2. 


400  PARALLELISMS. 

ing  the  appointment  of  one  to  go  in  his  place,  he  wished  that  in  any  case  they  did 
not  send  one  that  was  too  wise;  because  no  very  wise  man  would  even  imagine 
what  they  in  that  country  were  like  to  do.1 

While  Shakespeare  puts  the  same  quotation  thus: 

Hamlet.     Ay,  many,  why  was  he  sent  into  England  ? 

jst  Clown.     Why,  because  he  was  mad;  he  shall  recover  his  wits  there;  or,  if 
he  do  not,  it  is  no  great  matter  there. 
Hamlet.     Why  ? 
ist  Clown.     'Twill  not  be  seen  in  him;  there  the  men  are  as  mad  as  he.5 

In  The  Wisdom  of  the  Ancietits  Bacon  quotes  the  fable  of  Orpheus, 
and  says: 

So  great  was  the  power  and  alluring  force  of  this  harmony,  that  he  drew  the 
woods  and  moved  the  very  stones  to  come  and  place  themselves  in  an  orderly  and 
decent  fashion  about  him. 

Shakespeare  says: 

Therefore,  the  poet 
Did  feign  that  Orpheus  drew  trees,  stones  and  floods; 
Since  nought  so  stockish,  hard  and  full  of  rage 
But  music  for  a  time  doth  change  his  nature.3 

For  Orpheus'  lute  was  strung  with  poets'  sinews, 
Whose  golden  touch  could  soften  steel  and  stones.4 

Judge  Holmes  calls  attention  to  the  following  instance. 

In  Plutarch's  Life  of  Antony  is  told  the  story  of  Timon's  tree. 

North's  translation  reads  as  follows: 

Ye  men  of  Athens,  in  a  court-yard  belonging  to  my  house  grows  a  large 
fig-tree,  on  which  many  an  honest  citizen  has  been  pleased  to  hang  himself:  now, 
as  I  have  thought  of  building  upon  that  spot,  I  could  not  omit  giving  you  this  pub- 
lic notice,  to  the  end  that  if  any  more  among  you  have  a  mind  to  make  the  same 
use  of  my  tree,  they  may  do  it  speedily  before  it  is  destroyed. 

Bacon  alludes  to  this  story  as  follows,  in  his  essay  Of  Goodness  ; 

Misanthropi  that  make  it  their  practice  to  bring  men  to  the  bough,  and  yet 
have  never  a  tree  for  the  purpose  in  their  gardens,  as  Timon  had. 

While  Shakespeare,  in  the  play  of  Timon  of  Athens?  says: 

Timon.     I  have  a  tree  which  grows  here  in  my  close, 

That  mine  own  use  invites  me  to  cut  down, 

And  shortly  must  I  sell  it.     Tell  my  friends, 

Tell  Athens,  in  the  sequence  of  degree, 

From  high  to  low  throughout,  that  whoso  please 

To  stop  affliction,  let  him  take  his  haste, 

Come  hither,  ere  my  tree  hath  felt  the  axe, 

And  hang  himself. 

1  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii.  3  Merchant  of  Venice,  v,  i. 

2  Hamlet,  v,  i.  4  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  iii,  -z. 

6  Act  iv,  scene  i. 


IDENTICAL    QUOTATIONS.  401 

Henry   Lewis,   in  his   Essays  of  Bacon,   points   out   an   instance 

where  the  two  writers  refer  to  the  same  incident.     Bacon,  in  his 

essay  Of  Prophecies,  says: 

Henry  VI.  of  England  said  of  Henry  VII.,  when  he  was  a  lad,  and  gave  him 
water,  "  This  is  the  lad  shall  enjoy  the  crown  for  which  we  strive." 

In  Shakespeare  we  find  the  same  event  thus  alluded  to: 

Come  hither,  England's  hope.     If  secret  powers 
Suggest  but  truth  to  my  divining  thoughts, 
This  pretty  lad  will  prove  our  country's  bliss,   .   .  . 
Likely,  in  time,  to  bless  a  regal  throne.1 

The  same  author  also  calls  attention  to  this  parallelism.  In  the 
same  essay  Of  Prophecies  Bacon  refers  to 

A  phantasm  that  appeared  to  M.  Brutus  in  his  tent,  and  said  to  him,  Philippus 
interum  vie  videbis —  (Thou  shalt  see  me  again  at  Philippi). 

Shakespeare,  in  Julius  Casar,  has: 

Brutus.     Speak  to  me  what  thou  art. 

Ghost.     Thy  evil  spirit,  Brutus. 

Brutus.     Why  comest  thou  ? 

Ghost.     To  tell  thee,  thou  shalt  see  me  at  Philippi.'2 

Aristotle  says  : 

Usury  is  merely  money  bom  of  money;  so  that  of  all  means  of  money-making 
this  is  the  most  contrary  to  nature. 

Bacon  quotes  this;  he  says: 

It  is  against  nature  for  money  to  beget  money.3 

Shakespeare  also  quotes  it : 

When  did  friendship  take 
A  breed of  barren  metal  of  his  friend?4 

Bacon  says: 

There  is  an  observation  among  country  people,  that  years  of  store  of  haws 
and  hips  do  commonly  portend  cold  winters;  and  they  ascribe  it  to  God's  provi- 
dence, that,  as  the  Scripture  saith,  reacheth  even  to  the  falling  of  a  sparroiv.h 

Shakespeare  says: 

There's  a  special  providence  in  the  fall  of  a  sparrow* 

And  again: 

He  that  doth  the  ravens  feed,  ' 
Yea,  providently  caters  for  the  sparrow.7 

Bacon  says: 

The  wisdom  of  crocodiles,  that  shed  tears  when  they  would  devour.8 

1 3d  Henry  VI.,  iv,  6.  3  Essay  Of  Usury.  5  Natural  History,  §737. 

8 Julius  Ccesar,  iv,  3.  4  Merchant  0/  Venice,  i,  3.  6  Hamlet,  v,  2.  , 

7  As  You  Like  It,  ii,  3.  8  Essay  Of  Wisdom. 


4o2  PARALLELISMS. 

Shakespeare  says: 

As  the  mournful  crocodile 
With  sorrow  snares  relenting  passengers.1 

Bacon,  referring  to  a  popular  belief,  says: 

This  was  the  end  of  this  little  cockatrice  of  a  king  [Perkin  Warbeck],  that  was 
able  to  destroy  those  that  did  not  espy  him  first.2 

Shakespeare  alludes  to  the  same  superstition: 

They  will  kill  one  another  by  the  look,  like  cockatrices? 

Shall  poison  more 
Than  the  death-darting  eye  of  cockatrice \4 

A  cockatrice  hast  thou  hatched  to  the  world, 
Whose  unavoided  eye  is  murtherous?5 

Bacon  says: 

The  parable  of  Pythagoras  is  dark  but  true.  Cor  ue  edito — (eat  not  tne 
heart).6 

Shakespeare  says: 

/  sup  upon  myself, 
And  so  shall  starve  with  feeding? 

The  canker  gnaw  thy  heart} 

Bacon  says: 

Princes  many  times  make  themselves  desires  and  set  their  hearts  upon  a  toy, 
...  as  Nero  for  playing  on  the  harp.9 

Shakespeare  says: 

Plantagenet,  I  will;  and  like  thee,  Nero, 
Play  on  the  lute,  beholding  the  towns  burn.10 

Bacon  tells  this  story: 

Periander,  being  consulted  with  how  to  preserve  a  tyranny  newly  usurped,  bid 
the  messenger  attend  and  report  what  he  saw  him  do;  and  went  into  his  garden 
and  topped  all  the  highest  flowers,  signifying  that  it  consisted  in  the  cutting  off  and 
keeping  low  of  the  nobility  and  grandees.11 

Shakespeare  plainly  alludes  to  the  same  story  in  the  following: 

Go  thou,  and,  like  an  executioner, 
Cut  off  the  head  of  too-fast-growing  sprays, 
That  look  too  lofty  in  our  commonwealth: 
All  must  be  even  in  our  government.12 


l2d  Henry  VI.,'\\\,\.  •  Richard  ///.,  iv,  i.  9  Essay  Of  Empire. 

2  History  of  Henry  VII.  8  Essay  Of  Friendship.  10  ist  Henry  VI.,  i,  4. 

8  Twelfth  Night,  iii.  4.  7  Coriolanus,  iv,  2.  u  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii. 

4  Romeo  and  Juliet,  iii,  2.  8  Timon  of  Athens,  iv,  3.  12  Richard  II.,  iii,  4. 


IDENTICAL    QUOTATIONS.  4o3 

Bacon  quotes: 

It  is  not  granted  to  man  to  love  and  be  wise.1 
And  again: 

Therefore  it  was  well  said  "  that  it  is  impossible  to  love  and  be  wise.2 
Shakespeare  says: 

To  be  wise  and  love,  exceeds  man's  might. :{ 

Bacon  says: 

For,  aspiring  to  be  like  God  in  power,  the  angels  transgressed  and  fell.4 

And  again: 

For  from  the  desire  of  power  the  angels  fell.* 
Shakespeare  says: 

By  that  sin  fell  the  angels.6 

Bacon  uses  this  quotation: 

Cardinal  Wolsey  said  that  if  he  had  pleased  God  as  he  pleased  the  King,  he 
had  not  been  ruined.7 

Shakespeare  puts  into  the  mouth  of  the  same  Cardinal  Wolsey 
these  words: 

O  Cromwell,  Cromwell, 
Had  I  but  served  my  God  with  half  the  zeal 
I  served  my  King,  he  would  not  in  mine  age 
Have  left  me  naked  to  mine  enemies.8 

Mr.  R.  M.  Theobald,  in  the  August,  1887,  number  of  the.  Journal 
of  the  Bacon  Society  of  London,  page  157,  gives  us  the  following 
extraordinary  parallelism,  where  both  writers  clearly  refer  to  the 
same  terrible  story 

Bacon,  in  the  De  Augmentis,  says : 

What  a  proof  of  patience  is  displayed  in  the  story  told  of  Anaxarchus,  who, 
when  questioned  under  torture,  bit  out  his  own  tongue  (the  only  hope  of  informa- 
tion), and  spat  it  into  the  face  of  the  tyrant. 

While  in  Shakespeare  we  find  the  same  story  alluded  to.  In 
Richard  II.,  i,  1,  Bolingbroke,  being  invited  by  the  King  to  recon- 
cile himself  to  Mowbray,  and  throw  down  Mowbray's  gage  of  bat- 
tle which  he  had  picked  up,  replies : 

1  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii.  5  Preface  to  Great  Instauration. 

2  Essay  Of  Love.  •  Henry  VIII.,  iii,  2. 

*  Troilus  and  Cressida,  iii,  2.  7  Letter  to  King  James,  September  5,  1621. 

4  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii.  8  Henry  Fill.,  iii,  4. 


4°4  PARALLELISMS. 

O  God,  defend  my  soul  from  such  foul  sin ! 

.  .  .   Ere  my  tongue 
Shall  wound  mine  honor  with  such  feeble  wrong, 
Or  sound  so  base  a  parle,  my  teeth  shall  tear 
The  slavish  motive  of  recanting  fear, 
And  spit  it  bleeding,  in  his  high  disgrace, 
Where  shame  doth  harbor,  even  in  Mowbray  s  face. 

The  play  of  Richard  II  was  published  in  1597,  and  Bacon's  Der 

Augme?itis  in  1623;  consequently  Shakespeare  did  not  borrow  from 

Bacon.     Mr.  Theobald  says: 

The  story  is  derived  from  Diogenes  Laertius;  Bacon's  version  is  taken  from 
Pliny  or  Valerius  Maximus.  .  .  .  Where  did  Shakspere  pick  up  the  allusion? 
Perhaps  Pliny  and  Valerius  Maximus  and  Diogenes  Laertius  were  text-books  at 
the  grammar  school  of  Stratford-on-Avon  ! 

Bacon,  in  his  Natural  History,  says: 

There  was  an  Egyptian  soothsayer  that  made  Antonius  believe  that  his  genius, 
which  otherwise  was  brave  and  confident,  was,  in  the  presence  of  Octavius  Caesar, 
poor  and  cowardly;  and  therefore  he  advised  him  to  absent  himself  as  much  as 
he  could,  and  remove  far  from  him.  This  soothsayer  was  thought  to  be  suborned 
by  Cleopatra,  to  make  him  live  in  Egypt  and  other  remote  places  from  home.1 

And  the  same  fact  is  referred  to  in  Shakespeare.     Macbeth  says, 

speaking  of  Banquo: 

There  is  none  but  he 
Whose  being  I  do  fear:  and  under  him 
My  genius  is  rebuked;  as,  it  is  said, 
Mark  Antony's  was  by  Caesar. 

And  in  Antony  and  Cleopatra  we  have  the  very  Egyptian  sooth- 
sayer referred  to : 

Antony.  Say  to  me, 

Whose  fortune  shall  rise  higher,  Caesar's  or  mine? 
Soothsayer.  Caesar's. 

Therefore,  O  Antony,  stay  not  by  his  side: 
Thy  daemon  (that's  thy  spirit  which  keeps  thee)  is 
Noble,  courageous,  high,  unmatchable, 
Where  Caesar's  is  not;  but  near  him  thy  angel 
Becomes  a  Fear,  as  being  overpowered;  therefore 
Make  space  enough  between  you.2 

Bacon  says: 

What  new  hope  hath  made  them  return  to  their  Sinon's  note,  in  teaching  Troy 
how  to  save  itself.3 

Shakespeare  alludes  to  the  same  fact,  thus: 

And,  like  a  Sinon,  take  another  Troy.4 

1  Natural  History,  cent,  x,  §940.  s  Speech  in  Parliament. 

2  Antony  and  CIeoj>atra,  ii,  3.  4 3d  Henry  /'/.,  iii,  2. 


IDENTICAL    QUOTATIONS.  405 

Bacon  says: 

Aristotle  dogmatically  assigned  the  cause  of  generation  to  the  sun. 

Shakespeare  has  it: 

If  the  sun  breed  maggots  out  of  a  dead  dog.     Have  you  a  daughter?  .   .   .   Let 
her  not  walk  in  the  sun.     Conception  is  a  blessing.     Etc.1 

Bacon  speaks  of 

The  ancient  opinion  that  man  was  a  microcosmns,  an  abstract  or  model  of  the 
world.2 

And  Shakespeare  alludes  to  the  same  thing: 

You  will  see  it  in  the  map  of  my  microcosm* 

Bacon  says: 

Report  has  much  prevailed  of  a  stone  bred  in  the  head  of  an  old  and  great 
toad.4 

Shakespeare  says: 

Like  the  toad,  ugly  and  venomous, 
Bears  yet  a  precious  jewel  in  its  head.5 

Bacon  speaks  of  taking  the  advantage  of  opportunity  in  the  fol- 
lowing words: 

For  occasion  (as  it  is  in  the  common  verse)  turneth  a  bald  noddle  after  she  has 
presented  her  locks  in  front,  and  no  hold  taken.6 

Shakespeare  says: 

Let's  take  the  instant  by  the  forward  top  —  for  we  are  old.1 

Bacon  says: 

For  although  Aristotle,  as  though  he  had  been  of  the  race  of  the  Ottomans, 
thought  he  could  not  reign  unless  he  killed  off  all  his  brethren* 

Shakespeare  puts  into  the  mouth  of  King  Henry  V.  this  address 

to  his  brothers : 

This  is  the  English,  not  the  Turkish  court; 
Not  Amurah  an  Amurah  succeeds, 
But  Harry,  Harry.9 

Bacon  in  his  Apophthegms  tells  this  story: 

The  Queen  of  Henry  IV.  of  France  was  great  with  child;  Count  Soissons,  that 

1  Hamlet,  ii,  2.  5  As  Vote  Like  It,  ii,  1. 

"■  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii.  *  Essay  Of  Delays. 

3  Coriolanus,  ii,  1.  '  All's  Well  that  Ends  Well,  v.  3. 

4  Inquisition  of  the  Conversion  of  Bodies.  8  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii. 

9  3d  Henry  II.,  v,  2. 


406  PARALLELISMS. 

had  his  expectation  upon  the  crown,  when  it  was  twice  or  thrice  thought  that  the 
Queen  was  with  child  before,  said  to  some  of  his  friends  "that  it  was  but  with  a 
pillow,"  etc. 

Shakespeare   must   have   had   this   story  in   his   mind  when,  in 

describing  Doll  Tearsheet  being  taken  to  be  whipped,  he  speaks  as 

follows: 

Hostess.  Oh  that  Sir  John  were  come,  he  would  make  this  a  bloody  day  to 
somebody.     But  I  would  the  fruit  of  her  womb  might  miscarry. 

Officer.     If  it  do,  you  shall  have  a  dozen  cushions;  you  have  but  eleven  now.1 

Bacon  says: 

Question  was  asked  of  Demosthenes  what  was  the  chief  part  of  an  orator?  He 
answered,  Action.  What  next?  Action.  What  next,  again?  Action.  A  strange 
thing  that  that  part  of  an  orator  which  is  but  superficial,  and  rather  the  virtue  of  a 
player,  should  be  placed  so  high  above  those  other  noble  parts  of  invention,  elocu- 
tion, and  the  rest;  nay,  almost  alone,  as  if  it  were  all  in  all.  But  the  reason  is 
plain.  There  is  in  human  nature,  generally,  more  of  the  fool  than  the  wise;  and 
therefore  those  faculties  by  which  the  foolish  part  of  men's  minds  is  taken  are 
most  potent.2 

Shakespeare  refers  to  the  same  story  and  gives  the  same  ex- 
planation in  the  following: 

For  in  such  business 
Action  is  eloquence,  and  the  eyes  of  the  ignorant 
More  learned  than  their  ears.8 

In  Henry  V.  the  Bishop  of  Exeter  makes  a  comparison  of  gov- 
ernment to  the  subordination  and  harmony  of  parts  in  music: 

For  government,  though  high  and  low  and  lower, 
Put  into  parts,  doth  keep  in  one  consent, 
Congruing  in  a  full  and  natural  close 
Like  music. 

Some  have  sought  to  find  the  origin  of  this  simile  in  Cicero, 
De  Republica,  but  that  book  was  lost  to  literature  and  unknown, 
except  by  name,  until  Angelo  Mai  discovered  it  upon  a  palimpsest 
in  the  Vatican  in  1822. 

Its   real   source   is  in  the  apophthegm    repeatedly    quoted   by 

Bacon  as  to  Nero: 

Vespasian  asked  of  Apollonius  what  was  the  cause  of  Nero's  ruin.  Who 
answered:  "  Nero  could  tune  the  harp  well,  but  in  government  he  did  always 
wind  up  the  strings  too  high  or  let  them  down  too  low."4 

1  2d  Henry  IV.,  v,  4.  s  Coriolanus,  iii,  2. 

a  Essay  Of  Boldness.  4  Apophthegm  51. 


IDENTICAL    QUOTATIONS.  407 

Bacon  has  this  story: 

Queen  Isabella  of  Spain  used  to  say:  "Whosoever  hath  a  good  presence  and  a 
good  fashion  carries  letters  of 'recommendation."  x 

Shakespeare  says: 

The  beauty  that  is  borne  here  in  the  face 
The  bearer  knows  not,  but  commends  itself 
To  others'  eyes} 

Bacon  has  two  anecdotes  about  the  Salic  law  of  France.3  He 
says  in  one  of  .them: 

There  was  a  French  gentleman,  speaking  with  an  English  of  the  law  Salique  : 
that  women  were  excluded  from  inheriting  the  crown  of  France.  The  English 
said:  "Yes;  but  that  was  meant  of  the  women  themselves,  not  of  such  males  as 
claimed  by  women,"  etc. 

And  in  the  play  of  Henry  V.  we  find  Shakespeare  discussing  the 

same   Salic    law,  at  great  length,    and    giving    many   instances  to 

show  that  it  did  not  exclude  those  who  "claimed  by  women,"  one 

of  which  instances  is: 

Besides  their  writers  say 
King  Pepin,  which  deposed  Childerike, 
Did  as  their  general,  being  descended 
Of  Blithild,  which  was  daughter  to  King  Clothair, 
Make  claim  and  title  to  the  crown  of  France.4 

The  writer  of  the  Plays  had  evidently  studied  the  history  of  this 
law  of  another  country  in  all  its  details;  —  a  thing  natural  enough 
in  a  lawyer,  extraordinary  in  a  play-actor  or  stage  manager. 

Bacon  refers  to  the  story  of  Ulysses'  wife  thus : 

Aristippus  said :  That  those  who  studied  particular  sciences  and  neglected 
philosophy,  were  like  Penelope's  wooers,  that  made  love  to  the  waiting- women. 5 

Shakespeare  also  refers  to  Penelope : 

You  would  be  another  Penelope;  yet  they  say  all  the  yarn  she  spun  in  Ulysses' 
absence  did  but  fill  Ithaca  with  moths.6 

Bacon  quotes  the  story  of  Icarus: 

I  was  ever  sorry  that  your  Lordship  should  fly  with  waxen  wings,  doubting 
Icarus'  fortune.7 

Shakespeare  has  the  following  allusion  to  the  same  story: 
Then  follow  thou  thy  desperate  sire  of  Crete, 
Thou  Icarus.8 

1  Apophthegm  99.  5  Apophthegm  189. 

*  Troilus  and  Cressi'da,  iii,  3.  8  Corz'o/anus,  i,  3. 

8  Apophthegms  184  and  185.  7  Letter  to  Essex,  1600. 

4 Henry  \\  i,  1.  B  1st  Henry  VI.,  iv,  6. 


408 


PARALLELISMS, 


And  again: 


And  in  that  sea  of  blood  my  boy  did  drench 
His  over-mounting  spirit;  and  there  died 
My  Icarus,  my  blossom,  in  his  pride.1 


And  again: 

I,  Daedalus;  my  poor  boy,  Icarus; 

Thy  father  Minos,  that  denied  our  course; 

The  sun  that  seared  the  wings  of  my  sweet  boy.2 

Bacon  says: 

Frascatorius  invented  a  remedy  for  apoplectic  fits,  by  placing  a  heated  pan  at 
some  distance  around  the  head,  for  by  this  means  the  spirits  that  were  suffocated 
and  congealed  in  the  cells  of  the  brain,  and  oppressed  by  the  humors,  were  dilated, 
excited  and  revived.3 

And  Falstaff  seemed  to  hold  the  same  view,  that  the  disease  was 
a  torpidity  that  needed  to  be  roused.     He  says : 

This  apoplexie  is,  as  I  take  it,  a  kind  of  lethargy,  a  sleeping  of  the  blood.4 

And  Bacon,  in  a  letter  to  the  King,  at  the  time  of  his  downfall, 
after  describing  a  violent  pain  in  the  back  of  his  head,  says : 

And  then  the  little  physic  [medical  learning]  I  had  told  me  that  it  must  either 
grow  to  a  congelation,  and  so  to  a  lethargy,  and  break,  and  so  to  a  mortal  fever  or 
sudden  death. 

Bacon  and  Shakespeare  both  refer  to  the  same  fact  in  connec- 
tion with  the  assassination  of  Julius  Caesar.     Bacon  says: 

With  Julius  Caesar,  Decimus  Brutus  had  obtained  that  interest,  as  he  set  him 
down  in  his  testament  for  heir  in  remainder  after  his  nephew;  and  this  was  the 
man  that  had  power  with  him  to  draw  him  forth  to  his  death:  for  when  Caesar 
would  have  discharged  the  Senate,  in  regard  of  some  ill  presages,  and  specially  a 
dream  of  Calpurnia,  this  man  lifted  him  gently  by  the  arm  out  of  his  chair,  telling 
him  he  hoped  he  would  not  dismiss  the  Senate  till  his  wife  had  dreamed  a  better 
dream. 

In  Shakespeare  we  have  Decimus  Brutus  saying  to  Caesar: 

Besides,  it  were  a  mock 
Apt  to  be  rendered,  for  some  one  to  say: 
Break  up  the  Senate,  till  another  time, 
When  Caesar's  wife  shall  meet  with  better  dreams. 

And  is  it  not  to  the  soldier  Decimus  Junius  Brutus,  and  not  to 
the  great  Marcus  Junius  Brutus,  that  the  poet  makes  Mark  Antony 

1 1st  Henry  VI.,  iv,  7.  3  Historia  Dens,  ct  Rari. 

*  3d  Henry  I V.,  v,  6.  *  2d  Henry  II '  i,  3. 


IDENTICAL    QUOTATIONS.  409 

allude  (echoing  Bacon's  astonishment  that  the  heir  of  Coesar  could 
have  participated  in  his  murder)  in  the  following? 

Through  this  the  well-beloved  Brutus  stabbed, 

And  as  he  plucked  his  cursed  steel  away, 

Mark  how  the  blood  of  Caesar  followed  it; 

As  rushing  out  of  doors,  to  be  resolved 

If  Brutus  so  unkindly  knocked  or  no: 

For  Brutus,  as  you  know,  was  Caesar's  angel. 

Judge,  O  ye  gods,  how  dearly  Caesar  loved  him. 

And  we  find  in  another  historical  instance  the  minds  of  both 
writers,  if  I  may  use  the  expression,  dwelling  on  the  same  fact. 
Bacon  says,  in  a  letter  to  King  James,  February  11,  1614: 

And  I  put  the  case  of  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  who  said  that  if  the  King 
caused  him  to  be  arrested  of  treason  he  would  stab  him. 

The  King  here  alluded  to  was  Henry  VIII.,  and  we  find  the 
incident  thus  described  in  Shakespeare's  play  of  that  name.  Buck- 
ingham's  surveyor   is   giving  testimony   against    his   master.      He 

says: 

//"(quoth  he)  I  for  this  had  been  committed, 

As  to  the  Tower,  I  thought,  I  would  have  played 

The  part  my  father  meant  to  act  upon 

The  usurper  Richard;  who,  being  at  Salisbury, 

Made  suit  to  come  in  's  presence,  which  if  granted, 

(As  he  made  semblance  of  his  duty),  would 

Have  put  his  knife  into  him} 

Bacon  makes  this  quotation: 

The  kingdom  of  France  ...  is  now  fallen  into  those  calamities,  that,  as  the 
prophet  saith,  From  the  crown  of  the  head  to  the  sole  of  the  foot  there  is  no  whole 
place. - 

Shakespeare  uses  the  same  quotation: 

Don  Pedro.  I  will  only  be  bold  with  Benedick  for  his  company;  for  from  the 
crown  of  his  head  to  the  sole  of  his  foot  he  is  all  mirth.3 


I  feel  confident  that,  had  I  the  time  and  did  space  permit,  I 
could  increase  this  list  of  identical  quotations  many-fold. 

It  is  certain  that  these  two  writers  not  only  held  the  same 
views,  employed  the  same  comparisons,  used  the  same  expressions, 

•  Henry  VIII.,  i,  2. 

a  Observations  on  a  Libel  — Life  and  Works,  vol.  i,  p.  160. 

3  Much  Ado  about  Nothing,  iii,  2. 


41  o  PARALLELISMS. 

pursued  the  same  studies  and  read  the  same  books,  but  that  their 
minds  were  constructed  so  exactly  alike  that  the  same  things,  out 
of  their  reading,  lodged  in  them,  and  were  reproduced  for  the  same 
purposes. 

And  these  mental  twins  —  these  intellectual  identities  —  did  not 
seem  to  know,  or  even  to  have  ever  heard  of  each  other  ! 


CHAPTER    V. 

IDENTICAL    STUDIES. 

Biron.    What  is  the  end  of  study  ? 

King.    Why,  that  to  know,  which  else  we  should  not  know. 
Biron.    Things  hid  and  barred,  you  mean,  from  common  sense  ? 
King.     Ay,  that  is  study's  god-like  recompense. 

Love's  Labor  Lost,  i,  /. 

MANY  men  study  nothing.  They  are  content  with  the  stock  of 
ideas,  right  or  wrong,  borrowed  from  others,  with  which 
they  start  into  manhood.  But  of  those  who  seek  to  penetrate 
beyond  their  preconceptions  into  knowledge,  no  two  follow  the 
same  path  and  pursue  the  same  subjects.  The  themes  of  study 
are  as  infinitely  varied  as  the  construction  of  human  intellects. 
And  herein,  as  in  everything  else,  is  manifested  the  wisdom  of  the 
great  architect,  who  for  every  space  in  the  edifice  of  life  has  carved 
a  stone  which  fits  it  precisely.  Many,  it  is  true,  are  the  mere  rubble 
that  fills  up  the  interspaces;  others  are  parts  of  the  frieze  orna- 
mented with  bass-reliefs  of  gnomes  or  angels;  others,  again,  are  the 
massive,  hidden,  humble  foundation-blocks  on  which  rests  the 
weight  of  the  whole  structure.  But  in  God's  edifice  nothing  is 
little,  and  little  can  be  said  to  be  great. 

And  so  in  life:  one  man  will  devote  his  existence  to  a  study  of 
the  motions  of  the  heavenly  bodies  through  their  incalculable 
spaces;  another  will  give  up  his  whole  life  to  a  microscopic  investi- 
gation of  the  wings  and  limbs  of  insects.  One  will  soar,  on  golden 
pinions  through  the  magical  realms  of  music;  another  will  pursue 
the  dry  details  of  mathematics  into  their  ultimate  possibilities: 
a  third  will  sail  gloriously,  like  a  painted  nautilus,  over  the  liquid 
and  shining  bosom  of  poetry:  while  still  another  will  study 

The  doubtful  balance  of  rights  and  wrongs, 
With  weary  lawyers  of  endless  tongues. 

The  purpose  of  life  seems  to  be  put  upon  the  creature  even 
before  creation,  and 

Necessity  sits  on  humanity 
Like  to  the  world  on  Atlas'  neck. 
411 


412 


PARALLELISMS. 


And  when  we  turn  to  consider  what  subjects  were  studied,  at. 
the  same  time,  by  the  writer  of  the  Shakespeare  Plays  and  Francis 
Bacon,  we  shall  find  that  identity  which  could  not  exist  between 
two  really  distinct  intellects. 

In  the  first  place,  we  are  struck  with  the  universality  of  thought, 
observation  and  study  discoverable  in  both.  Bacon  "  took  all 
knowledge  for  his  province,"  and  the  Shakespeare  Plays  embrace 
every  theme  of  reflection  possible  to  man:  —  religion,  philosophy, 
science,  history,  human  character,  human  passions  and  affections, 
music,  poetry,  medicine,  law,  statecraft,  politics,  worldly  wisdom, 
wit,  humor  —  everything.  They  are  oceanic.  Every  year  some 
new  explorer  drops  his  dredge  a  thousand  fathoms  deep  into  their 
unconsidered  depths,  and  brings  up  strange  and  marvelous  forms 
of  life  where  we  had  looked  only  for  silence  and  death. 

And  when  we  descend  to  particulars  we  find  precise  identity  in 
almost  everything. 

I.     Music. 

Take  the  subject  of  music.  This  is  a  theme  which  compara- 
tively few  study,  even  to-day;  and  in  that  almost  rude  age  of  Eliz- 
abeth the  number  must  have  been  greatly  less.  Neither  does  it 
necessarily  follow  that  all  great  men  love  music  and  investigate  it. 
In  fact,  the  opinion  of  Shakespeare,  that  the  man  who  "had  no 
music  in  his  soul"  was  not  to  be  trusted,  has  provoked  a  perfect 
storm  of  adverse  criticism.1 

But  Bacon's  love  of  music  was  great.     Sir  John  Hawkins  says: 

Lord  Bacon,  in  his  Natural  History,  has  given  a  great  variety  of  experiments 
touching  music,  that  show  him  to  have  not  been  barely  a  philosopher,  an  inquirer 
into  the  phenomena  of  sound,  but  a  master  of  the  science  of  harmony,  and  very 
intimately  acquainted  with  the  precepts  of  musical  education.2 

And  Sir  John  quotes  the  following  from  Bacon: 

The  sweetest  and  best  harmony  is  when  every  part  or  instrument  is  not  heard 
by  itself,  but  a  conflation  of  them  all,  which  requireth  to  stand  some  distance  off, 
even  as  it  is  in  the  mixtures  of  perfumes,  or  the  taking  of  the  smells  of  several 
flowers  in  the  air. 

On  the  other  hand  Richard  Grant  White  says: 
Shakespeare  seems  to  have  been  a  proficient  in  the  art  of  music.3 

1  Knight's  Shal:.,  note  7,  act  v,  Merchant  of  Venice. 

2  History  of  Music.  3  Life  and  Genius  of  Shah.,  p.  259. 


IDENTICAL    STUDIES.  4I3 

The  commentators  say  that  Balthazar,  a  musician  in  the  service 
of  Prince  John,  in  Much  Ado  about  Nothing?  was  probably  thus 
named  from  the  celebrated  Balthazarini,  an  Italian  performer  on 
the  violin,  who  was  in  great  favor  at  the  court  of  Henry  II.,  of 
France,  in  1577.  In  1577  William  Shakspere  was  probably  going 
to  the  grammar  school  in  Stratford,  aged  thirteen  years.  How 
could  he  know  anything  about  a  distinguished  musician  at  the 
court  of  France,  between  which  and  Stratford  there  was  then  less 
intercourse  than  there  is  now  between  Moscow  and  Australia.  But 
Francis  Bacon  was  sent  to  Paris  in  1576,  and  remained  there  for 
three  years;  and  doubtless,  for  he  was  a  lover  of  music,  knew  Bal- 
thazarini well,  and  sought  in  this  way  to  perpetuate  his  memory. 
Or  it  may  be  that  the  cipher  narrative  in  Much  Ado  about  Nothing 
tells  some  story  in  which  Balthazarini  is  referred  to. 

Bacon  devoted  many  pages  in  his  Natura/  History'2  to  experi- 
ments in  music.     He  noted   that  a  musical  note  "falling  from  one 
tone  to  another"  is  "delightful,"  reminding  us  of 
That  strain  again  !  it  hath  a  dying  fall.* 

And  he  further  notes  that  "  the  division  and  quavering,  which 
please  so  much  in  music,  have  an  agreement  with  the  glittering  of 
light,  as  the  moonbeams  playing  on  a  wave."  4 

Who  can  fail  to  believe  that  the  same  mind  which   originated 

this  poetical  image  wrote  the  following  ? 

How  sweet  the  moonlight  sleeps  upon  this  bank  ! 
Here  will  we  sit,  and  let  the  sounds  of  music 
Creep  in  our  ears;  soft  stillness  and  the  night 
Become  the  touches  of  sweet  harmony.5 

And  the  following    lines  —  giving   the    reason    of    things   as    a 

philosopher  and  scholar  —  are  in  the  very  vein  of  Bacon: 

The  cause  why  music  was  ordained; 

Was  it  not  to  refresh  the  mind  of  man, 

After  his  studies,  or  his  usual  pain  ? 

Then  give  me  leave  to  read  philosophy, 

And,  while  I  pause,  serve  in  your  harmony.6 

Bacon  says: 

Voices  or  consorts  of  music  do  make  a  harmony  by  mixture.   .   .   .  The  sweetest 

1  Act  ii,  scene  3.  3  Twelfth  Night,  i,  1.  3  Merchant  0/  Venice,  v,  1. 

3  Century  ii.  4  Natural  History,  cent,  ii,  §113.  *  Taming  0/  the  Shrew,  iii,  1.- 


414 


PARALLELISMS. 


and  best  harmony  is,  when  every  part  or  instrument  is  not  heard  by  itself,  but  a 
conflation  of  them  all.  .  .  .  But  sounds  do  disturb  and  alter  the  one  the  other; 
sometimes  the  one  drowning  the  other  and  making  it  not  heard;  sometimes  the 
one  jarring  with  the  other  and  making  a  confusion  ;  sometimes  the  one  mingling 
with  the  other  and  making  a  harmony.  .  .  .  Where  echoes  come  from  several 
parts  at  the  same  distance,  they  must  needs  make,  as  it  were,  a  choir  of  echoes.  .  .  . 
There  be  many  places  where  you  shall  hear  a  number  of  echoes  one  after  another: 
and  it  is  where  there  is  a  variety  of  kills  and  ivoods,  some  nearer,  some  farther  off.1 

Now  turn  to  the  following  magnificent  specimen  of  word-paint- 
ing, from  the  Midsummer  Night's  Dream: 

We  will,  fair  Queen,  up  to  the  mountain's  top, 
And  mark  the  musical  confusion 
Of  hounds  and  echo  in  conjunction. 
I  was  with  Hercules  and  Cadmus  once, 
When  in  a  wood  of  Crete  they  bayed  the  bear, 
With  hounds  of  Sparta:  never  did  I  hear 
Such  gallant  chiding;  for,  besides  the  groves, 
The  skies,  the  fountains,  every  region  near 
Seemed  all  one  mutual  cry.   I  never  heard 
So  musical  a  discord,  such  sweet  thunder.2 

It  may,  of  course,  be  said  that  Bacon's  statement  of  fact  in  the 
above  is  bare  and  barren,  compared  with  the  exquisite  melody  of 
the  description  given  us  in  the  play;  but  it  must  be  remembered 
that  the  one  is  prose  and  the  other  poetry;  and  that  the  prose  of 
the  Plays  is  as  much  prose  as  is  the  prose  of  the  Natural  History. 
But  no  man,  however  perfect  his  perception  of  beauty  may  have 
been,  could  have  given  us  the  description  in  the  Midsummer  Night's 
Dream  unless  he  had  the  analytic  power  to  see  that  the  delightful 
effects  which  his  ear  realized  were  caused  by  a  "  musical  confu- 
sion "  of  the  hounds  and  the  echoes;  the  groves,  skies,  fountains 
and  everything  around  flinging  back  echo  upon  echo,  until  the 
whole  scene  "seemed  all  one  mutual  cry,"  until,  in  fact,  there  was 
produced,  as  Bacon  says,  "a  choir  of  echoes."  And  the  very  words, 
"a  choir  of  echoes,"  are  poetical;  they  picture  the  harmonious  ming- 
ling of  echoes,  like  the  voices  of  singers,  and  remind  us  of  the  son- 
net, where  the  poet  speaks  of  the  trees,  deadened  by  the  winter,  as 

Bare,  ruined  choirs,  where  late  the  sweet  birds  sang. 

It  seems  to  me  we  have  here  the  evidence  not  only  that  both 
writers  loved  music  and  had  studied  it,  but  that  they  had  noted  the 
same  effects  from  the  same  cause;  for  surely  Bacon's  description  of 

1  Natural  History,  cent.  iii.  '2  Midsummer  Nighfs  Dream,  iv,  r. 


IDENTICAL    STL' DIES.  _p5 

the  "choir  of  echoes"  from  "a  variety  of  hills  and  woods"  must 
have  been  based  on  some  such  hunting  scene  as  the  poet  gives  us 
with  such  melodious  detail. 

II.     Gardening. 

Francis  Bacon  and  the  writer  of  the  Plays  both  were  filled  with 
a  great  love  for  gardening. 

Bacon  calls  it  "  the  purest  of  all  human  pleasures." 
Shakespeare,  as   Mrs.  Pott   has  shown,  refers  to  thirty-live  dif- 
ferent flowers: 

Anemone,  carnation,  columbine,  cornflower,  cowslip,  crown-imperial,  crow- 
rlower,  daffodil,  daisy,  eglantine,  flower-de-luce,  fumitory,  gilly-flower,  hare-bell, 
honeysuckle,  ladies'  smocks,  lavender,  lilies,  long  purples,  marigold,  marjorum, 
myrtle,  oxlips,  pansies  or  love  in  idleness,  peony,  pimpernal,  pink,  primrose,  rose 
"may,"  rose  "must,"  rose  "damask,"  rosemary,  thyme,  violet,  woodbine.1 

Mrs.  Pott  says: 

These  thirty-five  flowers  are  all  noted  or  studied  by  Bacon,  with  the  exception 
of  the  columbine,  pansy  and  long-purples.  The  hare-bell  may  be  considered  as 
included  in  the  "bell-flowers,"  which  he  describes.  Twenty-one  of  these  same 
thirty-five  Shakespearean  flowers  are  enumerated  by  Bacon  in  his  essay  Of  Gardens. 

And  this  coincidence  is  the  more  remarkable  when  it  is  remem- 
bered that  these  flowers  were  but  a  small  part  of  those  well-known 
in  the  days  of  Shakespeare  and  Bacon.  In  all  the  notes  on  garden- 
ing, in  Bacon's  writings,  there  are  only  five  flowers  which  are  not 
named  by  Shakespeare,  while  of  Ben  Jonson's  list  of  flowers  only 
half  are  ever  alluded  to  by  Bacon. 

Mrs.  Pott  points  out  that  Bacon  was  the  first  writer  that  ever 
distinguished  flowers  by  the  season  of  their  blooming;  and  Shake- 
speare follows  this  order  precisely  and  never  brings  the  flowers  of 
one  season  into  another,  as  Jonson  and  other  poets  do.  In  the 
midst  of  exquisite  poetry  he  accurately  associates  the  flower  with 
the  month  to  which  it  belongs.     He  says: 

Daffodils  that  come  before  the  swallow  dares 
And  take  the  winds  of  March  with  beauty. - 

Says  Bacon: 

For  March  there  come  violets,  especially  the  single  blue,  which  are  the  earliest.3 

»  Shakespeariana.  May,  1885,  p.  241.  2  Winter  s  Tale,  iv.  3.  3  Essay  Of  Gardens. 


4 1 6  PARA  LLELISMS. 

And  again: 

Thy  banks  with  peonies  and  lilies  brims, 
Which  spongy  April  at  thy  hest  betrims.1 

And  again  the  poet  says: 

O  rose  of  May,  dear  maid,  kind  sister. 

In  all  this  the  poet  shows  the  precision  of  the  natural  philos- 
opher. 

The  whole  article  here  quoted,  from  the  pen  of  Mrs.  Pott,  can 
be  read  with  advantage  and  pleasure. 

Bacon  studied  gardening  in  all  its  details.  His  love  for  flowers 
was  great.  Even  in  his  old  age,  when,  broken  in  health  and  fortune, 
and  oppressed  with  cares  and  debts,  we  find  him  writing  the  Lord 
Treasurer  Cranfield  that  he  proposes  to  visit  him  at  Chiswick, 
he  adds: 

I  hope  to  wait  on  your  Lordship  and  gather  some  violets  in  your  garden. 

He  says  in  The  New  Atlantis : 

In  these  we  practice  likewise  all  conclusions  of  grafting  and  inoculating,  as 
well  of  wild  trees  as  fruit  trees,  which  produceth  many  effects. 

While  Shakespeare  says: 

You  see,  sweet  maid, 
We  tfiarry  a  gentle  scion  to  the  wildest  stock, 
And  make  conceive  a  bark  of  baser  kind 
By  bud  of  nobler  race.     This  is  an  art 
Which  does  mend  nature,  change  it  rather;  but 
The  art  itself  is  nature.2 

And  we  find  the  same  thought  again: 

Our  scions,  put  in  wild  and  savage  stocks, 
Spirt  up  so  suddenly  into  the  clouds.3 

Shakespeare  has  that  curious  and  strange  comparison: 

If  you  can  look  into  the  seeds  of  time 

And  say  which  grain  will  grow  and  which  will  not.4 

And,  in  the  same  vein,  we  find  Bacon  devoting  pages   to  the 

study  of  the  nature  of  seeds,  and  of  the  mode  of  testing  them,  to 

see  whether  they  wi41  grow  or  not.     He  says: 

And  therefore  skillful  gardeners  make  trial  of  the  seeds  before  they  buy  them, 
whether  they  be  good  or  no,  by  putting  them  into  water  gently  boiled;  and  if  they 
be  good  they  will  sprout  within  half  an  hour.5 

1  Tempest,  iv,  i.  2  Winter's  Tale,  iv,  3.  3  Henry  V.,  iii,  5. 

4  Macbeth,  i,  3.  s  Natural  History,  §  520. 


IDENTICAL    STUDIES.  4Iy 

And  again: 

If  any  one  investigate  the  vegetation  of  plants  he  should  observe  from  the  first 
sowing  of  any  seed  how  and  when  the  seed  begins  to  swell  and  break,  and  be  filled, 
as  it  were,  with  spirit.1 

And  here  is  a  curious  parallelism.     Bacon  says: 

There  be  certain  corn-flotuers,  which  come  seldom  or  never  in  other  places 
unless  they  be  set,  but  only  amongst  corny  as  the  blue-bottle,  a  kind  of  yellow 
marigold,  wild  poppy  and  fumitory.  ...  So  it  would  seem  that  it  is  the  corn  that 
qualifieth  the  earth  and  prepareth  it  for  their  growth.'2 

Shakespeare's  attention  had  also  been  drawn  to  these  humble 

corn-flowers,  and   he  had   reached   the  same  conclusion,  that  the 

earth  was  prepared  to' receive  these  flowers  by  the  presence  of  the 

corn.     He  describes  Lear: 

Crowned  with  rank  fumitor,  and  furrow  weeds, 
With  hardock,  hemlocks,  nettles,  cuckoo-flowers, 
Darnel    and  all  the  idle  weeds  that  grow- 
In  our  sustaining  corn.3 

Bacon  writes  an  essay  Of  Gardens,  and  Shakespeare  is  full  of 

comparisons  and  reflections  based  upon  gardens.     For  instance: 

Virtue?  a  fig  !  'Tis  in  ourselves  that  we  are  thus  or  thus.  Our  bodies  are  our 
gardens,  to  the  which  our  wills  are  gardeners:  so  that  if  we  will  plant  nettles  or 
sow  lettuce;  set  hyssop,  and  weed  up  thyme;  supply  it  with  one  gender  of  herbs  or 
distract  it  with  many;  either  to  have  it  sterile  with  idleness,  or  manured  with  indus- 
try: why,  the  power  and  corrigible  authority  of  this  lies  in  our  own  wills.4 


And  again: 


Our  sea-walled  garden,  the  whole  land, 

Is  full  of  weeds,  her  fairest  flowers  choked  up.5 


And  again: 


What  rub,  or  what  impediment  there  is, 
Why  that  the  naked,  poor  and  mangled  peace, 
Dear  nurse  of  arts,  plenties  and  joyful  births, 
Should  not,  in  this  best  garden  of  the  world, 
Our  fertile  France,  put  up  her  lovely  visage?  .   .  , 
The  even  mead,  that  erst  brought  sweetly  forth 
The  freckled  cowslip,  burnet,  and  green  clover, 
Wanting  the  scythe,  all  uncorrected,  rank, 
Conceives  by  idleness;  and  nothing  teems 
But  hateful  docks,  rough  thistles,  kecksies,  burrs. 


And  the  closeness  with  which  both  studied  the  nature  of  plants 

1  Novum  Organum,  book  ii.  3  Lear,  iv,  4.  5  Richard  II.,  iii,  4. 

2  Natural  History,  §  482.  4  Othello,  i,  3.  6  Henry  I'.,  v,  2. 


41 8  PARALLELISMS. 

and  their  modes  of  growth  is  shown  in  the  following  remarkable 

parallel. 

In  that  most  curious  and  philosophical  of  the  Plays,  Troilus  and 

Cressida,  we  find  this  singular  comparison: 

Checks  and  disasters 
Grow  in  the  veins  of  actions  highest  reared; 
As  knots,  by  the  conflux  of  meeting  sap, 
Infect  the  sound  pine,  and  divert  his  grain, 
Tortive  and  errant  from  his  course  of  growth.1 

And  we  find  that  Bacon  had,  in  like  manner,  studied  the  effect 
of  sap  upon  the  growth  of  the  tree: 

The  cause  whereof  is,  for  that  the  sap  ascendeth  unequally,  and  doth,  as  it 
were,  tire  and  stop  by  the  way.  And  it  seemeth  they  have  some  closeness  and 
hardness  in  their  stalk,  which  hindereth  the  sap  from  going  up,  until  it  hath  gath- 
ered into  a  knot,  and  so  is  more  urged  to  put  forth.2 

Here  we  find  the  poet  setting  forth  that  the  knots  are  caused 

by  "  the  conflux  of  the  meeting  sap,"  while  the  philosopher  tells  us 

that  when  the  sap  is  arrested   it  "  gathereth  into  a  knot."     And  so 

it  seems  that  both  were  studying  the  same  subject  and  arriving  at 

the  same   conclusions;  and  both  thought   that  not  only  were   the 

knots  caused   by  the   stoppage  of  the  ascending  sap,  but  that  the 

knots  produced  the  new  branches:  "  so,"  says  Bacon,  "it  is  more 

urged   to   put  forth."      The    knots,   says    Shakespeare,   divert    the 

grain    from    the    straight,    upright    course    of    growth,    to-wit,    by 

making  it   put   forth    new   branches.      Can   any   man   believe   that 

Bacon  and  Shakspere  were  engaged  at  the  same  time  in  this  same 

curious  study,  and  reached  independently  these  same  remarkable 

conclusions  ? 

And  we  see  the  gardener  again  in  Richard  II.: 

All  superfluous  branches 
We  lop  away,  that  bearing  boughs  may  live.3 
Again: 

A  violet  in  the  youth  of  primy  Nature.4 

The  thoughts  of  both  ran  upon  flowers.  Bacon  says: 
We  commend  the  odor  of  plants  growing,  and  not  plucked,  taken  in  the  open 
air;  the  principal  of  that  kind  are  violets,  gilliflowers,  pinks,  bean-flowers,  lime- 
tree  blossoms,  vine  buds,  honeysuckles,  yellow  wall-flowers,  musk  roses,  straw- 
berry leaves,  etc.  .  .  .  Therefore  to  walk  or  sit  near  the  breath  of  these  plants 
should  not  be  neglected.5 

'  Troilus  and  Cressida,  i,  3.  2  Natural  History,  %  589.  3  Richard  II.,  iii,  4. 

4  Hamlet,  i,  3.  5  History  0/ Life  and  Death. 


IDENTICAL    STUDIES.  419 

And  again  he  says: 

The  daintiest  smells  of  flowers  are  out  of  those  plants  whose  leaves  smell  not, 
as  violets,  roses,  wall-flowers,  gilliflowers,  pinks,  woodbines,  vine-flowers,  apple- 
blooms,  bean-blossoms,  etc.1 

The  same  admiration  for  flowers  is  shown  by  Shakespeare.     He 

speaks  of 

Daffodils, 
That  come  before  the  swallow  dares,  and  take 
The  winds  of  March  with  beauty;  violets,  dim, 
But  sweeter  than  the  lids  of  Juno's  eyes, 
Or  Cytherea's  breath;  pale  primroses, 
That  die  unmarried,  ere  they  can  behold 
Bright  Phcebus  in  his  strength,  a  malady 
Most  incident  to  maids;  bold  oxlips,  and 
The  crown  imperial;  lilies  of  all  kinds, 
The  flower-de-luce  being  one.'2 

I  might  fill  pages  with  further  evidence  that  both  Bacon  and 
the  writer  of  the  Plays  loved  flowers  and  practiced  gardening. 

III.     Thk  Study  of  Medicine. 

Bacon  says  of  himself: 

I  have  been  puddering  in  physic  all  my  life. 

Shakespeare  says: 

'Tis  known  I  ever 
Have  studied  physic' 

Bacon  writes  to  Sir  Robert  Cecil: 

I  ever  liked  the  Galenists,  that  deal  with  good  compositions,  and  not  the  Para- 
celsians,  that  deal  with  these  fine  separations.4 


Shakespeare  says: 


Lafeau.     To  be  relinquished  of  the  artists. 
Parolles.     So  I  say,  both  of  Galen  and  Paracelsus. 
Lafeau.     Of  all  the  learned  and  authentic  fellows.5 


Macaulay  says,  speaking  of  Bacon: 

Of  all  the  sciences,  that  which  he  regarded  with  the  greatest  interest  was  the 
science  which,  in  Plato's  opinion,  would  not  be  tolerated  in  a  well-regulated  com- 
munity. To  make  men  perfect  was  no  part  of  Bacon's  plan.  His  humble  aim 
was  to  make  imperfect  men  comfortable.  ...  He  appealed  to  the  example  of 
Christ,  and  reminded  his  readers  that  the  great  Physician  of  the  soul  did  not  dis- 
dain to  be  also  the  physician  of  the  body.6 

1  Natural  History,  §389.         ''Pericles,  iii,  2.  5  All's  Well  that  Ends  Well,  ii,  3. 

2  Winter's  Tale,  iv,  3.  4  Letter  to  Sir  Robert  Cecil.  *  Essay  Bacon,  p.  276. 


420 


PARALLELISMS. 


On  the  other  hand,  the  celebrated  surgeon  Bell  says: 

My  readers  will  smile,  perhaps,  lo  see  me  quoting  Shakespeare  among  physi- 
cians and  theologians,  but  not  one  of  all  their  tribe,  populous  though  it  be,  could 
describe  so  exquisitely  the  marks  of  apoplexy,  conspiring  with  the  struggles  for 
life,  and  the  agonies  of  suffocation,  to  deform  the  countenance  of  the  dead;  so 
curiously  does  our  poet  present  to  our  conception  all  the  signs  from  which  it  might 
be  inferred  that  the  good  Duke  Humphrey  had  died  a  violent  death.1 

Dr.  O.  A.   Kellogg,   Assistant   Professor  of  the   State   Lunatic 

Asylum  at  Utica,  N.  Y.,  says: 

The  extent  and  accuracy  of  the  medical,  physiological  and  psychological 
knowledge  displayed  in  the  dramas  of  William  Shakespeare,  like  the  knowledge  that 
is  manifested  on  all  matters  upon  which  the  rays  of  his  mighty  genius  fell,  have 
excited  the  wonder  and  astonishment  of  all  men,  who,  since  his  time,  have  investi- 
gated those  subjects  upon  which  so  much  light  is  shed  by  the  researches  of  modern 
science. 

Speaking  of  Bacon,  Osborne,  his  contemporary,  said: 

I  have  heard  him  outcant  a  London  chirurgeon, — 

meaning  thereby,  excel  him  in  the  technical  knowledge  of  his  own 

profession. 

His  marvelous  delineations  of  the  different  shades  of  insanity  in 
Lear,  Ophelia,  Hamlet,  etc.,  are  to  be  read  in  the  light  of  the  fact 
that  Francis  Bacon's  mother  died  of  insanity;  and  Bacon,  with  his 
knowledge  of  the  hereditary  transmissibility  of  disease,  must  have 
made  the  subject  one  of  close  and  thorough  study.  There  are 
instances  in  his  biography  which  show  that  he  was  himself  the 
victim  of  melancholy;  and  there  are  reasons  to  think,  as  will  be 
shown  hereafter,  that  he  is  the  real  author  of  a  great  medical  work 
on  that  subject  which  passes  now  in  the  name  of  another. 

He  seems  to  have  anticipated  Harvey's  discovery  of  the  circula- 
tion of  the  blood.  Harvey,  in  1628,  demonstrated  that  "the  blood 
which  passed  out  from  the  heart,  by  the  arteries,  returned  to  the 
heart  by  the  veins." 

But  Shakespeare,  long  before  that  time,  had  said: 

As  dear  to  me  as  are  the  ruddy  drops 
That  visit  my  sad  heart,- — 

indicating  that  he  knew  that  the  blood  returned  to  the  heart. 

I  find  the  following  interesting  passage  in  Disraeli's  Curiosities 
of  Literature : 

lBell'«  Principles  of Surgery ',  1815,  vol.  ii,  p.  557.  "Julius  Casar,  ii,  t. 


IDENTICAL    STUDIES.  42i 

Dr.  William  Hunter  has  said  that  after  the  discovery  of  the  valves  in  the  veins, 
which  Harvey  learned  while  in  Italy  from  his  master,  Fabricius  ab  Aquapendente, 
the  remaining  step  might  easily  have  been  made  by  any  person  of  common 
abilities.  "  This  discovery,"  he  observes,  "  set  Harvey  to  work  upon  the  use  of 
the  heart  and  vascular  system  in  animals;  and  in  the  course  of  some  years  he  was 
so  happy  as  to  discover,  and  to  prove  beyond  all  possibility  of  doubt,  the  circulation 
of  the  blood."  He  afterwards  expresses  his  astonishment  that  this  discovery 
should  have  been  left  for  Harvey,  though  he  acknowledges  it  occupied  "a  course 
of  years  ;"'  adding  that  "  Providence  meant  to  reserve  it  for  him,  and  would  not  let 
men  see  zvhat  was  before  them  nor  understand  what  they  read.  It  is  remarkable  that 
when  great  discoveries  are  effected,  their  simplicity  always  seems  to  detract  from 
their  originality;  on  these  occasions  we  are  reminded  of  the  egg  of  Columbus.1 

But  it  seems  that  the  author  of  the  Shakespeare  Plays,  years 
before  Harvey  made  his  discovery,  had  also  read  of  the  observations 
•of  Fabricius  ab  Aquapendente,  and  understood  that  there  were 
valves  in  the  veins  and  arteries.  And  this  he  could  only  have  done 
in  the  original  Italian  —  certainly  not  in  English.  And  he  refers  to 
these  valves  as  "  gates  "  in  the  following  lines: 

And  in  the  porches  of  mine  ears  did  pour 
The  leperous  distilment;  whose  effect 
Holds  such  an  enmity  with  blood  of  man, 
That  swift  as  quicksilver  it  courses  through 
The  natural  gates  and  alleys  of  the  body: 
And  with  a  sudden  vigor  it  doth  posset 
And  curd,  like  aigre  droppings  into  milk, 
The  thin  and  wholesome  blood.2 

IV.     Shakespeare's  Physicians. 

And  it  is  a  remarkable  fact  that,  while  the  art  of  medicine  was 
in  that  age  at  a  very  low  ebb,  and  doctors  were  little  better  than 
quacks,  Shakespeare  represents,  on  two  occasions,  the  physician  in 
a  light  that  would  do  no  discredit  to  the  profession  in  this  advanced 
age.  Let  me  give  a  few  facts  to  show  how  reasonable  and  civilized 
was  the  medical  treatment  of  the  physicians  in  Lear  and  Macbeth, 
compared  with  that  of  the  highest  in  skill  in  the  sixteenth  and 
seventeenth  centuries. 

Sir  Theodore  Mayern,  Baron  Aulbone,  was  born  in  France  in 
1573.  He  was  the  great  doctor  of  his  day.  Among  his  patients 
were  Henry  IV.  and  Louis  XIII.,  of  France,  and  James  I.,  Charles  I. 
and  Charles  II.,  of  England. 

He  administered  calomel  in  scruple  doses;    he   mixed  sugar  of 

1  Disraeli,  Curiosities  0/ Literature,  p.  4T2.  2  Hamlet,  i.  5. 


422  PAHA  LLELISMS. 

lead  in  his  conserves;  but  his  principal  reliance  was  in  pulverized 
human  bones  and  "  raspings  of  a  human  skull  unburied."  His 
sweetest  compound  was  his  balsam  of  bats,  strongly  recommended 
for  hypochondriacal  persons,  into  which  entered  adders,  bats, 
sucking  whelps,  earth-worms,  hogs'  grease,  the  marrow  of  a  stag 
and  the  thigh-bone  of  an  ox  !  He  died  in  1655.  He  ought  to 
have  died  earlier. 

Another  of  these  learned  physicians  of  Elizabeth's  time  was 
Doctor  William  Bulleyn,  who  was  of  kin  to  the  Queen.  He  died  in 
1576.  His  prescription  for  a  child  suffering  from  nervousness  was 
"  a  smal  yonge  mouse,  rosted." 

And  this  state  of  ignorance  continued  for  more  than  a  century 
after  Bacon's  death.  In  1739  the  English  Parliament  passed  an  act 
to  pay  Joanna  Stephens,  a  vulgar  adventuress,  ,£5,000,  to  induce 
her  to  make  public  her  great  remedy  for  all  diseases.  The  medi- 
cines turned  out  to  be,  when  revealed,  a  powder,  a  decoction  and 
pills,  made  up  principally  of  egg-shells,  snails,  soap,  honey  and 
swine-cresses ! 

Now,  bearing  all  this  mountebank  business  in  mind,  let  us  turn 
to  the  scene  where  the  Doctor  appears  in  Macbeth.     We  read: 

Doctor.  I  have  two  nights  watched  with  you,  but  can  perceive  no  truth  in 
your  reports.     When  was  it  she  last  walked? 

Gentlewoman.  Since  his  Majesty  went  into  the  field,  I  have  seen  her  rise  from 
her  bed,  throw  her  night-gown  upon  her,  unlock  her  closet,  take  forth  paper,  fold 
it,  write  upon  't,  read  it,  afterwards  seal  it,  and  again  return  to  bed;  yet  all  this 
while  in  a  most  fast  sleep. 

Doctor.  A  great  perturbation  in  nature  !  to  receive  at  once  the  benefit  of  sleep 
and  do  the  effects  of  watching.  In  this  slumbery  agitation,  besides  her  walking 
and  other  actual  performances,  what,  at  any  time,  have  you  heard  her  say  ? 

Gentlewoman.     That  which  I  will  not  report  after  her. 

Doctor.     You  may,  to  me;  and  'tis  most  meet  you  should. 

Gentlewoman,  Neither  to  you  nor  any  one;  having  no  witness  to  confirm  my 
speech. 

Enter  Lady  Macbeth  with  taper. 

Lady  Macbeth.     Wash  your  hands,  put  on  your  night-gown;  look  not  so  pale 
—  I  tell  you  yet  again,  Banquo's  buried;  he  cannot  come  out  on  's  grave. 
Doctor.     Even. so.  .  .  .  Will  she  go  now  to  bed  ? 
Gentlewoman.     Directly. 

Doctor.     Foul  whisperings  are  abroad.     Unnatural  deeds 

Do  breed  unnatural  troubles.     Infected  minds 

To  their  deaf  pillows  will  discharge  their  secrets. 

More  needs  she  the  divine  than  the  physician. 

God,  God,  forgive  us  all !    Look  after  her; 


IDENTICAL   STUDIES.  423 

Remove  from  her  the  means  of  all  annoyance, 
And  still  keep  eyes  upon  her:  So,  good  night; 
My  mind  she  has  mated,  and  amazed  my  sight: 
I  think,  but  dare  not  speak. 

And  farther  on  in  the  tragedy  we  have: 

Macbeth.     How  does  your  patient,  doctor? 

Doctor.  Not  so  sick,  my  lord, 

As  she  is  troubled  with  thick-coming  fancies, 

That  keep  her  from  her  rest. 

Macbeth.  Cure  her  of  that. 

Canst  thou  not  minister  to  a  mind  diseased, 

Pluck  from  the  memory  a  rooted  sorrow; 

Raze  out  the  written  troubles  of  the  brain; 

And,  with  some  sweet  oblivious  antidote 

Cleanse  the  stuffed  bosom  of  that  perilous  stuff 

Which  weighs  upon  the  heart? 

Doctor.  Therein  the  patient 

Must  minister  to  himself. 

Macbeth.     Throw  physic  to  the  dogs,  I'll  none  of  it. 

How  courteous  and  dignified  and  altogether  modern  is  this 
physician  ?  There  is  here  nothing  of  the  quack,  the  pretender,  or 
the  impostor.  We  hear  nothing  about  recipes  of  human  bones,  or 
small  roast  mice,  or  snails,  or  swine-cresses. 

And  this  declaration,  of  the  inadequacy  of  drugs  to  relieve  the 
heart,  reminds  us  of  what  Bacon  says: 

You  may  take  sarsa  to  open  the  liver,  steel  to  open  the  spleen,  flower  of  sul- 
phur for  the  lungs,  castareum  for  the  brain,  but  no  receipt  openeth  the  heart  but  a 
true  friend.1 

In  Lear  we  have  another  doctor.  He  is  called  in  to  care  for  the 
poor  insane  King,  and  we  have  the  following  conversation: 

Cordelia.  What  can  man's  wisdom  do 

In  the  restoring  of  his  bereaved  sense? 

He  that  helps  him,  take  all  my  outward  worth. 

Physician.     There  is  means,  madam; 

Our  foster-nurse  of  nature  is  repose, 

The  which  he  lacks;  that  to  provoke  in  him, 

Are  many  simples  operative,  whose  power 

Will  close  the  eyes  of  anguish. 

Cord.  All  bless'd  secrets, 

All  you  unpublished  virtues  of  the  earth, 

Spring  with  my  tears  !  be  aidant  and  remediate 

In  the  good  man's  distress.'2 

And  how  Baconian  is  this  reference  to  the  "  unpublished  virtues 

« 

1  Essay  Of  Friendship.  *  Lear  iv,  4. 


424 


PARALLELISMS. 


of  the  earth  "  ?     It  was  the  very  essence  of  Bacon's  philosophy  to 

make  those  virtues  known  as  "aidant  and  remediate"  of  the  good 

of  man.     He  sought,  by  a  knowledge  of  the  secrets  of  nature,  to 

lift  men  out  of  their  miseries  and  necessities. 

And  again,  after  the  Doctor  has,  by  his  simples  operative,  produced 

sleep,  and  Lear  is  about  to  waken,  we  have  the  following: 

Cordelia.     How  does  the  King? 
Physician.     Madam,  he  sleeps  still. 

...  So  please  your  Majesty, 
That  we  may  wake  the  King?     He  hath  slept  long.     « 
Cord.     Be  governed  by  your  knowledge  and  proceed, 
F  the  sway  of  your  own  will. 

Phys.     Be  by,  good  madam,  when  we  do  awake  him; 
I  doubt  not  of  his  temperance. 
Cord.  Very  well. 

•  Phys.     Please  you,  draw  near. —  Louder  the  music  there.   .  .  . 
Cord.     He  wakes;  speak  to  him. 
Phys.     Madam,  do  you;  'tis  fittest. 

Cord.     How  does  my  royal  Lord?     How  fares  your  Majesty? 
Lear.     You  do  me  wrong  to  take  me  out  o'  the  grave.  ,  .  . 
Cord.  Sir,  do  you  know  me  ? 

Lear.     You  are  a  spirit,  I  know.     When  did  you  die  ? 
Cord.     Still,  still,  far  wide. 
Phys.     He's  scarce  awake:  let  him  alone  a  while.1 

Surely  there  is  nothing  here,  either  in  the  mode  of  treatment  or 
the  manner  of  speech,  that  the  modern  physician  could  improve 
upon.  The  passage  contains  Bacon's  forecasting  of  what  the  doc- 
tor should  be  —  of  what  he  has  come  to  be  in  these  latter  times. 

V.     The   Medicinal  Virtues   of  Sleep. 

And  how  well  did  both  Bacon  and  the  writer  of  the  Plays  know 
the  virtue  of  those 

Simples  operative,  whose  power 
Will  close  the  eyes  of  anguish. 

Bacon  in  his  Natural  History,  §738,  discussing  all  the  drugs  that 
"inebriate  and  provoke  sleep,"  speaks  of  "the  tear  of  poppy"  of 
u  henbane-seed"  and  of  "mandrake." 

While  Shakespeare  is  familiar  with  the  same  medicines.  He 
says: 

Not  poppy,  nor  mandragora, 
Nor  all  the  drowsy  syrups  of  the  world, 
Shall  ever  minister  thee  to  that  sweet  sleep 
Which  thou  ow'dst  once.2 

1  Lear,  iv,    4.  *  Othello,  iii,  3. 


IDENTICAL    STUDIES.  425 

And  again: 

With  juice  of  cursed  kebenon  in  a  vial.1 

And  when  the  doctor  in  Lear  says  that  "the  foster-nurse  of 
nature  is  repose,"  he  speaks  a  great  truth,  but  faintly  recognized  in 
that  age,  and  not  even  fully  understood  in  this.  And  yet  in  that 
unscientific,  crude  era  both  Bacon  and  the  writer  of  the  Plays 
clearly  perceived  the  curative  power  of  sleep. 

Shakespeare  calls  it 

Great  nature's  second  course, 
Chief  nourisher  in  life's  feast.  - 

And  this  curious  idea  of  the  nourishing  power  of  sleep  is  often 

found  in  Bacon.     He  says: 

Sleep  doth  supply  somewhat  to  nourishment.* 

Sleep  nourishethy  or,  at   least,    preserveth   bodies   a  long    time  without  other 

nourishment.* 

Sleep  doth  nourish  much,  for  the  spirits  do  less  spend  the  nourishment  in 
sleep  than  when  living  creatures  are  awake.'1 

And  Shakespeare  says: 

The  innocent  sleep: 
Sleep,  that  knits  up  the  ravel'd  sleeve  of  care; 
The  death  of  each  day's  life,  sore  labor's  bath, 
Balm  of  hurt  minds.0 

And  again: 

0  sleep,   O  gentle  sleep, 
Nature's  soft  nurse.7 

And  Bacon  has  something  of  that  same  idea  of  knitting  up 
the  raveled  sleeve  of  care.     He  says: 

I  have  compounded  an  ointment:  .  .  .  the  use  of  it  should  be  between  sleeps, 
for  in  the  latter  sleep  the  parts  assimilate  chiefly* 

That  is,  they  become  knitted  together.  Bacon  and  the  writer  of 
the  Plays  seem  both  to  have  perceived  that  the  wear  of  life  frayed 
the  nervous  fiber, 

Shakespeare  says  of  sleep: 

Please  you,  sir, 
Do  not  omit  the  heavy  offer  of  it: 
It  seldom  visits  sorrow;  when  it  doth 
It  is  a  comforter.9 

1  Hamlet,  i,  5.  *  Natural  History,  §  746.         7  2d  Henry  II'.,  iii,  1. 

■  Macleth,  ii,2.  5  Ibid.,  cent,  i,  §  57.  *  Xatural  History,  cent,  i,  §  59.     I 

3 History  of  Life  and  Death.  ''Macbeth,  ii,  2.  9  Tempest,  ii,  1. 


42o  PARALLELISMS. 

Bacon  says: 

Such  is  the  force  of  sleep  to  restrain  all  vital  consumption.' 

And  again: 

Sleep  is  nothing  else  but  a  reception  and  retirement  of  the  living  spirit  into 
itself."2 

It  would  almost  seem  as  if  spirit  was  so  incompatible  with  its 
enfoldment  of  matter  that  the  union  could  only  continue  at  the 
price  of  periods  of  oblivion,  or  semi-death;  during  which  the  con- 
scious spirit,  half-parted  from  its  tenement,  sinks  back  into  the 
abyss  of  God,  and  returns  rejuvenated,  and  freshly  charged  with 
vital  force  for  the  duties  of  life.  But  for  centuries  after  Bacon's 
time  there  were  thousands,  even  among  the  most  enlightened  of 
their  age,  who  regarded  sleep  as  the  enemy  of  man,  to  be  curtailed 
by  all  possible  means.  It  is  therefore  a  striking  proof  of  identity 
when  two  writers,  of  that  period,  are  found  united  in  anticipating 
the  conclusions  of  modern  thought  on  this  important  subject.  In 
the  medicinal  science  of  to-day  sleep  is  indeed  "  sore  labor's  bath," 
and  above  all  "  the  balm  of  hurt  minds." 

VI.     Use  of  Medical  Terms. 
But  the  Shakespeare  writings  bubble  over  with  evidences   that 
the  writer  was,  like  Bacon,  a  student  of  medicine. 
Bacon  says: 

For  opening,  I  commend  beads  or  pieces  of  the  roots  of  carduus  benedictus? 
And  Shakespeare  says: 

Get  you  some  of  this  distilled  carduus  bmtdiclus;  ...  it  is  the  only  thing  for 
a  qualm.4 

It  would  be  extraordinary  indeed  if  two  distinct  men  not  only 
used  the  same  expressions,  thought  the  same  thoughts,  cited  the 
same  quotations  and  pursued  the  same  studies,  but  even  recom- 
mended the  same  medicines  ! 

Bacon  says: 

Extreme  hitter  as  in  coloq uinti\..< . 

Shakespeare  says: 

The  food  that  to  him  now  is  as  luscious  as  locusts,  shall  be  to  him  shortly  as- 
bitter  as  coloquintida* 

'  History  of  Life  and  Death.  «  Much  Ado  about  Nothing;  iii.  4. 

2  Ibid.  5  Natural  History,  cent,  i,  §  36. 

3  Natural  History,  %  963.  "  Othello,  i.  3. 


IDENTICAL    STUDIES.  427 

Here  we  have  the  writer  of  the  Plays  and  Francis  Bacon  dwell- 
ing upon  another  medicine,  and  describing  it  in  the  same  terms. 

Shakespeare  speaks  in  Lear  of  "  the  hysterica  passio."     He  also 

knew  about  the  vascular  membrane  lining  the  brain: 

These  are  begot  in  the  ventricle  of  memory,  nourished  in  the  womb  of  pin 
mater,  and  delivered  upon  the  mellowing  of  occasion.1 

He  also  says: 

What  rhubarb,  senna,  or  what  purgative  drug 
Will  scour  these  English  hence.?'2 

Again: 

Dangerous  conceits  are,  in  their  natures,  poisons, 
Which  at  first  are  scarce  found  to  distaste; 
But  with  a  little  act  upon  the  blood, 
Burn  like  the  mines  of  sulphur.3 

And  again: 

And  nothing  is  at  a  like  goodness  still; 

For  goodness,  growing  to  a  pleurisy, 

Dies  in  his  own  too-much.4 
And  again: 

And  I  will  through  and  through 

Cleanse  the  foul  body  of  the  infected  world, 

If  they  will  patiently  receive  my  medicine.-' 

No  wonder  some  have  argued  that  the  writer  of  the  Plays  was 
a  physician. 

In  1st  Henry  IV. "  he  refers  to  the  midriff ;  in  2d  Henry  IV.  and 
Othello  and  Macbeth  he  describes  accurately  the  effect  of  intoxicat- 
ing liquor  on  the  system;  in  2d  Henry  IV'  he  refers  to  aconite  : 
in  The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor  he  drags  in  the  name  of  Esculapius. 
In  King  John  he  says: 

Before  the  curing  of  a  strong  disease, 
Even  in  the  instant  of  repair  and  health. 
The  fit  is  strongest;  evils  that  take  leave. 
On  their  departure  most  of  all  show  evil.8 

In  Coriolanus  he  says: 

Sir,  these  cold  ways, 
That  seem  like  prudent  helps,  are  very  poisonous 
Where  the  disease  is  violent.9 

In  Lear  he  says: 

Crack  nature's  moulds,  all  germens  spill  at  once 
That  make  ungrateful  man.10 

1  Loves  Labor  Lost,  iv,  2.  h  As  Von  Like  It.  8  King  John,  iii,  4. 

2  Macbeth,  v,  3.  8  Act  iii,  scene  3.  9  Coriolanus  iii,  1. 

3  Othello,  iii,  3.  T  Act  iv,  scene  4.  10  Lear,  iii.  2, 

4  Hamlet,  iv,  7. 


42cS  PARALLELISMS. 

In  Julius  Ccesar1  he  describes  correctly  the  symptoms  of  epi- 
lepsy. In  Timon  of  Athens"  he  gives  us  the  mode  of  treatment  of  a 
still  more  formidable  disease. 

In  Henry  V.  he  furnishes  us  with  a  minute  description  of  Fal- 

staff's  death: 

A'  parted  even  just  between  twelve  and  one,  e'en  at  the  turning  of  the  tide, 
for  after  I  saw  him  fumble  with  the  sheets,  and  play  with  flowers,  and  smile  upon 
his  finger-ends,  I  knew  there  was  but  one  way,  for  his  nose  was  as  sharp  as  a  pen, 
and  a'  babbled  of  green  fields.  ...  So  he  bade  me  lay  more  clothes  on  his  feet. 
I  put  my  hand  into  the  bed,  and  felt  them,  and  they  were  as  cold  as  any  stone.3 

And  it  is  a  curious  fact  that  Francis  Bacon  studied  the  signs  of 

death,  as  he  studied  everything  else,  with  the  utmost  particularity 

and  minuteness,  and  he  has  put  them  on  record.     He  says: 

The  immediate  preceding  signs  of  death  are,  great  unquietness  and  tossing  in 
the  bed,  fumbling  with  the  hands  ["  I  saw  him  fumble  with  the  sheets,"  says  Dame 
Quickly],  catching  and  grasping  hard,  gnashing  with  the  teeth,  speaking  hollow, 
trembling  of  the  nether  lip,  paleness  of  the  face,  the  memory  confused  ["a'  babbled 
-of  green  fields,"  says  Dame  Quickly],  speechless,  cold  sweats,  the  body  shooting 
in  length,  lifting  up  the  white  of  the  eye,  changing  of  the  whole  visage,  as  the  nose 
sharp  ["his  nose  was  as  sharp  as  a  pen,"  says  Dame  Quickly],  eyes  hollow,  cheeks 
fallen,  contraction  and  doubling  of  the  coldness  in  the  extreme  parts  of  the  body 
["his  feet  were  as  cold  as  any  stone,"  says  Dame  Quickly].4 

Here  we  have  the  same  symptoms,  and  in  the  same  order.  Who 
is  there  can  believe  that  these  descriptions  of  death  came  out  of 
two  different  minds  ? 

VII.     The  Same  Historical  Studies. 
Shakespeare  wrote  a  group  of  historical  plays  extending  from 
Richard    II.    to   Henry   VIII.,   with   a   single   break  —  the  reign  of 
Henry  VII.     And  Bacon  completed  the  series  by  writing  a  history  of 
Henry  VII. .' 

Shakespeare  wrote  a  play  turning  upon  Scotch  history  —  Mac- 
beth.    Bacon  had  studied  the  history  of  Scotland.     He  says: 

The  kingdom  of  Scotland  hath  passed  through  no  small  troubles,  and  remain- 
eth  full  of  boiling  and  swelling  tumors/' 

Shakespeare  wrote  a  play  concerning  Danish  history  —  Hamlet. 
Bacon  had  carefuMy  studied  Scandinavian  history.     He  says: 

1  Act  i,  scene  z.  4  History  of  Life  and  Death,  div.  x,  §  30. 

2  Act  iv,  scene  3.  B  Observations    on    a    Libel  —  Life    and 

3  Henry  /'.,  ii,  3.  Works,  vol.  i,  p.  161. 


IDENTICAL    STUDIES.  429 

The  kingdom  of  Swedeland,  besides  their  foreign  wars  upon  their  confines, 
the  Muscovites  and  the  Danes,  hath  also  been  subject  to  divers  intestine  tumults 
and  mutations,  as  their  stories  do  record} 

Shakespeare  wrote  a  play  of  Julius  Ccesar;  Bacon  wrote  a  biog- 
raphy or  character  of  Julius  Casar. 

Shakespeare  wrote  a  play,  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  in  which  Augus- 
tus Caesar  is  a  principal  character.  Bacon  wrote  a  biography  of 
Augustus  Ccesar.  And  he  discusses,  in  his  essay  Of  Love,  Mark 
Antony,  "  the  half-partner  of  the  empire  of  Rome,  a  voluptuous 
man  and  inordinate,  whose  great  business  did  not  keep  out  love." 
And  this  is  the  very  element  of  the  great  Roman's  character  on 
which  the  play  of  Antony  and  Cleopatra  turns. 

Shakespeare  wrote  a  play  of  Timon  of  Athens,  the  misanthrope- 
Bacon  speaks  of  "  misanthropi,  that  make  it  their  practice  to  bring 
men  to  the  bough,  and  yet  have  never  a  tree  in  their  garden  for  the 
purpose,  as  Timon  had."2 

VIII.     Julius  CiESAR  in  the  Plays. 

Shakespeare  manifests  the  highest  admiration  for  Julius  Caesar. 
He  calls  him  "  the  foremost  man  of  all  this  world." 
In  Cytnbcline  he  says: 

There  is  no  more  such  Caesars;  other  of  them  may  have  crooked  noses;  but  to 
own  such  straight  arms,  none.3 

In  Hamlet  he  refers  to  him  as  "the  mighty  Julius."     He  says: 

A  little  ere  the  mighty  Julius  fell, 

The  graves  stood  tenantless,  and  the  sheeted  dead 

Did  squeak  and  gibber  in  the  Roman  streets.4 

In  2d  Henry  VI.  he  says: 

For  Brutus'  bastard  hand  stabbed  Julius  Caesar.5 

On  the  other  hand,  Bacon  shows  a  like  admiration  for  Caesar. 

He  says: 

Machiavel  says  if  Caesar  had  been  overthrown  "he  would  have  been  more 
odlbus  than  ever  was  Catiline  ;"  as  if  there  had  been  no  difference,  but  in  fortune, 
between  a  very  fury  of  lust  and  blood  and  the  most  excellent  spirit  (his  ambitiorn 
reserved)  of  the  world.'1' 

1  Observations  on  a  Libel  —  Life  and  4  Hamlet,  i,  i. 

Works,  vol.  i,  p.  162.  5  2d  Henry  IV. t  iv,  1. 

2  Essay  Of  Goodness.  6  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii.. 

3  Cymbeline,  iii,  1. 


43o  PARA  LULU  SMS. 

This  is  but  another  way  of  saying:  "  The  foremost  man  of  all 
this  world."  He  also  refers  to  Caesar's  letters  and  apophthegms, 
"  which  excel  all  men's  else."  ' 

Shakespeare  says: 

Kent,  in  the  commentaries  Caesar  writ, 
Is  termed  the  civil'st  place  of  all  this  isle.'-' 

Bacon  refers  to  Caesar's  Commentaries,  and  pronounces  them 
"the  best  history  of  the  world."  3 

In  the  play  of  Julius  Ccesar  we  see  the  conspirators  coming  to- 
gether at  the  house  of  Brutus.  In  The  Advancement  of  Learning, 
book  ii,  we  find  Bacon  describing  the  supper  given  by  M.  Brutus 
and  Cassius  to  "certain  whose  opinions  they  meant  to  feci  whether 
they  were  fit  to  be  made  their  associates  "  in   the  killing  of  Caesar. 

Bacon  says  of  Julius  Caesar: 

He  referred  all  things  to  himself,  and  was  the  true  and  perfect  center  of  all  his 
actions.  By  which  means,  being  so  fast  tied  to  his  ends,  he  was  still  prosperous 
and  prevailed  in  his  purposes,  insomuch  that  neither  country,  nor  religion,  nor 
good  turns  done  him,  nor  kindred,  nor  friendship  diverted  his  appetite  nor  bridled 
him  from  pursuing  his  own  ends.4 

In  the  play  we  find  the  same  characteristic  brought  into  view. 

Just  before  the  assassination  Cassius  falls  at  Caesar's  feet  to  beg 

the  enfranchisement  of  Publius  Cimber.     Caesar  replies: 

I  could  be  well  moved  if  I  were  as  you; 
If  I  could  pray  to  move,  prayers  would  move  me. 
But  I  am  constant  as  the  northern  star 
Of  whose  true-fixed  and  resting  quality 
There  is  no  fellow  in  the  firmament. 
The  skies  are  painted  with  unnumbered  sparks, 
They  are  all  fire,  and  every  one  doth  shine; 
But  there  is  one  in  all  doth  hold  his  place: 
So,  in  the  world:  'tis  furnished  well  with  men, 
And  men  are  flesh  and  blood  and  apprehensive; 
Yet,  in  the  number,  I  do  know  but  one 
That  unassailable  holds  on  his  rank, 
Unshaked  of  motion,  and  that  I  am  he- 
Let  me  a  little  show  it.5 

Here  we  see  the  same  man  described  by  Bacon,  whom  "  neither 

country,  nor  good    turns    done    him,  nor    kindred,  nor  friendship 

diverted  .  .  .  from  pursuing  his  own  ends." 

1  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii.  4  Character  of  Julius  Ccesar. 

*  ad  Henry  VI.,  iv,  7.  ■ Julius  Ccesar,  iii,  1. 

•  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii. 


IDENTICAL    STUDIES. 


43  ^ 


In  Julius  Ccesar  we  find  Shakespeare  suggesting  the  different 
temperaments  and  mental  states  that  accompany  particular  con- 
ditions of  the  body: 

Let  me  have  men  about  me  that  are  fat; 
Sleek-headed  men  and  such  as  sleep  o'  nights. 
Yond'  Cassius  hath  a  lean  and  hungry  look; 
He  thinks  too  much  :    such  men  are  dangerous.1 

And  in  Bacon's  Catalogue  of Particular  Histories ,  to   be  studied, 

we  find  this: 

52.  A  history  of  different  habits  of  body,  of  fat  and  lean,  of  complexions  (as  they 
are  called),  etc. 

IX.     Studies   of  Mortality. 

Shakespeare  tells  us  that  Cleopatra  had  pursued 

Conclusions  infinite 
Of  easy  ways  to  die. 

And  she  speaks  of   the  asp  as  the  "  baby  at  my  breast  that  sucks 

the  nurse  to  sleep." 

Bacon  had  made  the  same  subject  a  matter  of  study.     He  says: 

The  death  that  is  most  without  pain  hath  been  noted  to  be  upon  the  taking  of 
the  potion  of  hemlock,  which  in  humanity  was  the  form  of  execution  of  capital 
offenders  in  Athens.  The  poison  of  the  asp,  that  Cleopatra  used,  hath  some  affinity 
-with  it* 

Marvelous!  marvelous!  how  the  heads  of  these  two  men  —  if 
you  will  insist  on  calling  them  such  —  were  stored  with  the  same 
facts  and  gave  birth  to  the  same  thoughts  ! 

Both  had  studied  the  condition  of  the  human  body  after  death. 

Bacon  says: 

I  find  in  Plutarch  and  others  that  when  Augustus  Caesar  visited  the  sepulcher 
of  Alexander  the  Great  in  Alexandria,  he  found  the  body  to  keep  its  dimensions, 
but  withal,  that  notwithstanding  all  the  embalming,  which  no  doubt  was  the  best, 
the  body  was  so  tender,  as  Caesar  touching  but  the  nose  defaced  it.3 

And,  on  the  other  hand,  we  find  Shakespeare's  mind  dwelling 
upon  the  dust  of  this  same  Alexander,  and  tracing  it,  in  his  imagin- 
ation, through  many  transmutations,  until  he  finds  it  "stopping  the 
bung-hole  of  a  beer-barrel."4 

We  observe  the  mind  of  the  poet  pursuing  some  very  curious 
and  ghastly,  not  to  say  unpoetical,  inquiries.     In  Hamlet  we  have: 

1  Julius  Ccesar,  i,  2.  2  Natural  History,  %  643.  3  Ibid.,  §  771.  *  Hamlet,  v,  1. 


432 


PARALLELISMS. 


Hamlet.     How  long  will  a  man  lie  i'  the  earth  ere  he  rot? 

Clown.  Faith,  if  he  be  not  rotten  before  he  die  '(as  we  have  many  pocky  corses 
now-a-days,  that  will  scarce  hold  the  laying  in),  he  will  last  you  some  eight  year, 
or  nine  year:  a  tanner  will  last  you  nine  year. 

Hamlet.     Why  he  more  than  another? 

Clown.  Why,  sir,  his  hide  is  so  tanned  with  his  trade  that  he  will  keep  out 
water  a  great  while;  and  your  water  is  a  sore  decayer  of  your  whoreson  dead 
body.1 

And  Bacon's  mind  had  turned  to  similar  studies.     He  says: 

It  is  strange,  and  well  to  be  noted,  how  long  carcasses  have  continued  uncor- 
rupt,  and  in  their  former  dimensions,  as  appeareth  in  the  mummies  of  Egypt; 
having  lasted,  as  is  conceived,  some  of  them  three  thousand  years. - 

X.     Oratory. 

Both  Bacon  and  the  writer  of  the  Shakespeare  Plays  were  prac- 
tical orators  and  students  of  oratory. 

As  to  the  first,  we  have  Ben  Jonson's  testimony: 

There  happened  in  my  time  one  noble  speaker,  who  was  full  of  gravity  in  his 
speaking.  His  language,  where  he  could  spare  or  pass  by  a  jest,  was  nobly  cen- 
sorious. No  man  ever  spake  more  neatly,  more  pressly,  more  weightily,  or  suf- 
fered less  emptiness,  less  idleness,  in  what  he  uttered.  No  member  of  his  speech 
but  consisted  of  his  own  graces.  His  hearers  could  not  cough  or  look  aside  from 
him  without  loss.  He  commanded  where  he  spoke  and  had  his  judges  angry  and 
pleased  at  his  devotion.  No  man  had  their  affections  more  in  his  power.  The  fear 
of  every  man  who  heard  him  was  lest  he  should  make  an  end. 

Howell,  another  contemporary,  says  of  him :  "  He  was  the  elo- 
quentest  man  that  was  born  in  this  island."3 

Let  us  turn  now  to  the  great  oration  which  Shakespeare  puts 
into  the  mouth  of  Mark  Antony,  as  delivered  over  the  dead  body  of 
Julius  Caesar. 

Well  did  Archbishop  Whately  say  of  Shakespeare: 

The  first  of  dramatists,  he  might  easily  have  been  the  first  of  orators. 

Only  an  orator,  accustomed  to  public  speech,  and  holding  "  the 

affections  of  his  hearers  in  his  power,"  and  capable  of  working  upon 

the  passions  of  men,  and  making  them  "  angry  or  pleased  "  as  he 

chose,  could  have  conceived  that  great  oration.     It  is  climactic  in 

its  construction.     Mark   Antony  begins  in  all  humility  and  deep 

sorrow,   asking   only    pity   and    sympathy   for   the   poor  bleeding 

corpse : 

I  come  to  bury  Csesar,  not  to  praise  him. 

1  Hamlet,  v,  i.  2  Natural  History,  §  771.  s  Holmes,  A  uthorship  o/Shak.,  vol.  ii,  p.  600. 


IDENTICAL    STUDIES.  433 

He  is  most  deferential  to  "the  honorable  men"  who  had  assas- 
sinated Caesar: 

Here,  under  leave  of  Brutus,  and  the  rest, 
(For  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man, — 
So  are  they  all,  all  honorable  men), 
Come  I  to  speak  in  Caesar's  funeral. 

And  he  gives  the  humble  reason: 

He  was  my  friend,  faithful  and  just  to  me. 
And  then  how  cunningly  he  interjects  appeals  to  the  feelings  of 

the  mob: 

He  hath  brought  many  captives  home  to  Rome, 
Whose  ransoms  did  the  general  coffers  fill. 

And  how  adroitly,  and  with  an  ad  captandum  vulgus  argument^ 
he  answers  the  charge  that  Caesar  was  ambitious: 

You  all  did  see  that  on  the  Lupercal 

I  thrice  presented  him  a  kingly  crown, 

Which  he  did  thrice  refuse.     Was  this  ambition? 

When  that  the  poor  have  cried,  Caesar  hath  wept: 
Ambition  should  be  made  of  sterner  stuff. 

And  then,  protesting  that  he  will  not  read  Caesar's  will,  he  per- 
mits the  multitude  to  know  that  they  are  his  heirs. 

And  what  a  world  of  admiration,  in  the  writer,  for  Caesar  him- 
self, lies  behind  these  words: 

Let  but  the  commons  hear  this  testament, 
(Which,  pardon  me,  I  do  not  mean  to  read), 
And  they  would  go  and  kiss  dead  Caesar's  wounds, 
And  dip  their  napkins  in  his  sacred  blood; 
Yea,  beg  a  hair  of  him  for  memory, 
And  dying,  mention  it  within  their  wills, 
Bequeathing  it,  as  a  rich  legacy, 
Unto  their  issue. 

Then  he  pretends  to  draw  back. 

Citizens.  Read  the  will;  we'll  hear  it,  Antony;  you  shall  read  us  the  will  — 
Caesar's  will. 

Antony.  Will  you  be  patient?  Will  you  stay  a  while?  I  have  o'ershot  myself 
to  tell  you  of  it. 

And  then,  at  last,  encouraged  by  the  voices  and  cries  of  the 

multitude,  he  snarls  out: 

I  fear  I  wrong  the  honorable  men 


434 


PA  RA  LLELISMS. 


But  before  reading  the  will  he  descends  to  uncover  the  dead 
body  of  the  great  commander;  the  multitude  pressing,  with  fiery 
Italian  eyes,  around  him,  and  glaring  over  each  others'  shoulders 
at  the  corpse. 

But  first  he   brings  back   the   memory  of   Caesar's   magnificent 

victories: 

You  all  do  know  this  mantle:   I  remember 
The  first  time  ever  Caesar  put  it  on; 
'Twas  on  a  summer's  evening,  in  his  tent, 
That  day  he  overcame  the  Arervii. 

Then  he  plucks  away  the  garment  and  reveals  the  hacked  and 

mangled  corpse, 

Marred,  as  you  see,  by  traitors. 

And  thereupon  he  gives  the  details  of  the  assassination,  points 
out  and  identifies  each  wound,  "poor,  poor  dumb  mouths;"  and 
at  last  reads  the  will,  and  sends  the  mob  forth,  raging  for 
revenge,  to  let  slip  the  dogs  of  war. 

Beside  this  funeral  oration  all  other  efforts  of  human  speech  are 
weak,  feeble,  poverty-stricken  and  commonplace.  Call  up  your 
Demosthenes,  your  Cicero,  your  Burke,  your  Chatham,  your  Grat- 
tan,  your  Webster, —  and  what  are  their  noblest  and  loftiest  utter- 
ances compared  with  this  magnificent  production  ?  It  is  the  most 
consummate  eloquence,  wedded  to  the  highest  poetry,  breathing  the 
profoundest  philosophy,  and  sweeping  the  whole  register  of  the 
human  heart,  as  if  it  were  the  strings  of  some  grand  musical  instru- 
ment, capable  of  giving  forth  all  forms  of  sound,  from  the  sob  of 
pity  to  the  howl  of  fury.  It  lifts  the  head  of  human  possibility  a 
whole  shoulder-height  above  the  range  of  ordinary  human  achieve- 
ment. 

We  find  Bacon  writing  a  letter,  in  1608-9,  *°  Sir  Tobie  Matthew, 
in  which  he  refers  back  to  the  time  of  the  death  of  Elizabeth  (1603), 
and,  alluding  to  a  rough  draft  of  his  essay,  The  Felicity  of  Quee?i 
Elizabeth,  which  Bacon  had  shown  to  Sir  Tobie,  he  says  : 

At  that  time  methought  you  were  more  willing  to  hear  Julius  Ccesar  than 
Elizabeth  commended. 

Bacon,  it  is  known,  submitted  his  acknowledged  writings  to  the 
criticism  of  his  friend,  Sir  Tobie  ;  and  we  can  imagine  him  reading 
to  Sir  Tobie,  in  secret,  this  grand  oration,  with  all  the  heat  and  fer- 
vor with  which  it  came  from  his  own  mind.     And  we  can  imagine 


IDENTICAL  STUDIES.  435 

Sir  Tobie's  delight,  touched  upon  and  referred  to  cunningly  in  the 
foregoing  playful  allusion. 

What  a  picture  for  a  great  artist  that  would  make  :  Bacon  and 
Sir  Tobie  alone  in  the  chamber  of  Gray's  Inn,  with  the  door 
locked  ;  and  Bacon  reading,  with  flashing  eyes,  to  his  enraptured 
auditor,  Mark  Antony's  oration  over  the  dead  body  of  Julius  Caesar. 

XI.     Other  Studies. 

But,  in  whatever  direction  we  turn,  we  find  the  writer  of  the 
Plays  and  Francis  Bacon  devoting  themselves  to  the  same  pursuits. 

Bacon  in  The  New  Atlantis  discusses  the  possibility  of  there 
being  discovered  in  the  future  "some  perpetual  motions" — a  curi- 
ous thought  and  a  curious  study  for  that  age. 

Shakespeare  makes  Falstaff  say  to  the  Chief  Justice: 

I  were  better  to  be  eaten  to  death  with  rust,  than  to  be  scoured  to  nothing 
with  perpetual  motion} 

Bacon  says: 

Snow-water  is  held  unwholesome;  inasmuch  as  the  people  that  dwell  at  the 
foot  of  the  snow  mountains,  or  otherwise  upon  the  ascent,  especially  the  women, 
by  drinking  snow-water  have  great  bags  hanging  under  their  throats. '- 

Shakespeare  says: 

When  we  were  boys, 
Who  would  believe  that  there  were  mountaineers 
Dew-lapped  like  bulls,  whose  throats  had  hanging  at  them 
Wallets  of  flesh?3 

Shakespeare  was  familiar  with  the  works  of  Machiavel,  and 
alludes  to  him  in  The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  in  1st  Henry  Vl. 
and  in  3d  Henry  VI. 

Bacon  had  studied  his  writings,  and  refers  to  him  in  The 
Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii,  and  in  many  other  places. 

Shakespeare  was  a  great  observer  of  the  purity  of  the  air.      He 

says  in  Macbeth  : 

This  castle  hath  a  pleasant  seat;  the  air 
Nimbly  and  sweetly  recommends  itself 
Unto  our  gentle  senses. 

And  Bacon  says: 

I  would  wish  you  to  observe  the  climate  and  the  temperature  of  the  air  ;  for  so 
you  shall  judge  of  the  healthfulness  of  the  place.4 

1  2d  Henry  IJ\,  i,  2.  2  Natural  History,  §  396.  3  Tempest,  iii,  3. 

4  Letter  to  the  Earl  of  Rutland,  written  in  the  name  of  the  Earl  of  Essex  —  Life  ami  Works, 
vol.  ii,  p.  ig. 


436  PARALLELISMS. 

Bacon  also  says: 

The  heart  receiveth  benefit  or  harm  most  from  the  air  we  breathe,  from  vapors 
and  from  the  affections.1 

One  has  only  to  read  the  works  of  Francis  Bacon  to  see  that 
they  abound  in  quotations  from  and  references  to  the  Bible.  He 
had  evidently  made  the  Scriptures  the  subject  of  close  and  thor- 
ough study. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  Rev.  Charles  Wordsworth  says: 

Take  the  entire  range  of  English  literature,  put  together  our  best  authors  who 
have  written  upon  subjects  professedly  not  religious  or  theological,  and  we  shall 
not  find,  I  believe,  in  all  united,  so  much  evidence  of  the  Bible  having  been  read 
and  used  as  we  have  found  in  Shakespeare  alone. 

We  have  already  seen  that  both  the  author  of  the  Plays  and 
Francis  Bacon  had  studied  law,  and  had  read  even  the  obscure 
law-reports  of  Plowden,  printed  in  the  still  more  obscure  black- 
letter  and  Norman  French. 

In  fact,  I  might  swell  this  chapter  beyond  all  reasonable  bounds 
by  citing  instance  after  instance,  to  show  that  the  writer  of  the 
Plays  studied  precisely  the  same  books  that  Francis  Bacon  did; 
and,  in  the  chapter  on  Identical  Quotations,  I  have  shown  that  he 
took  out  of  those  books  exactly  the  same  particular  facts  and 
thoughts  which  had  adhered  to  the  memory  of  Francis  Bacon.  It 
is  difficult  in  this  world  to  find  two  men  who  agree  in  devoting 
themselves  not  to  one,  but  to  a  multitude  of  the  same  studies;  and 
rarer  still  to  find  two  men  who  will  be  impressed  alike  with  the 
same  particulars  in  those  studies. 

But  let  us  move  forward  a  step  farther  in  the  argument. 

1  History  of  Life  and  Death. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

IDEXTICAL  ERRORS. 

Lend  thy  serious  hearing  to  what  I  shall  unfold. 

Hamlet,  i,j. 

THE  list  of  coincident  errors  must  necessarily  be  brief.  We 
can  not  include  the  errors  common  to  all  men  in  that  age, 
for  those  would  prove  nothing.  And  the  mistakes  of  so  accurate 
and  profound  a  man  as  Francis  Bacon  are  necessarily  few  in 
number.  But  if  we  find  any  errors  peculiar  to  Francis  Bacon 
repeated  in  Shakespeare,  it  will  go  far  to  settle  the  question  of 
identity.  For  different  men  may  read  the  same  books  and  think 
the  same  thoughts,  but  it  is  unusual,  in  fact,  extraordinary,  if  they 
fall  into  the  same  mistakes. 

I.     Both    Misquote   Aristotle. 

Mr.  Spedding  noticed  the  fact  that  Bacon  in  The  Advancement  of 
Learning  had  erroneously  quoted  Aristotle  as  saying  "  that  young 
men  are  no  fit  auditors  of  moral  philosophy,"  because  "they  are 
not  settled  from  the  boiling  heat  of  their  affections,  nor  attem- 
pered with  time  and  experience";  while,  in  truth,  Aristotle  speaks, 
in  the  passage  referred  to  by  Bacon,  of  "political  philosophy." 

Mr.  Spedding  further  noted  that  this  precise  error  of  confound- 
ing moral  with  political  philosophy  had  been  followed  by  Shakespeare. 
In  Troilus  and  Cressida  the  two  "young  men,"  Paris  and  Troilus, 
had  given  their  opinion  that  the  Trojans  should  keep  possession  of 
the  fair  Helen.     To  which  Hector  replies: 

Paris  and  Troilus,  you  have  both  said  well; 
And  on  the  cause  and  question  now  in  hand 
Have  glozed  —  but  superficially;  not  much 
Unlike  young  men  whom  Aristotle  thought 
Unfit  to  hear  moral  philosophy.' 

And  what  reason  did  Bacon  give  why  young  men  were  not  fit 
to  hear  moral  philosophy  ?     Because  "  they  are  not  settled  from  the 

'  Troilus  and  Cressida,  ii,  2. 

437 


438  PARALLELISMS. 

boiling  heat  of  their  affections,  nor  attempered  with  time  and 
experience."  And  why  does  Hector  think  young  men  are  "  unfit 
to  hear  moral  philosophy"  ?      Because  : 

The  reasons  you  allege  do  more  conduce 

To  the  hot  passions  of  distempered  blood, 

Than  to  make  up  a  free  determination 

'Twixt  right  and  wrong;  for  pleasure  and  revenge 

Have  ears  more  deaf  than  adders,  to  the  voice 

Of  any  true  decision. 

II.     An  Error  in  Natural  Philosophy. 

Shakespeare  had  a  curious  theory  about  fire:  it  was  that  each 
fire  was  an  entity,  as  much  so  as  a  stick  of  wood;  and  that  one 
flame  could  push  aside  or  drive  out  another  flame,  just  as  one  stick 
might  push  aside  or  expel  another.  This  of  course  was  an  error. 
He  says: 

Even  as  one  heat  another  heat  expels, 
Or  as  one  nail  by  strength  drives  out  another, 
So  the  remembrance  of  my  former  love 
Is  by  a  newer  object  quite  forgotten.1 

And  the  same  thought  is  repeated  in  Coriolanus : 

One  fire  drives  out  another ;  one  nail,  one  nail.'2 

We  turn  to  Bacon's  Promus  of  Formularies  and  Elegancies,  now 
preserved  in  the  British  Museum,  and,  in  his  own  handwriting,  we 
have,  as  one  of  the  entries: 

Clavum  clavo pellere — (To  drive  out  a  nail  with  a  nail). 

This  is  precisely  the  expression  given  above: 

One  nail  by  strength  drives  out  another. 

One  fire  drives  out  another;  one  nail,  one  nail. 

But  behind  this  was  a  peculiar  and  erroneous  theory  held  by 
Bacon,  concerning  heat,  which  he  records  in  the  Sylva  Sylvarum? 
He  held  that  heat  was  a  substance;  some  of  his  favorite  fallacies 
were  that  "one  flame  within  another  quencheth  not,"  and  that 
"flame  doth  not  mingle  with  flame,  but  remaineth  contiguous." 
He  speaks  of  one  heat  being  "mixed  with  another,"  of  its  being 
"pushed  farther," — as  if  so  much  matter.  This  is  precisely  the 
erroneous  theory  which  was  held  by  the  writer  of  the  Plays. 

1  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  ii,  4.  2  Coriolanus,  iv,  7.  3  Vol.  i,  p.  32. 


IDENTICAL    ERRORS. 


439 


Mrs.  Pott  says: 


Knowing,  as  we  now  do,  that  these  theories  were  as  mistaken  as  they  appear 
to  have  been  original,  it  seems  almost  past  belief  that  any  two  men  should,  at  pre- 
cisely the  same  period,  have  independently  conceived  the  same  theories  and  made 
the  same  mistakes.1 

III.     Spirits  of  Animate  and  Inanimate  Nature. 

Bacon  had  another  peculiar  theory  which  the  world  has  refused 
to  accept,  at  least  in  its  broad  significance. 

He  believed  that  there  is  a  living  spirit,  or  life  principle,  in 
every  thing  in  the  created  universe,  which  conserves  its  substance 
and  holds  it  together,  and  thus  that,  in  some  sense,  the  stones  and 
the  clods  of  the  earth  possess  souls;  that  without  some  such  spirit- 
ual force,  differing  in  kinds,  there  could  be  no  difference  in  sub- 
stances. For  why  should  the  arrangement  of  the  molecules  of 
foam,  for  instance,  differ  from  that  of  the  molecules  of  iron,  if  some 
external  force  has  not  been  imposed  upon  them  to  hold  them  in 
their  peculiar  relation  to  each  other,  and  thus  constitute  the  differ- 
ence between  the  light  froth  and  the  dense  metal  ? 

This  theory  is  akin  to  the  expression  which  Shakespeare  puts 

into  the  mouth  of  the  Duke,  in  As  You  Like  It: 

And  this  our  life,  exempt  from  public  haunt, 

Finds  tongues  in  trees,  books  in  the  running  brooks. 

Sermons  in  stones,  and  good  in  everything.2 

And  Prince  Arthur  says: 

My  uncle's  spirit  is  in  these  stones.3 

Bacon  says: 

All  tangible  bodies  contain  a  spirit  enveloped  with  the  grosser  body.  There  is 
no  known  body  in  the  upper  part  of  the  earth  without  its  spirit.  The  spirit  which 
exists  in  all  living  bodies  keeps  all  the  parts  in  due  subjection;  when  it  escapes  the 
body  decomposes,  or  the  similar  parts  unite  —  as  metals  rust,  fluids  turn  sour. 

And  Bacon  sees  a  relationship  between  the  spirit  within  the  ani- 
mal and  the  spirit  of  the  objects,  even  inanimate,  which  act  upon 
the  senses  of  the  animal;  and  he  strikes  out  the  curious  thought 
that 

There  might  be  as  many  senses  in  animals  as  there  are  points  of  agreement 
with  inanimate  bodies  if  the  animated  body  were  perforated,  so  as  to  allow  the  spirit 
to  have  access  to  the  limb  properly  disposed  for  action,  as  a  fit  organ.4 

That  is  to  say,  the  spirit  of  the  universe  pervades  all  created 

t 

1  Promus,  p.  33.         *As  You  Like  It,  ii,  1.         3  King  John,  iv.  3.        4  Novum  Organum,  book  ii. 


44o  PARALLELISMS. 

things,  animate  and  inanimate,  but  the  intelligence  of  man  and  ani- 
mal only  takes  cognizance  of  the  spirits  of  other  things  around  them 
through  the  perforations  of  the  senses;  the  eyes,  ears,  touch,  taste 
and  smell  being,  as  it  were,  holes,  through  which  the  external  uni- 
versal vitality  reaches  into  our  vitality  and  stirs  it  to  recognition. 
A  solemn  thought,  doubtless  true,  and  which  should  teach  us  mod- 
esty; for  it  would  follow  that  we  see  not  all  God's  works,  but  only 
those  limited  areas  which  come  within  the  range  of  the  peep-holes 
of  our  few  senses.  In  other  words,  the  space  around  us  may  be 
filled  with  forms,  animate  and  inanimate,  which  hold  "no  points  of 
agreement "  with  our  senses,  and  of  which,  therefore,  we  can  have 
no  knowledge.  And  thus  the  dream  of  the  schoolman  of  old  may 
be  true,  that  the  space  around  us  is  filled  as  thick  with  spirits  as  the 
snow-storm  is  filled  with  snow-flakes. 

This  doctrine  of  spirits  runs  through  all  Bacon's  writings.  He 
says  in  one  place: 

All  bodies  have  spirits  and  pneumatical  parts  within  them.  .  .  .  But  the 
spirits  of  things  inanimate  are  shut  in  and  cut  off  by  the  tangible  parts.1 

That  is  to  say,  they  have  no  holes  of  the  senses,  through  which 
the  spirit  of  the  inanimate  object  can  communicate  with  us;  any 
more  than  we  could  communicate  with  a  human  spirit,  locked  up 
in  a  body  devoid  of  all  the  senses. 

Again  he  says: 

Spirits  are  nothing  else  but  a  natural  body  rarified  to  a  proportion,  and 
included  in  the  tangible  parts  of  bodies  as  in  an  integument ;  .  .  .  and  they  are  in 
all  tangible  bodies  whatsoever,  more  or  less.2 

And  again   speaking  of  the  superstition  of  ''  the  evil  eye,"  he 

says: 

Besides,  at  such  times  [times  of  glory  and  triumph],  the  spirits  of  the  persons 
envied  do  come  forth  most  into  the  outward  parts,  and  so  meet  the  blow.3 

Bacon  does  not  speak,  as  we  would,  of  the  spirit  in  a  man,  but  of 

the  spirits,  as  if  there  were  a  multitude  of  them  in  each  individual, 

occupying  every  part  of  the  body.     For  instance: 

Great  joys  attenuate  the  spirits;  familiar  cheerfulness  strengthens  the  spirits 
by  calling  them  forth.4 

Again: 

In  bashfulness  the  spirits  do  a  little  go  and  come.5 

1  Natural  History,  §  601.  3  Essay  Of R>i7>y.  ■  Essay  Of  Goodness y 

2  I  bid .,  §  92.  4  History  of  L  ife  and  Death . 


IDENTICAL   ERRORS.  44r 

And  again: 

The  spirits  of  the  wine  oppress  the  spirits  animal. ' 
And  in  Shakespeare  we  find  this  same  theory  of  the  spirits.     He 

*says: 

Fair  daughter  !  you  do  draw  my  spirits  from  me, 
With  new  lamenting  ancient  oversights.2 

And  again: 

Forth  at  jour  eyes  your  spirits  wildly  peep.3 
And  again: 

I  am  never  merry  when  I  hear  sweet  music. 
The  reason  is,  your  spirits  are  attentive.4 
And  again: 

Your  spirits  shine  through  you.5 

Young  gentleman,  your  spirits  are  too  bold  for  your  years.6 

My  spirits,  as  in  a  dream,  are  all  bound  up.7 

My  spirits  are  nimble.8 

Heaven  give  your  spirits  comfort.9 

Summon  up  your  dearest  spirits.10 

The  nimble  spirits  in  the  arteries.11 

Their  great  guilt, 
Like  poison  given  to  work  a  great  time  after, 
Now  'gins  to  bite  the  spirits.*- 

Spirits  are  not  finely  touched  but  to  fine  issues.13 

Thus  in  the  Shakespeare  Plays  we  find  the  reflection  of  one  of 

Bacon's  most  peculiar  philosophical  beliefs. 

IV.     Spontaneous  Generation. 

Bacon  fell  into  another  error  in  natural  philosophy  which  reap- 
pears in  the  Plays.  This  was  a  belief,  which  continued  down  to 
our  own  times,  in  spontaneous  generation  ;  that  is  to  say,  that  life 
could  come  out  of  non-life.  We  now  realize  that  that  marvelous 
and  inexplicable  thing  we  call  life  ascends  by  an  unbroken  pedi- 
gree, through  all  time,  back  to  the  central  Source  of  Force  in  the 
universe,  by  whatever  name  we  may  call  it.  But  Bacon  believed 
that  life  could  come  out  of  conditions  of  inorganic  matter.  He 
says : 

1  Xatural History,  §726.  6  As  You  Like  It,  i,  2.  ,0 Love's  Labor  Lost,  ii,  1. 

*2d  Henry  IV.,  ii,  3.  7  Tempest,  i,  2.  "  Ibid.,  iv,  3. 

3  Hamlet,  iii,  4.  ■  Ibid.,  ii,  1.  ^Tempest,  iii,  3. 

*  Merchant  of  Venice,  v.  \.  9  Measure  for  Measure,  iv,  2.  ■•  Measure  for  Measure,  1,  1. 

-"'  Macbeth,  iii,  1. 


442  PARALLELISMS. 

The  first  beginnings  and  rudiments  or  effects  of  life  in  animalculae  spring  from 
putrefaction,  as  in  the  eggs  of  ants,  worms,  mosses,  frogs  after  rain,  etc.1 

Again  he  says. 

The  excrements  of  living  creatures  do  not  only  heed  insecta  when  they  are 
exerned,  but  also  while  they  are  in  the  body.2 

We  find  that  the  poet  Shakespeare  had  thought  much  upon  this 
same  very  unpoetical  subject.     He  says: 

And,  as  the  sleeping  soldiers  in  the  alarm, 
Your  bedded  hair,  like  life  in  excrements. 
Starts  up  and  stands  on  end.3 

Bacon  says: 

For  all  putrefaction,  if  it  dissolve  not  in  arefaction,  will  in  the  end  issue  into 
plants,  or  living  creatures  bred  of  putrefaction.4 

And  again  he  speaks  of 

Living  creatures  bred  of  putrefaction. ft 

And  in  Shakespeare  we  have  Hamlet  saying: 

For  if  the  sun  breed  maggots  in  a  dead  dog,  being  a  god  kissing  carrion.6 

And  in  all  this  we  see,  also,  the  natural  philosopher,  who 
believed  that  "  most  base  things  tend  to  rich  ends." 

V.     Other  Errors. 

Both  believed  that  there  was  a  precious  stone  in  the  head  of  a 
toad.     Bacon  says: 

Query.  If  the  stone  taken  out  of  a  toad's  head  be  not  of  the  like  virtue;  for 
the  toad  loveth  shade  and  coolness.7 

Shakespeare  says : 

Sweet  are  the  uses  of  adversity, 

Which,  like  the  toad,  ugly  und  venomous, 

Wears  yet  a  piecious  jewel  in  his  head.8 

Both  thought  the  liver  was  the  seat  of  sensuality.  Bacon  in 
The  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii,  refers  to  Plato's  opinion  to> 
that  effect.     And  in  Shakespeare  we  have: 

This  is  the  liver  vein,  which  makes  flesh  a  deity; 
A  green  goose,  a  goddess.9 


1  Novum  Organum,  book  ii.  *  Natural  History,  §  605.         7  Natural  History,  cent,  x,  §  967. 

5  Natural  History,  %  696.  6  Ibid.,  §  328.  8  A s  You  Like  It,  ii,  1. 

3  Hamlet,  iii,  4.  8  Hamlet,  ii,  2.  *  Love's  Labor  Lost,  iv,  3. 


IDENTICAL   ERRORS. 


443 


Both  believed,  despite  the  discoveries  of  Galileo,  that  the  earth 
was  the  center  of  the  universe,  and  that  the  heavens  revolved 
around  it.  Later  in  his  life  Bacon  seemed  to  accept  the  new  theo- 
ries, but  at  the  time  the  Plays  were  written  he  repudiated  them. 
He  says: 

Who  would  not  smile  at  the  astronomers,  I  mean  not  these  new  carmen  which 
drive  the  earth  about.1 

Again  he  says: 

It  is  a  poor  center  of  a  man's  actions,  himself.  It  is  right  earth,  for  that  only- 
stands  fast  upon  his  own  center;  whereas  all  things  that  have  affinity  with  the 
heavens  move  upon  the  center  of  another,  which  they  benefit.  - 

While  Shakespeare  also  rejected  the  new  theories.      He  says  in 

Hamlet : 

Doubt  thou  the  stars  are  lire. 
Doubt  that  the  sun  doth  move? 

Again  he  says: 

The  heavens  themselves,  the  planets  ana  this  center, 
Observe  degree,  priority  and  place.4 

And  in  the  same  play  he  says: 

But  the  strong  base  and  building  of  ray  love 
Is  as  the  very  center  of  the  earth. 
Drawing  all  things  to  it.5 

1  Essay  In  Praise  of  Knowledge,  1590  3  Hamlet,  ii,  2. 

—  Life  and  Works,  vol.  i,  p.  124.  *  Troilus  and  Cressida,  i,  3. 

3  Essay  Of  Wisdom.  *  Ibid.,  iv,  2. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

THE   IDENTICAL    USE    OE    UNUSUAL    WORDS. 

Letter  for  letter  !     Why,  this  is  the  very  same  :  the  very  hand  :  the  very  words. 

Merry  Wives  of  Windsor \  ii,  i. 

I  HAVE  already  shown,  in  the  first  chapter  of  Book  I.,  the 
tendency  manifested  in  the  Plays  to  use  unusual  words, 
especially  those  derived  from  or  constructed  out  of  the  Latin.  I 
may  add  to  the  list  already  given  the  following  instances: 

And  all  things  rare 
That  heaven's  air  in  this  huge  rondure  hems.' 

Cowards  and  men  cautelous } 
No  soil  or  cautel." 
Through  all  the  world's  vastidity* 
Such  cxsufflicate  and  blown  surmises.5 
His  pendant  bed  and  procreant  cradle.6 
Thou  vinew'dst  leaven.7 
Rend  and  deracinate* 
Thou  cacadamon} 
We  have  a  very  crowding  of  words,  unusual   in  poetry,  into  the 
following  lines : 

As  knots,  by  the  conflux  of  meeting  sap, 
Infect  the  sound  pine  and  divert  his  grain 
Tortive  and  errant  from  his  course  of  growth.1" 

All  these  things  bespeak  the  scholar,  overflowing  with  Roman 
learning  and  eager  to  enrich  his  mother-tongue  by  the  coinage  of 
new  words.  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  Bacon  has  doubled  the 
capacity  of  the  English  language.  He  was  aware  of  this  fact  him- 
self, and  in  his  Discourse  in  Praise  of  Queen  Elizabeth  he  says  that 
the  tongue  of  England  "  has  been  infinitely  polished  since  her 
happy  times." 

'  Sonnet  xxi.  5  Othello,  iii,  3.  "Ibid.,  i,  3. 

2  Julius  Caesar,  ii,  1.  *  Macbeth,  i,  6.  9  Richard  III.,  i,  3. 

3  Hamlet,  i,  3.  7  Troilus  and  Cressida,  ii,  1.  10  Troilus  and  Cressida,  i,  3. 

4  Measure  for  Measure,  iii,  1. 

444 


THE  IDENTICAL    USE    OF    UNUSUAL    WORDS. 


445 


We  find  in  Bacon's  prose  works  the  same  tendency  to  coin  or 
transfer  words  bodily  from  the  Latin.     I  give  a  few  examples: 

"Coarctation,"  "  percutient,"  "  mordication,"  "  carnosities,"  "  the  ingurgita- 
tion  of  wine,"  "incomprehensions,"  "  arefaction,"  "  flexuous  courses  of  nature," 
"  exulcerations,"  "  reluctation,"  "embarred,"  "digladiation,"  "  vermiculate  ques- 
tions," "  morigeration,"  "  redargution,"  "maniable,"  "  ventosity." 

But  we  will  also  find,  in  both  sets  of  writings,  a  disposition  to 
use  quaint,  odd  and  unusual  words,  borrowed,  many  of  them,  from 
that  part  of  common  speech  which  rarely  finds  its  way  into  print, — 
the  colloquialisms  of  the  shop  and  the  street, —  and  we  will  find 
many  of  them  that  are  used  in  the  same  sense  by  both  Bacon  and 
Shakespeare. 

Macbeth  says : 

I  pull  in  resolution,  and  begin 

To  doubt  the  equivocation  of  the  fiend, 

That  lies  like  truth.1 

The  commentators  have  been  puzzled  with  this   word,  but  we: 

have  it  also  in  Bacon : 

Those  smells  are  all  strong,  and  do /////and  vellicate  the  sense.2 

To  vellicate  is  to  twitch  convulsively. 

We  find  in  Hamlet  the  strange  word  pall ; 

Our  indiscretion  sometimes  serves  us  well 
When  our  dear  plots  do  pall. ■ 

We  turn  to  Bacon  and  we  find  him  using  the  same  word: 
The  beer  or  wine  hath  not  been  palled  or  deaded  at  all.4 

And  again: 

The  refreshing  or  quickening  of  drink  palled  or  dead.5 

In  Bacon  we  have : 

For  if  they  go  forth  right  to  a  place,  they  must  needs  have  sight.6 
Shakespeare  says : 

Step  aside  from  the  direct  forth  right.' 

Through  forth  rights  and  meanders.8 

Bacon  says: 

I  have  been  juddering  in  physic  all  my  life. 

'  Macbeth,  v,  4.  4 Xatural History \  §385.  7  Troilus  and  Cress/Wa,  iii,  3;. 

2  Natural  History ,§835.  *  Ibid.,  §314.  •  Ttm&est,  iii,  3. 

*  Hamlet,  v,  1.  « Ibid. ,  1 698. 


446  PARALLELISMS. 

Shakespeare  says : 

The  gods  that  keep  such  a  pudder  o'er  our  heads.1 

This  word  occurs  but  on  this  occasion  in  the  Plays.     It  means 

bother. 

There  is  a  word  in  Henry  F.2 — imbar  —  which  has  excited  con- 
siderable controversy  among  the  commentators.  It  occurs  in  the 
discussion  of  the  Salic  law  of  France: 

So  that  as  clear  as  is  the  summer's  sun, 
King  Pepin's  title,  and  Hugh  Capet's  claim, 
King  Lewis  his  satisfaction,  all  appear 
To  hold  in  right  and  title  of  the  female; 
So  do  the  kings  of  France  unto  this  day: 
Howbeit  they  would  hold  up  this  Salic  law, 
To  bar  your  Highness  claiming  from  the  female; 
And  rather  choose  to  hide  them  in  a  net, 
Than  amply  to  imbar  their  crooked  titles 
Usurped  from  you  and  your  progenitors. 

I  quote  Knight's  foot-note  upon  this  word: 

Imbar.  The  Folio  gives  this  word  imbarre,  which  modern  editors,  upon  the 
authority  of  Theobald,  have  changed  into  imbare.  Rowe,  somewhat  more  boldly, 
reads  make  bare.  There  can  be  no  doubt,  we  think,  that  imbar  is  the  right  word. 
It  might  be  taken  as  placed  in  opposition  to  bar.  To  bar  is  to  obstruct;  to  imbar 
is  to  bar  in,  to  secure.  They  would  hold  up  the  Salic  law  "to  bar  your  High- 
ness," hiding  "their  crooked  titles"  in  a  net  rather  than  amply  defending  them. 
But  it  has  been  suggested  to  us  that  imbar  is  here  used  for  "  to  set  at  the  bar  "  —  to 
place  their  crooked  titles  before  a  proper  tribunal.    This  is  ingenious  and  plausible. 

I  quote  these  comments  to  show  that  the  word  is  a  rare  and 
obscure  one.  The  two  words,  bar  and  imbar,  seem  to  me  to  mean 
substantially  the  same  thing;  as  we  find  plead  and  implead, personate 
and  impersonate, plant  and  implant.  If  there  is  any  difference,  it  con- 
sists in  :he  fact  that  bar  means,  as  suggested  by  Knight,  to  shut 
out,  and  imbar  to  shut  in.  In  the  sentence  under  consideration  it 
seems  that  both  the  title  of  the  reigning  French  King  and  the 
claim  of  King  Henry  V.  came  through  the  female  line,  and  the 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury  shows  that  the  French,  while  their  King 
holds  in  contravention  of  the  Salic  law,  yet  set  it  up  as  a  bar  to 
the  claim  of  the  English  King,  also  holding  through  the  female 
line,  and  thus  involve  themselves  in  a  net  or  tangle  of  contradic- 
tions, instead  of  amply,  fully,  and  on  other  and  substantial  grounds, 

1  Lear,  iii,  a.  2  Act  i,  scene  2. 


THE  IDENTICAL    USE   OE   UNUSUAL    WORDS.  447 

imbarring  their  titles,  inclosing  them  and  defending  them  from  the 
world. 

And  here  again,  where  we  would  find  the  explanation  of  obscure 
words  in  Shakespeare,  we  are  driven  to  Bacon. 

Tn  his  History  of  Henry  VII.  he  says: 

The  King  forthwith  banished  all  Flemings  .  .  .  out  of  his  kingdom;  com- 
manding his  subjects  likewise,  and  by  name  his  merchants  adventurers,  which  had 
a  reisance  in  Antwerp,  to  return;  translating  the  mart,  which  commonly  followed 
the  English  cloth,  unto  Calais;  and  emban-ed also  all  further  trade  for  the  future. 

Here  we  get  at  the  meaning  of  the  word.  He  not  only  drove 
the  Flemish  merchants  out  of  his  country  and  recalled  his  own 
merchants  resident  in  Flanders,  and  changed  the  foreign  mart,  but 
he  also  embarred  all  further  trade  —  that  is,  denied  the  Flemish 
commerce  access  to  his  people. 

And  it  is  a  curious  fact  that  in  our  great  American  dictionary 
(  Webster  s  Unabridged}  the  two  words,  embarred  and  i/nbare,  are 
given  —  the  first  with  the  above  quotation  from  Bacon,  and  the 
other  with  the  example  of  the  word  from  Henry  V.,  with  a  meaning 
attached,  created  to  suit  the  emergency,  4k  to  lay  bare,  to  uncover, 
to  expose."  So  that,  to  attempt  to  read  Shakespeare  without 
Bacon,  the  commentators  are  driven  to  coin  new  words  "which 
never  were,  and  no  man  ever  saw." 

We  read  in  Shakespeare: 

How  cam'st  thou  to  be  the  siege  of  this  mooncalf .' ' 

J.  O.  Halliwell  says  in  a  foot-note  upon  this  passage: 

A  mooncalf  is  an  imperfectly-developed  foetus,  here  metaphorically  applied  to  a 
misshapen  monster. 

But  we  turn  to  Bacon,  and  there  we  find  the  real  explanation: 

It  may  be  that  children  and  young  cattle  that  are  brought  forth  in  the  full  of  the 
moon  are  stronger  and  laigcr  than  those  which  are  brought  forth  in  the  wane;  and 
those,  also,  which  are  begotten  in  the  full  of  the  moon  [are  stronger  and  larger].2 

So  that  the  term  was  applied  to  Caliban  with  reference  to  his 
gross  proportions. 

The  curious  word  startitig-hole  occurs  but  once  in  the 
Plays,  in  Falstaff's  interview  with  the  Prince,3  after  the  robbery  on 
Gads-hill;  and  it  is  so  rare  that  it  is  made  the  foundation  of  a  foot- 

I  Tempest,  ii,  2.  2  Natural  ///story   §  897.  3  rst  Henry  //'.,  ii,  4. 


448  PARALLELISMS. 

note.     We   turn   to   Bacon,  and  we  find  it  used  by  him  in  the  same 
sense: 

He  [Lopez]  thought  to  provide  himself  with  as  many  starting-holes  and  eva- 
sions as  he  could  devise.1 

Bacon  says: 

So  with  marvelous  consent  and  applause.'2 
Shakespeare  says: 

The  rogues  are  marvelous  poor.3 

Marvelous  foul  linen.4 

Bacon  speaks  of 

Incredible  affection.5 

This  word  is  found  but  once  in  the  Plays: 

I  tell  you,  'tis  incredible  to  believe 
How  much  she  loves  me.6 

Bacon  says: 

The  people  entertained  this  airy  body  ox  phantasm." 

Shakespeare  says: 

A  fanatical  phantasm/ 

This  is  a  rare  word;  it  occurs  but  twice  in  the  Plays;  the  word 
phantasma  once. 

Bacon  says: 

It  [Ireland]  was  a  ticklish  and  unsettled  state.9 

Shakespeare  says: 

And  wide  unclasp  the  tables  of  their  thoughts 
To  every  ticklish  reader.10 

This  word  occurs  but  once  in  the  Plays,  the  instance  given. 

Bacon  says: 

The  embassador  did  so  magnify  the  King  and  Queen,  as  was  enough  to  glut  the 
hearers.11 

This   odd  word   occurs  only  once  in   the  Plays,  in   The  Tempest, 
and  is  considered  so  unusual  as  to  be  the  subject  of  a  foot-note: 

1  The  Lopez  Conspiracy  — Life  and  Works,  •  Taming of the  Shrew,  ii,  i. 

vol.  i,  p.  283.  7  History  of  Henry  VII. 

2  History  of  Henry  VII.  8  Love's  Labor  Lost,  v,  t. 
8  AWs  Well  that  Ends  Well,  iv,  3.                                      »  History  of  Henry  II. 

*2d  Henry  IV.,  v,  1.  10  Troilus  and  Cressida,  iv,  5. 

6 History  of  Henry  VII.  ll  History  of  Henry  VII. 


THE  IDENTICAL    USE   OF   UNUSUAL    WORDS.  449 

Though  every  drop  of  water  swear  against  it 
And  gape  at  widest  to  glut  him.1 

We  find  the  word  inoculate  but  once  in  the  Plays: 

For  virtue  cannot  so  inoculate  our  old  stock  but  we  shall  relish  of  it.5 
Bacon  uses  the  same  rare  word: 

Grafting  and  *" noculating  wild  trees.3 

Imogen  says  to  the  entranced  Ioachimo: 

What,  dear  sir, 
Thus  raps  you  ?     Are  you  well  ? 4 

And  Knight  has  a  foot-note: 

Raps  you  —  transports  you.     We  are  familiar  with  the  participle  rapt,  but  this 
form  of  the  verb  is  uncommon. 

We  turn  to  Bacon  and  we  find   him  using  the   same  uncommon 

form  : 

Winged  enticements  that  ravish  and  rap  mortal  men.5 

We  find   in   the  Plays   a  very  curious   expression.     Ajax   calls 
Thersites: 

A  vinew'dst  leaven} 
We  turn  to  Bacon  and  we  find  him  applying  the  same  word  to 
human  beings : 


A  leaven  of  men.7 

A  core  of  people.8 
Thou  core  of  envy.9 

Dregs  of  the  northern  people.10 

Dregs  of  the  storm.11 
Dregs  of  conscience. Ia 


Bacon  says: 
Shakespeare : 

Bacon: 
Shakespeare : 

Bacon  says: 

I  doubt  not  but  in  the  university  you  shall  find  choice  of  many  excellent  wits, 
and  in  things  wherein  they  have  waded,  many  of  good  understanding.13 

1  Tempest,  i,  i.  8  Ibid. 

2  Hamlet,  iii,  i.  9  Troilus  and  Cressida,  v,  i. 

3  New  A  tlantis.  '  °  History  of  Henry  VII. 

*  Cymbeline,  i,  7.  u  Tempest,  ii,  2. 

6  Wisdom  0/ the  A  ncients  —  Sphynx,  12  Richard  III.,  i,  4. 

*  Troilus  and  Cressida,  ii,  1.  13  Letter  to  Sir  Foulke  Greville  —  Life  and 
1  History  of  Henry  VII.  Works,  vol.  ii,  p.  25. 


45° 


PARALLELISMS. 

And  again: 

But  if  I  should  wade  further  into  this  Queen's  praises.1 
Shakespeare  says: 

For  their  joy  waded  in  tears.2 

I  am  in  blood 
Stepped  in  so  far,  that  should  I  zvade  no  more, 
Returning  were  as  tedious  as  go  o'er.3 

Bacon  says: 

He  was  wholly  compounded  of  frauds  and  deceits.4 
Shakespeare  says: 

This  foolish  compounded  clay,  man.5 

In  the  large  composition  of  this  man.6 

We  might  compound  &  boy,  half  French,  half  English.7 

And  she,  of  all  compounded, 
Outsells  them  all.8 


The  word  slobber  is  referred  to  by  the  commentators  as  a  strange 
and  unusual  word.  It  is  probably  the  same  word  as  slubber?  It  is 
used  in  The  Merchant  of  Venice,  ii,  8: 

Slubber  not  on  the  business  for  my  sake,  Bassanio. 
Bacon10  speaks  of  "slubbering  on  the  lute,"  to  illustrate  his  "cau- 
tioning exercise,  as  to  beware  lest  by  evil  doing,  as  all  beginners  do 
weakly,  a  man  grow  to  be  inveterate  in  a  bad  habit."    Slubbering  on 
the  lute  means,  therefore,  practicing  in  a  slovenly  manner. 
And  this  word  inveterate  is  a  favorite  one  with  Shakespeare: 
The  inveterate  canker.11 
Inveterate  malice.19 
Inveterate  hate.13 

In  Shakespeare  we  find: 

Tea,  all  which  it  inherit  shall  dissolve; 
And,  like  this  unsubstantial  pageant  faded, 
Leave  not  a  rack  behind. 


1  Felic.  Queen  Elizabeth. 

2  Winter's  Tale,  v.  2. 

3  Macbeth,  iii,  4. 

4  Character  of  Julius  Ccesar. 
3  2d  Henry  IV.,  i,  2. 

8  King  John,  i,  1. 

7  Henry  V.,  v,  2. 

8  Cymbeline,  iii,  5. 


9  Shakespeariana,  May,  1884,  p.  185  — Article 
by  J.  Lauglin. 

10  Discourse  Concerning  Help  for  the  Intellect- 

ual Powers. 

11  King  John,  v,  2. 
>2  Richard  II.,  i,  1. 
18  Corioianus,  ii,  3. 


THE  IDENTICAL    USE   OF   UNUSUAL    WORDS.  451 

This  word  rack  has  led  to  great  controversy,  and  as  an  emenda- 
tion the  word  wreck  was  suggested,  but  the  true  explanation  was 
found  in  Bacon.1     He  says: 

The  winds  in  the  upper  regions,  which  move  the  clouds  above,  which  we  call 
the  rack,  and  are  not  perceived  below,  pass  without  noise. - 

Hence  the  rack  evidently  means  the  light,  fleecy,  upper  clouds,  a 
tine  image  for  unsubstantiality. 

And  we  have  another  curious  instance  wherein  Shakespeare  is 
only  to  be  explained  by  Bacon.  In  2d  Henry  IF.,  ii,  2,  Poins  says 
of   Falstaff,  speaking  to  Bardolph: 

And  how  doth  the  Martlemas,  your  master. 

The  commentators  explain  this  as  meaning  the  feast  of  St.  Mar- 
tin, the  nth  of  November. 

Poins  calls  Falstaff  the  Martlemas  because  his  year  of  life  is  running  out.: 

But  we  turn  to  Bacon's  Natural  History.     We  find 

That  that  is  dry  is  unapt  to  putrefy;  and  therefore  smoke  preserveth  flesh,  as 
we  see  in  bacon,  and  neat's  tongues  and  Martlemas  beef,  etc.4 

This  is  a  much  more  natural  explanation.  Poins  refers  to  the 
aged  but  gross  Falstaff  as  a  beef,  dried  and  smoked  by  time. 

Bacon  says: 

The  breath  in  man's  microcosmos  and  in  other  animals  do  very  well  agree.5 

Shakespeare  says : 

If  you  see  this  in  the  map  of  my  microcosm,  follows  it  1  am  known  well 
enough  too.6 

Bacon  says: 

But  sure  it  could  not  be  that  pelting  matter.1 
Shakespeare  says: 

Every  pelting,  petty  officer.8 

Poor  pelting  villages,  sheep-cotes.9 

Shakespeare  says: 

Do  cream  and  mantle  like  a  standing  pool.10 

1  Knight's  Shak.,  note  B,  vol.  ii,  p.  429.  *  Coriolanus,  ii,  1. 

2  Natural  History,  cent,  ii,  §  115.  '  Letter  to  Buckingham. 

3  Knight.  8  Measure  for  Measure,  ii,  2. 

4  Natural  History,  cent.  iv.  9  Lear,  ii,  3. 

5  Xatur at  History  of  Winds.  10  Merchant  of  Venice,  i,  1. 


452  PARALLELISMS. 

Their  rising  senses 
Begin  to  chase  the  ignorant  fumes  that  mantle 
Their  clearer  reason.1 

Bacon  says: 

It  [the  beer]  drinketh  fresh,  flowereth  and  mantleth  exceedingly.2' 

Bacon  says: 

If  there  be  any  biting  or  nibbling  at  my  name.3 

Shakespeare  says: 

And  as  pigeons  bill,  so  wedlock  would  be  nibbling.*' 

Bacon  says: 

I  have  lived  hitherto  upon  the  scraps  of  my  former  fortunes.5 

Shakespeare  says: 

He  hath  been  at  a  feast  of  languages 
And  stolen  the  scraps* 

Those  scraps  are  good  deeds  past.7 

We  find  the  rare  word  graveled  in  both  sets  of  writings.  I  can- 
recall  only  one  other  instance,  in  all  our  literature,  where  this 
strange  word  has  been  employed;  that  is  in  John  Hay's  Banty  Tim. 

Bacon  says : 

Her  Majesty  was  somewhat  graveled  upon  the  offense  she  took  at  my  speech 
in  Parliament.8 

Shakespeare  says : 

O  gravel  heart.9 

And  when  you  were  graveled  for  lack  of  matter,  you  might  take  occasion  to 
kiss.10 

The  word  perturbation  was  a  favorite  with  both. 

Bacon  has: 

The  Epicureans  placed  felicity  in  serenity  of  mind  and  freedom  from  per- 
turbation }x 

And  they  be  the  clouds  of  error  which  descend  in  the  storms  of  passions  and 
perturbations  }% 

Is  it  not  knowledge  that  doth  alone  clear  the  mind  of  all  perturbations?  .  .  . 
These  be  the  clouds  of  error  that  turn  into  the  storms  of  perturbation.™ 

1  Tempest,  v,  i.  8  Letter  to  Lord  Burleigh,  June,  1595. 

2  Natural  History,  cent,  i,  §  46.  9  Measure  for  Measure,  iv,  3. 

3  Letter  to  Mr.  Davis.  l0As  You  Like  It,  iv,  1. 

*  As  You  Like  It,  iii,  2.  ll  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii. 

'Letter  to  Buckingham, Sept.  5,  1621.  12  Ibid.,  book  1. 

«  Love's  Labor  Lost,  v,  1 .  ' 3  In  Praise  ,f  Knowledge. 

7  Troilus  and  Cressida,  iii,  3. 


THE   IDENTICAL    USE    OF   UNUSUAL    WORDS.  453 

Shakespeare  has: 

O  polished  perturbation  !  golden  care.1 
A  great  perturbation  in  nature.'1 
From  much  grief,  from  study  and  perturbation  of  the  brain.3 

Bacon  says : 

She  had  no  props,  or  supports  of  her  government,  but  those  that  were  of  her  own 
making.4 

Shakespeare  says : 

The  boy  was  the  very  staff  of  my  age,  my  very  prop.5 

See  where  his  Grace  stands  'tween  two  clergymen. 
Two  props  of  virtue  for  a  Christian  prince.6 

Bacon  also  says: 

There  was  also  made  a  shoaring  or  underpropping  act  for  the  benevolence.7 

Shakespeare  says: 

What  penny  hath  Rome  borne, 
What  men  provided,  what  munition  sent, 
To  underprop  this  action  ? 8 

Here  am  I  left  to  underprop  his  land.9 

Extirpate  occurs  but  once  in  the  Plays.  Prosper  says  his 
brother  proposed  "  to  extirpate  me  and  mine."  Bacon  uses  this  then 
unusual  word  in  the  same  sense: 

But  for  extirpating  of  the  roots  and  cause  of  the  like  commotions.10 

Bacon  says: 

This  depressing  of  the  house  of  York  did  rankle  and  fester  the  affections  of 
his  people.11 

Shakespeare  says: 

His  venom  tooth  will  rankle  to  the  death. '- 

They  fester  'gainst  ingratitude.13 

Bacon  says: 

He  saith  that  towards  his  latter  time  that  closeness  did  impair  and  a  little 
perish  his  understanding.14 

1  2d  Henry  IV. ,  iv,  5.  8  Richard  III. ,  iii,  7.  ll  Ibid . 

"  Macbeth,  v,  1.  7  History  of  Henry  VII.  l2  Richard  III.,  i,  3. 

3  2d  Henry  IV.,  i,  2.  8  King  John,  v,  2.  l3  Coriolanus,  i,  9.  I 

*  Felic.  Queen  Elizabeth.  9  Richard II,  ii,  2.  14  Essay  Of  Friendship. 

5  Merchant  0/  Venice,  ii,  2.  10  History  of  Henry  VI F. 


454  PARALLELISMS. 

Henry  Lewis  says: 

The  use  of  the  verb  thus  as  transitive  is  rare.1 

But  rare  as  it  is,  we  find  it  in  Shakespeare: 

Because  thy  flinty  heart,  more  hard  than  they, 
Might  in  thy  palace  perish  Margaret.2 

Bacon  says: 

I  do  esteem  whatsoever  I  have  or  may  have  in  this  world  but  as  trash  in  com- 
parison.3 

And  again: 

It  shows  he  weighs  men's  minds  and  not  their  trash. A 

Shakespeare  says: 

Who  steals  my  purse  steals  trash} 

Wrung 
From  the  hard  hands  of  peasants  their  vile  trash} 

Bacon  speaks  of 

A  shrunken  and  wooden  posture.' 
Shakespeare  speaks  of 

The  wooden  dialogue.8 

Bacon  says: 

Young  men  puffed  up  with  the  glittering  show  of  vanity.9 

Shakespeare  says: 

The  sea.  puffed  up  with  winds.10 

The  heart,  puffed  up  with-this  retinue,  doth  any  deed  of  courage.11 

Led  by  a  delicate  and  tender  prince, 
Whose  spirit,  by  divine  ambition  puffed, 
Makes  mouths  at  the  invisible  event  w 

Bacon  says: 

To  make  hope  the  antidote  of  human  diseases.13 

Shakespeare  says: 

And  with  some  sweet  oblivious  antidote 
Cleanse  the  stuffed  bosom.14 

1  Essay,  Bacon,  p.  161.  "  Troilus  and  Cressida,  i,  3. 

2 2d  Henry  VI.,  iii,  2.  9  Wisdom  of  the  Ancients  —  Memnon.. 

3  Letter  to  the  Earl  of  Salisbury.  l0  Taming  of  the  Shrew,  i,  2. 

4  Essay  Of  Goodness.  ' 1  2d  Henry  IV.,  iv,  3. 

6  Othello,  iii,  2.  ia  Hamlet,  iv,  4. 
"fulius  Ccesar,  iv,  3.  13  Med.  Sacra. 

7  Essay  Of  Boldness.  u  Macbeth,  v,  3. 


THE   IDENTICAL    USE    OF    UX  USUAL    WORDS. 


455 


Trust  not  the  physician:  his  antidotes  are  poisons.1 

The  word  was  an  unusual  one,  and  occurs  but  twice  in  the  Plays. 

Bacon,  in  his  essay  Of  Masks,  speaking  of  the  decorations  of  the 
stage,  refers  to  "oes  or  spangs,"  meaning,  as  I  should  take  it,  round, 
shining  spots  or  spangles,  like  eyes,  which,  "  as  they  are  of  no  great 
cost,  so  are  they  of  most  glory."  And  in  Shakespeare  this  figure 
repeatedly  appears: 

All  you  fiery  oes  and  eyes  of  light.'2 

And  he  speaks  in  the  prologue  to  Henry  V.  of  the  play-house  as 
"  this  wooden  O." 

And  he  uses  the  same  root  in  another  odd  word,  ceiliads — 
glances  of  the  eye: 

Judicious  ceiliads.3 

She  gave  strange  ceiliads.4 

Bacon  says: 

Pyonner  in  the  myne  of  truth." 
A  picneer  in  the  mine  of  truth/ 

Shakespeare  says: 

Canst  work  in  the  earth  so  fast; 
A  worthy  pioneer."1 

The  general  camp,  pioneers  and  all.8 

This  rare  word  occurs  but  three  times  in  the  Plays. 

And  in  Shakespeare  we  have,  as  a  parallel  to  Bacon's  "  mine  of 

truth  ": 

O,  Antony,  thou  mine  of  bounty? 

Bacon  speaks  of 

Such  natural  philosophy  as  shall  not  vanish  in  the  fume  of  subtle  and  delecta- 
ble speculation.10 

While  in  Shakespeare  we  have: 

Love  is  a  smoke  raised  with  the  fume  of  sighs." 

Bacon  says: 

Neither  did  they  observe  so  much  as  the  half-face  of  justice,  in  proceeding  by 
indictment.12 

1  Timon  of  Athens,  iv,  3.  7  Hamlet,  i,  5. 

2  Midsummer  Nighfs  Dream,  iii,  2.  8  Othello,  iii,  3. 

3  Merry  Wives  0/  Windsor,  i,  3.  9  A  ntony  and  Cleopatra,  iv,  6. 

*  Lear,  iv,  5.  '•  Advancement  0/ Learning,  book  ii. 
5  Prom  us,  §1395,  p.  451.                                           n  Borneo  and  Juliet,  i,  1. 

*  Letter  to  Burleigh.  ]  2  History  0/  Henry  I  'If. 


45  6  PARALLELISMS. 

Shakespeare  says: 

Out  upon  this  half-faced  fellowship. ' 

This  same  half-faced  fellow,  Shadow.2 

Because  he  hath  a  half-face,  like  my  father, 
With  that  half -face  would  he  have  all  my  land.3 

They  both  use  another  very  rare  word. 

Bacon  says: 

Seditions  and  wars  arise:  in  the  midst  of  which  hurly -bur lies  laws  are  silent.4 

Shakespeare  says: 

When  the  hurly-burly 's  done.5 
The  news  of  hurly-burly  innovation.6 
This  word  occurs  but  twice  in  the  Plays.     We  will  see  hereafter 
that   the    last  syllable  is    the  cipher  synonym   for  Burleigh, —  the 
Lord  Treasurer, —  Bacon's  uncle. 

Bacon  speaks  of 

This  jumping  or  flying  to  generalities.7 
Shakespeare  says: 

We'd  jump  the  life  to  come.8 

In  some  sort  it  jumps  with  my  humor.9 

Jumping  o'er  times, 
Turning  the  accomplishment  of  many  years 
Into  an  hour-glass.10 

We  remember  the  use    of   a   peculiar  word   in   the   mouth  of 
Othello,  when  he  makes  his  confession  to  the  Venetian  senate: 
Nothing  extenuate,  nor  set  down  aught  in  malice. 
We  find  the  same  word  in  Bacon : 

Disgracing  your  actions,  extenuating  and  blasting  of  your  merit." 

Also : 

How  far  a  defense  might  extenuate  the  offense.15 

Also: 

In  excusing,  extenuating  or  ingenious  confession.^ 
It  is  a  favorite  word  with  both;  it  occurs  eight  times  in  the  Plays. 


'  ist  Henry  IV.,  i,  3.  8  Macbeth,  i,  7. 

2  2d  Henry  IV,  iii,  2.  9  ist  Henry  IV.,  i,  2. 

3  King  John,  i,  1.  ™  Henry  /'.,  i,  cho. 

4  Wisdom  of  the  A  ncients— Orpheus.  u  Letter  to  Essex,  Oct.  4,  1596. 
«  Macbeth,  i,  1.  12  Letter  to  the  Lords. 

6  ist  Henry  IV.,  v,  1 .  13  Letter  to  the  King. 

7  Novum  Organum. 


THE   IDENTICAL    USE    OE    UNUSUAL    WORDS. 

We  recall  another  very  peculiar  word  in  Lear: 

Oh,  how  this  mother  swells  up  toward  my  heart.1 
We  turn  to  Bacon  and  we  read: 
The  stench  of  feathers,  or  the  like,  they  cure  the  rising  of  the  mother.* 

In  Bacon  we  find : 

The  skirts  of  my  living  in  Hertfordshire.3 
In  Shakespeare: 

Here,  in  the  skirts  of  the  forest.4 

The  skirts  of  this  wild  wood.5 

Young  Fortinbras 
Hath  in  the  skirts  of  Norway,  here  and  there, 
Sharked  up  a  list  of  landless  resolutes.6 

Bacon  says: 

Folds  and  knots  of  nature.7 

Shakespeare  says : 

This  knot  intrinsicate  of  life  untie.8 
Motives,  those  strong  knots  of  love.9 
This  knot  of  amity.10 

Bacon  says: 

Then  there  budded  forth  some  probable  hopes  of  succession.11 

Shakespeare  says: 

This  is  the  state  of  man :  to-day  he  puts  forth 
The  tender  leaves  of  hope;  to-morrow  blossoms.12 


457 


And  again: 


Bacon: 


Buckingham.  Every  man, 

.  .  .  Not  consulting,  broke 

Into  a  general  prophecy,  that  this  tempest, 

Dashing  the  garment  of  this  peace,  aboded 

The  sudden  breach  on't. 

Norfolk.  Which  is  budded  out. Vi 


And  after  he  had  not  a  little  bemoaned  himself.1 


1  Lear,  ii,  4.  8  A  ntony  and  Cleopatra,  v,  2. 

■2  Natural  History,  cent,  i,  §  63.  »  Macbeth,  iv,  3. 

3  Letter  to  Robert  Cecil,  1603.  10 1st  Henry  VI. 

4  As  You  Like  It,  iii,  2.  u  Felic.  Queen  Elizabeth. 

5  Ibid.,  v,  4.  12  Henry  VIII.,  iii,  2. 
•HamletiUx.  13  Ibid.,  i,  1. 

7  Preface  to  Great  Instauration.  14  History  of  Henry  VII. 


45  8  PA  KALLELISMS. 

Shakespeare: 

I  all  alone  bemoan  my  outcast  state.1 

He  so  bemoaned  his  son.2 

This  word  occurs  only  twice  in  the  Plays. 

Bacon  speaks  of 

The  meeting-point  and  rendezvous  of  all  my  thoughts.3 

Shakespeare  has: 

A  comfort  of  retirement  lives  in  this, 
A  rendezvous,  a  home  to  fly  unto.4 
And  again: 

And  when  I  cannot  live  any  longer  I  will  do  as  I  may;  that  is  my  rest,  that  is 
the  rendezvous  of  it.5 

Bacon  speaks  of 

A  compacted  strength.6 
Shakespeare  says: 

Of  imagination  all  compact? 

My  heart  is  now  compact  of  flint.8 

Bacon  says: 

Suspicions  that  the  mind  itself  gathers  are  but  buzzes? 

Shakespeare  says: 

Each  buz,  each  fancy,  each  complaint.10 

I  hear  a  buzzing  of  a  separation.11 

Bacon: 

There  is  a  lively,  jocund,  and,  as  I  may  say,  a  dancing  age.12 
Shakespeare: 

The  jocund  day 
Stands  tiptoe  on  the  misty  mountain  top.13 

The  quotation  from  Bacon  gives  us  the  complete  image  that 
was  in  the  mind  of  the  poet:  —  the  dawn  was  dancing  on  the  moun- 
tain top. 

Bacon  says: 

For  it  is  a  dull  thing  to  tire,  and,  as  we  say,  to  jade  anything  too  far,14 

1  Sonnet,  8  Titus  A  ndronicus,  v,  3. 

2 3d  Henry  VI.,  ii,  5.  9  Essay  Of  Suspicion. 

3  Letter  to  Lord  Burleigh,  1580.  ™  Lear,  i,  4. 

*  1st  Henry  IV.,  iv,  1.  •'  Henry  VIII.,  ii,  1. 

6  Henry  V.,  ii,  1.  12  Wisdom  of  the  A  ncients  —  Pan. 

*  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii.  >•  Romeo  and  Juliet,  iii,  5. 

7  Midsummer  Nighfs  Dream,  v,  1.  '4  Essay  Of  Discourse. 


THE  IDENTICAL    USE    OE    UNUSUAL    WORDS.  459 

Shakespeare  says: 

To  let  imagination  jade  me.1 

Speaking  of  a  young  man  overthrown  and  dying,  Bacon  says: 
The  flower  of  virtue  cropped  with  sudden  chance.'-2 

Shakespeare  speaks  of 

A  fresh,  xxneropped  flower? 

Comparing  her  son  to  the  violets  that  "strew  the  green  lap  of 
the  spring,"  the  Duchess  says  to  him: 

Well,  bear  you  well  in  this  new  spring  of  time, 
Lest  you  be  cropped  before  you  come  to  prime.4 

Speaking  of  the  history  of  an  event,  Bacon  says: 

The  King  hath  so  muffled  it." 
Shakespeare  says: 

Muffle  your  false  love.6 

Love  whose  view  is  muffled  still.1 

Bacon  says: 

The  King  resolved  to  make  this  business  of  Naples  as  a  wrench  and  means  of 
peace.8 

Shakespeare  says: 

A  noble  nature 
May  catch  a  wrench.91 

Wrenching  the  true  cause  the  false  way.10 

Bacon  says: 

The  corruption  and  ambition  of  the  times  d'\d  prick  him  forward.11 
Our  fear  of  Spain,  which  hath  been  the  spur  to  this  rigor.1'2 
Shakespeare  says: 

I  have  no  spur 
To  prick  the  sides  of  my  intent.1" 

My  duty  pricks  me  on.14 

Honor  pricks  me  on.     Yea.  but  how  if  honor  prick  me  off  when  I  come  on.15 


1  Twelfth  Night,  ii,  5.  ft  Timon  of  Athens,  ii,  2. 

2  Wisdotn  of  the  Ancients — Memnon.  10  2d  Henry  II'.,  ii,  1. 

3  A Ws  U 'ell  that  Ends  Well,  v,  3.  il  Character  offulins  Cetsar. 

4  Richard  II.,  v,  1.  12  Felic.  Queen  Elizabeth. 

5  History  of  Henry  VII.  ■ 3  Macbeth,  i,  7. 

6  Comedy  of  Errors,  ii,  2.  14  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  iii,  1. 

7  Romeo  andfuliet,  i,  1.  15 1st  Henry  IV.,  v,  1. 

8  History  of  Henry  VII, 


46o  PA  RA  L  LEU SMS. 

Falstaff  complains  on  the  battle-field  that  his  bowels  are  "as 
hot  as  molten  lead."  Bacon,  speaking  of  the  horror  of  Essex  when 
he  found  that  the  city  would  not  sustain  his  attempted  insurrec- 
tion, graphically  says: 

So,  as  being  extremely  appalled,  as  divers  that  happened  to  see  him  then 
might  visibly  perceive  in  his  face  and  countenance,  and  almost  molten  with  sweat, 
though  without  any  cause  of  bodily  labor,  but  only  by  the  perplexity  and  horror  of 
his  mind.1 

What  a  dramatical  command   of  language  does  this  sentence 

exhibit! 

While  my  book  is  being  printed,  Mr.  J.  G.  Bronson,  of  Chicago, 
calls  my  attention  to  the  following  parallelism. 

In  a  letter  of  "Sir  Francis  Walsingham,  Secretary,  to  Monsieur 

Critoy,  Secretary  of  France,"  said   by  Mr.  Spedding  to  have  been 

written  by  Bacon,  we  find: 

But  contrariwise  her  Majesty,  not  liking  to  make  windows  into  men  s  hearts  and 
secret  thoughts,  except  the  abundance  of  them  did  overflow  into  overt  and  express 
acts  or  affirmations,  etc. 

While  in  the  Shakespeare  sonnets  we  have  this  precisely  parallel 

thought: 

For  through  the  painter  must  you  see  his  skill, 
To  find  where  your  true  image  pictur'd  lies, 
Which  in  my  bosom's  shop  is  hanging  still, 

That  hath  his  windows  glazed  with  thine  eyes. 
Now,  see  what  good  turns  eyes  for  eyes  have  done: 

Mine  eyes  have  drawn  thy  shape,  and  thine  for  me 
Are  windows  to  my  breast,  wherethrough  the  sun 
Delights  to  peep,  to  gaze  therein  on  thee: 

Yet  eyes  this  cunning  want  to  grace  their  art; 
They  draw  but  what  they  see,  know  not  the  heart.'- 

Here  we  have  not  only  the  same  thought,  but  the  same  conclu- 
sion: that  the  heart  can  only  be  read  by  its  acts. 

Bacon  says: 

And  there  used  to  shuffle  up  a  summary  proceeding,  by  examination.3 

Whatsoever  singularity,  chance  and  the  shuffle  of  things  has  produced.4 

Shakespeare  says: 

I  am  fain  to  shuffle,  to  hedge  and  to  lurch.5 

'Tis  not  so  above: 
There  is  no  shuffling.''' 

1  A  Declaration  of  the  Treasons.  '  Gesta  Grayorum —  Life  and  Works,  vol.  i,  p.  335. 

2  Sonnet  xxiv.  *  Merry  Wives  0/  Windsor,  ii,  2. 
:i  History  of  Henry  VII.  ,!  Hamlet,  iii,  3. 


THE  IDENTICAL    USE   OF   UNUSUAL    WORDS.  461 

Your  life,  good  master, 
Must  shuffle  for  itself.1 

When  we  have  shuffled  off  this  mortal  coil.2 

Shuffle  her  away.3 

And  here,  as  illustrating  the  scholarly  acquirements  of  the 
writer  of  the  Plays,  and  his  tendency  to  enrich  the  English  language 
by  the  creation  of  new  words>  I  would  refer  to  two  instances, 
which, —  although  I  have  observed  no  parallels  for  them  in  Bacon's 
writings, —  are  curious  enough  to  be  noted  here: 

Dost  thou  infamonize  me  among  potentates.4 
As  he  had  been  incorpscd and  demi-natured* 

And  here  we  have  a  very  unusual  word   used  by  both  —  used 

only  once,  I  think,  by  either  of  them. 

Bacon: 

To  win  fame  and  to  eternize  your  name.6 

Shakespeare: 

Eternized  in  all  ages.7 

Bacon: 

The  vain  and  indign  comprehensions  of  heresy.8 

Shakespeare: 

All  indign  and  base  adversities.9 

I  could  give  many  more  instances  of  this  use  in  the  two  bodies 
of  writings  of  the  same  quaint  and  unusual  words,  did  I  not  fear  to 
offend  the  patience  of  the  reader  and  extend  this  book  beyond  all 
reasonable  proportions. 

I  regret  that  I  am  not  where  I  could  have  access  to  authorities 
which  would  show  how  many  of  these  strange  words  appeared  for 
the  first  time,  in  the  history  of  our  language,  in  the  Bacon  and 
Shakespeare  writings.  But  this  will  constitute  a  work  for  scholars 
hereafter. 

1  Cymbeline,  v,  5.  8  Gesta  Grayorunt  —  Life  and  Works,  vol.  i, 

2  Hamlet,  iii,  1.  p.  336. 

3  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  ii,  2.  T  2d  Henry  VI.,  v,  3. 

4  Love's  Labor  Lost,  v,  2.  8  Letter  to  the  King,  1612. 
6  Hamlet,  iv,  7.  *  Othello,  i,  3. 


wo.      Of 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

IDENTITIES  OE  CHARACTER. 

I  saw  Othello's  visage  in  his  mind. 

Othello,  /, .?. 

CHARACTER,  after  all,  constitutes  the  man.  I  do  not  mean 
thereby  reputation, —  for  that  concerns  the  opinions  of  others, 
and  they  may  or  may  not  be  deserved;  but  those  infinite  shades  of 
disposition  which  separate  one  man  from  all  other  men.  And  as 
there  were  never  in  the  world  two  men  who  possessed  heads  of 
precisely  the  same  shape,  so  there  cannot  be  two  men  having  pre- 
cisely the  same  character.  The  Creator  has  a  thousand  elements 
which  go  to  make  man,  and  he  never  puts  all  of  them  in  any  one 
man;  nor  does  he  ever  mix  a  part  of  them,  in  his  alembic,  in  the 
same  proportions,  for  any  two  men.  "  In  the  catalogue  we  all  go 
for  men."  Anything,  with  the  human  osseous  system  and  flesh  on 
it,  is,  perforce,  a  man;  but  the  difference  between  one  man  and 
another  may  be  as  wide  as  that  between  the  primordial  cell  and 
the  regenerated  soul. 

The  writer  of  the  Plays  had  thought  this  thought,  as  he  seems 
to  have  thought  all  other  thoughts,  and  he  exclaims: 
Oh,  the  difference  of  man  and  man  ! ' 

When  we  seek,  however,  to  institute  a  comparison  between 
Francis  Bacon  and  the  writer  of  the  Plays,  we  are  met  by  this 
difficulty:  We  know,  accurately  enough,  what  was  the  character 
of  Francis  Bacon  —  his  life  reveals  it;  —  but  if  we  turn  to  the  author 
of  certain  dramatic  compositions,  we  are  at  a  loss  to  know  when 
the  man  himself  speaks  and  when  the  character  he  has  created 
speaks.  We  are  more  apt  to  see  the  inner  nature  of  the  writer  in 
the  general  frame,  moral  and  purpose  of  the  piece,  and  in  those 
utterances  which  burst  from  him  unawares,  and  which  have  no 
necessary  connection  with  the  plot  or  the  characters  of  the  play, 
than  in  the  acts  performed  in  the  course  of  the  drama,  or  in  the 

1  Lear,  iv,  2. 

462 


IDENTITIES   OF   CHARACTER.  463 

sentiments  put  into  the  mouths  of  the  men  who  perform  them,  and 
which  are  parts  of  the  acts  and  parcel  of  the  plots. 

But,  notwithstanding  these  difficulties,  we  can  perceive  clearly 
enough  that  the  writer  of  the  Plays  possessed  essentially  the  same 
traits  of  character  which  we  know  to  have  belonged  to  Francis 
Bacon. 

The  reader  has  seen  already  that  both  personages,  if  we  may 
call  them  such,  possessed  the  philosophical  and  poetical  cast  of 
mind;  that  they  were  persons  of  unequaled  genius,  command  of 
language,  elevation  of  mind  and  loftiness  of  moral  purpose.  Let 
us  go  a  step  farther. 

I.     Industry. 

I  have  shown  on  page  92,  ante,  that  the  writer  of  the  Plays  was 
a  man  of  vast  industry,  and  that  he  elaborated  his  work  with  the 
utmost  skill  and  pains.     Knight  says: 

The  whole  of  this  scene,1  in  the  Folio,  exhibits  the  greatest  care  in  remodeling 
the  text  of  the  quarto. 

But  let  us  turn  to  another  play. 

A  comparison  of  that  part  of  the  text  of  The  Merry  Wives  of 
Windsor  which  embraces  the  scene  at  Hemes'  oak,  in  the  edition  of 
1602,  with  the  text  of  the  Folio  of  1623,  will  show  how  elaborately 
the  writer  revised  and  improved  his  text.  I  place  the  new  parts  of 
the  Folio  in  italics,  and  where  it  repeats  the  words  of  the  edition 
of  1602  they  are  given  in  quotation  marks.  In  this  way  the  changes 
are  made  more  conspicuous. 

In  the  edition  of  1602  we  have: 

Quickly.     You  fairies  that  do  haunt  these  shady  groves, 
Look  round  about  the  woods  if  you  espy 
A  mortal  that  doth  haunt  our  sacred  round: 
If  such  a  one  you  can  espy,  give  him  his  due, 
And  leave  not  till  you  pinch  him  black  and  blue. 
Give  them  their  charge,  Puck,  ere  they  part  away. 

In  the  Folio  of  1623  we  have  this  thus  amplified: 

Quickly.     "  Fairies,"  black,  gray,  green  and  white ; 
You  moonshine  revelers  and  shades  of  night, 
You  orphan  heirs  of  fixed  destiny, 
Attend  your  office  and  your  quality. 
Crier  Hobgoblin,  make  the  fairy  oyes. 

1  Henry  V.,  ii,  1. 


464  PARALLELISMS. 

Here  there  is  only  one  word — fairies  —  repeated  from  the  par- 
allel passage  in  the  edition  of  1602. 
The  1602  version  continues: 

Sir  Hugh.     Come  hither,  Pead,  go  to  the  country  houses, 
And  when  you  find  a  slut  that  lies  asleep, 
And  all  her  dishes  foul  and  room  unswept, 
"  With  your  long  nails  pinch  her  till  she  cry 
And  swear  to  mend  her  sluttish  housewifery. 

In    the   Folio   this   speech   is   put   in   the  mouth   of  Pistol,  but 

greatly  changed  in  language: 

Pistol.     Elves,  list  your  names;  silence,  you  airy  toys. 

Cricket,  to  Windsor  chimneys  shalt  thou  leap: 

Where  fires  thou  find'  st  utiraked,  and  hearths  "unswept," 

There  "  pinch  "  the  maids  as  blue  as  bilberry: 

Our  radiant  queen  hates  "sluts  "  and  sluttery. 

Here  there  are  but  three  words  that  occur  in  the  edition  of  1602. 

In  the  1602  copy  there  is  added  after  this  speech: 

Fairy.     I  warrant  you  I  will  perform  your  will. 

This  line  is  lacking  in  the  Folio,  and  instead  of  it  Falstaff  says:. 

They  are  fairies;  he  that  speaks  to  them  shall  die: 
I'll  wink  and  couch:  no  man  their  works  must  eye. 

The  1602  edition  gives  the  next  speech  as  follows: 

Sir  Hugh.     Where  is  Pead  ?     Go  you  and  see  where  brokers  sleep, 

And  fox-eyed  Serjeants,  with  their  mace, 

Go  lay  the  proctors  in  the  street, 

And  pinch  the  lousy  Serjeant's  face: 

Spare  none  of  these  when  they  are  a-bed, 

But  such  whose  nose  looks  plue  and  red. 

In  the  Folio  we  have  this  speech  rendered  as  follows: 

Evans.     "  Where's  Bead  ?     Go  you,  and  "  where  you  find  a  maid, 

That,  ere  she  sleep,  has  thrice  her  prayer's  said, 

Rein  up  the  organs  of  her  fantasy, 

Sleep  she  as  sound  as  careless  infancy; 

But  those  as  "  sleep  "  and  think  not  on  their  sins, 

"  Pinch"  them,  arms,  leks,  backs,  shoulders,  sides  and  shins. 

But  I  have  given  enough  to  prove  that  the  play,  as  it  appears  in 

the  Folio  of  1623,  was  practically  re-written,  and  I  might  add  that 

in  every  case  the  changes  were  for  the  better.     For  instance,  in  the 

1602  edition  we  have: 

Go  straight,  and  do  as  I  command, 
And  take  a  taper  in  your  hand, 
And  set  it  to  his  finger  ends, 
And  if  you  see  it  him  offends, 


IDENTITIES   OE   CHARACTER.  465 

And  that  he  starteth  at  the  flame, 
Then  he  is  mortal,  know  his  name; 
If  with  an  F  it  doth  begin, 
Why,  then,  be  sure,  he's  full  of  sin. 

This  doggerel  is  transformed  in  the  Folio  into  the  following: 

With  trial-fire  touch  me  his  finger  end: 
If  he  be  chaste,  the  flame  will  back  descend 
And  turn  him  to  no  pain;  but  if  he  start, 
It  is  the  flesh  of  a  corrupted  heart. 

Speaking  of  King  Henry  V.}  Romeo  and  Juliet,  The  Merry  Wives 

of  Windsor  and  Hamlet,  Swinburne  says: 

Of  these  four  plays  the  two  tragedies  at  least  were  thoroughly  re-cast  and  re- 
written from  end  to  end.  the  pirated  editions  giving  us  a  transcript,  more  or  less  per- 
fect or  imperfect,  accurate  or  corrupt,  of  the  text  as  it  first  came  from  the  poet's 
hand,  a  text  to  be  afterwards  indefinitely  modified  and  incalculably  improved.  .  .  .  But 
Xing  Henry  V.,  we  may  fairly  say,  is  hardly  less  than  transformed.  Not  that  ithas 
been  re-cast  after  the  fashion  of  Hamlet,  or  even  re-written  after  the  fashion  of 
Romeo  and  Juliet;  but  the  corruptions  and  imperfections  of  the  pirated  text  are 
here  more  flagrant  than  in  any  other  instance,  while  the  general  revision  of  style, 
by  which  it  is  at  once  purified  and  fortified,  extends  to  every  nook  and  corner  of 
the  restored  and  renovated  building.  Even  had  we,  however,  a  perfect  and  trust- 
worthy transcript  of  Shakespeare's  original  sketch  for  this  play,  there  can  be  little 
doubt  that  the  rough  draft  would  still  prove  almost  as  different  from  the  final 
masterpiece  as  is  the  soiled  and  ragged  canvas  now  before  us,  on  which  we  trace 
the  outline  of  figures  so  strangely  disfigured,  made  subject  to  such  rude  extremities 
of  defacement  and  defeature.1 

Is  it  reasonable  to  suppose  that  the  author  who  took  such  pains  to 
perfect  his  work  would  have  made  no  provision  for  its  preservation, 
but  would  die  and  leave  one-half  of  the  great  Plays  in  manuscript  ? 

He  knew  that  the  work  of  his  youth  was  not  equal  to  the  work 

of  his  manhood,  and   he  labored   conscientiously  to   improve  his 

crude  designs.     Dowden  says: 

It  is  the  opinion  of  Dyce,  of  Grant  White  and  of  others  that  Shakespeare  began 
to  work  upon  Romeo  and  Juliet  not  later  than  about  1591,  that  is,  almost  at  the 
moment  when  he  began  to  write  for  the  stage,  and,  that  having  occupied  him  for 
a  series  of  years,  the  tragedy  assumed  its  present  form  about  1595-7.  If  this  be  the 
case,  and  if,  as  there  is  reason  to  believe,  Shakespeare  was  also  during  many  years 
interested  in  the  subject  of  Hamlet,  we  discover  that  he  accepted  the  knowledge 
that  his  powers  were  undeveloped  and  acted  upon  it,  and  waited  until  he  believed 
himself  competent  to  do  justice  to  his  conceptions.2 

De  Quincey  says  of  the  Plays: 

The  further  on  we  press  in  our  discoveries,  the  more  we  shall  see  proofs  of 
design  and  self-supporting  arrangement,  where  the  careless  eye  has  seen  nothing 
but  accident. 

1  A  Study  of  Shak.,  p.  104.  2  Dowden,  Shak.  Mind  and  Art,  p.  51. 


466  PARALLELISMS. 

Swinburne  illustrates  this  question  of  the  industry  of  Shake- 
speare by  the  following  excellent  remarks: 

That  priceless  waif  of  piratical  salvage,  which  we  owe  to  the  happy  rapacity  of 
a  hungry  publisher,  is,  of  course,  more  accurately  definable  as  the  first  play  of 
Hamlet  than  as  the  first  edition  of  the  play.  .  .  .  The  deeper  complexities  of  the 
subject  are  merely  indicated;  simple  and  trenchant  outlines  of  character  are  yet  to 
be  supplanted  by  features  of  subtler  suggestion  and  infinite  interfusion.  Hamlet 
himself  is  almost  more  of  a  satirist  than  a  philosopher.  .  .  .  The  Queen,  whose 
finished  figure  is  now  something  of  a  riddle,  stands  out  simply  enough  in  the  first 
sketch  as  confidant  of  Horatio,  if  not  as  accomplice  of  Hamlet.  .  .  .  This  minor 
transformation  of  style  in  the  inner  play,  made  solely  with  the  evident  view  of 
marking  the  distinction  between  its  duly  artificial  forms  of  speech  and  the  natural 
forms  of  speech  passing  between  the  spectators,  is  but  one  among  innumerable 
indications,  which  only  a  purblind  perversity  of  prepossession  can  overlook,  of  the 
especial  store  set  by  Shakespeare  himself  on  this  favorite  work;  and  the  excep- 
tional pains  taken  by  him  to  preserve  it  for  aftertime  in  such  fullness  of  finished 
form  as  might  make  it  worthiest  of  profound  and  perpetual  study  by  the  light  of  far 
other  lamps  than  illuminate  the  stage. 

Of  all  vulgar  errors,  the  most  wanton,  the  most  willful,  and  the  most  resolutely 
tenacious  of  life,  is  that  belief  bequeathed  from  the  days  of  Pope,  in  which  it  was 
pardonable,  to  the  days  of  Mr.  Carlyle,  in  which  it  is  not  excusable,  to  the  effect 
that  Shakespeare  threw  off  Hamlet  as  an  eagle  may  moult  a  feather  or  a  fool  may 
break  a  jest;  that  he  dropped  his  work  as  a  bird  may  drop  an  egg,  or  a  sophist  a 
fallacy;  that  he  wrote  "for  gain,  not  glory,"  or  that,  having  written  Hamlet,  he 
thought  it  nothing  very  wonderful  to  have  written.  For  himself  to  have  written, 
he  possibly,  nay,  probably,  did  not  think  it  anything  miraculous;  but  that  he  was 
in  the  fullest  degree  conscious  of  its  wonderful  positive  worth  to  all  men  for  all 
time,  we  have  the  best  evidence  possible  —  his  own;  and  that  not  by  mere  word  of 
mouth,  but  by  actual  stroke  of  hand.  .  .  .  Scene  by  scene,  line  for  line,  stroke 
upon  stroke  and  touch  after  touch,  he  went  over  all  the  old  labored  ground  again; 
and  not  only  to  insure  success  in  his  own  day,  and  fill  his  pockets  with  contem- 
porary pence,  but  merely  and  wholly  with  a  purpose  to  make  it  worthy  of  himself 
and  his  future  students.   .    .    . 

Every  change  in  the  text  of  Hamlet  has  impaired  its  fitness  for  the  stage,  and 
increased  its  value  for  the  closet,  in  exact  and  perfect  proportion.  .  .  .  Even  in 
Shakespeare's  time  the  actors  threw  out  his  additions;  they  throw  out  these  very 
same  additions  in  our  time.  The  one  especial  speech,  if  any  one  such 
especial  speech  there  be,  in  which  the  personal  genius  of  Shakespeare  soars 
up  to  the  very  highest  of  its  height,  and  strikes  down  to  the  very  deepest  of 
its  depth,  is  passed  over  by  modern  actors;  it  was  cut  away  by  Heminge  and 
Condell.1 

It  seems  to  me  that  in  the  face  of  these  facts  there  can  be  no 
question  that  the  writer  of  the  Plays  was  a  man  of  intense  and 
enormous  industry. 

We  turn  to  Francis  Bacon,  and  we  find,  as  I  have  suggested 
heretofore,  that  he  was,  perhaps,  the  most  laborious  man  that  ever 
lived  on  the  planet.     Church  says  of  him: 

1  Swinburne-,  .  /  Study  of  Shak.,  p.  164. 


IDENTITIES   OF  CHARACTER.  467 

In  all  these  things  he  was  as  industrious,  as  laborious,  as  calmly  per- 
severing and  tenacious  as  he  was  in  his  pursuit  of  his  philosophical  specula- 
tions.1 

He  re-wrote  the  Essays,  we  are  told,  thirty  times.  His  chaplain 
tells  us  that  he  had  "  twelve  times  transcribed  the  Novum  Organum 
with  his  own  hand." 

Bacon  himself  says: 

My  great  work  goeth  forward,  and,  after  my  manner,  I  alter  even  when  I  add, 
so  that  nothing  is  finished  until  all  is  finished.2 

Bacon's  P ramus  of  Formularies  and  Elegancies  takes  us  into  the 
workshop  of  the  great  artist.  There  we  see  him  with  his  blouse  on, 
among  his  pots  and  brushes.  We  see  him  studying  the  quality  of 
his  canvas  and  grinding  his  own  paints.  These  daubs  upon  the 
wall  are  part  of  his  experiments  in  the  contrasts  of  colors;  these 
rude  lines,  traced  here  and  there,  with  charcoal  or  chalk,  are  his 
tirst  crude  conceptions  of  figures  and  faces  and  attitudes  which  are 
to  reappear  hereafter,  perfected  in  his  immortal  works. 

Here  we  can  trace  the  genesis  of  thought,  the  pedigree  of  ideas, 
the  ancestry  of  expressions.  We  look  around  us  and  realize  that 
genius  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  great  powers  conjoined  with 
extraordinary  industry. 

It  is  better,  for  humanity's  future,  that  the  statue  at  Stratford- 
upon-Avon  should  be  taken  down  from  its  pedestal.  It  represents  a 
fraud  and  a  delusion:  —  a  fraud  in  authorship,  and  a  delusion  in 
philosophy,  still  more  destructive,  to-wit:  that  ignorance,  idleness 
and  dissipation  can  achieve  results  which  mankind  will  worship 
through  all  ages;  that  anything  worth  having  can  come  out  of 
nothing. 

For,  in  truth,  the  universe  is  industry.  We  are  appalled  when 
we  think  of  the  intense,  persistent,  laborious,  incalculable,  awful 
force,  constantly  exerted,  to  keep  the  vast  whole  in  motion  — 
from  the  suns  to  the  bacilli.  God  might  be  fitly  described  as  the 
Great  Worker:  —  a  worker  without  a  task-master  —  who  never 
pauses,  never  wearies,  and  never  sleeps. 

No  man  should  shrink  from  labor.  Energy  is  God's  glorious 
stamp  set  on  his  creatures.  He  who  has  it  not  is  a  drone  in  the 
hive,  and  unworthy  the  notice   of  his   Great   Master.     And   it  has 

3  Bacon,  p.  57.  2  Letter  to  Tobie  Matthew,  1610. 


4  68  PARALLELISMS. 

been  a  shameful  and  poisonous  thing,  to  the  human  mind,  that  all 
these  hundreds  of  years  the  world  has  been  taught  that  the  most 
marvelous  of  human  works  were  produced  by  accident,  without 
effort,  by  a  slouching,  shiftless,  lazy,  indifferent  creature,  who  had 
not  even  force  enough  to  provide  for  their  perpetuation. 

Let  it  be  known  hereafter,  and  for  all  time  to  come,  that  the 
greatest  of  men  was  the  most  industrious  of  men. 

The  notes  in  the  Promus  show  that  Bacon  was  studying  the 
elegancies,  the  niceties  of  language,  especially  of  colloquial  expres- 
sion, noting  down  not  only  thoughts,  but  peculiar  and  strong 
phrases  and  odd  and  forcible  words.  And  surely  there  was  no 
necessity  for  all  this  in  his  philosophical  works.  He  makes  a  study 
not  only  of  courteous  salutations,  but  of  the  continuances  of  speech. 
Take,  for  instance: 

It  is  like,  sir,  etc.,  (putting  a  man  agayne  into  his  tale  interrupted).1 

Or: 

The  rather  bycause  (contynuing  another's  speech).'2 

Or: 

To  the  end,  saving  that,  whereas,  yet,  (contynuances  of  all  kynds).3 

Would  one  who  contemplated  works  of  philosophy  alone,  which 
were  to  be  translated  into  the  Latin  language,  for  the  use  of  pos- 
terity, devote  such  study  to  the  refinements  of  dialogue  ?  And 
where  do  we  find  any  of  these  elegancies  of  speech  in  Bacon's 
acknowledged  writings  ? 

II.       COMMONPLACE-BOOKS. 

Both  writers  possessed  that  characteristic  habit  of  studious  and 
industrious  men,  the  noting  down  of  thoughts  and  quotations  in 
commonplace-books.  The  Promus  is  one  of  these.  Bacon  repeat- 
edly recommends  the  use  of  such  helps  to  composition.     He  says: 

I  hold  the  entry  of  commonplaces  to  be  a  matter  of  great  use  and  essence  in 
studying,  as  that  which  assureth  "  copia  "  of  invention  and  contracteth  judgment 
to  a  strength.4 

And  again  —  discussing  how  to  "procure  the  ready  use  of 
knowledge"  —  he  says: 

1  Promus,  §  1385,  p.  449.  8  Ibid.,  §  1379,  p.  447. 

2  Ibid.,  §  1378,  p.  447.  *  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii. 


IDENTITIES   OF   CHARACTER.  469 

The  other  part  of  invention,  which  I  term  suggestion,  doth  assign  and  direct 
us  to  certain  marks  or  places,  which  may  excite  our  mind  to  return  and  pro- 
duce such  knowledge  as  it  hath  formerly  collected,  to  the  end  we  may  make 
use  thereof.1 

And  again  he  says: 

It  is  of  great  service  in  studies  to  bestow  diligence  in  setting  down  common- 
places.2 

On  the  other  hand,  we  turn  to  the  writer  of  the  Plays,  and  we 
find  him,  as  I  have  shown  on  page  78,  ante,  recommending  the  use 
of  commonplace-books  in  very  much  the  same  language.  He  says, 
in  the  76th  sonnet: 

Look,  what  thy  memory  cannot  contain 
Commit  to  these  waste  blanks,  and  thou  shalt  find 
These  children  nursed,  delivered  of  thy  brain, 
To  take  a  new  acquaintance  of  thy  mind. 

This  is  in  the  very  spirit  of  Bacon's 

Certain  marks  or  places,  which  may  excite  our  mind  to  return  and  produce 
such  knowledge  as  it  hath  formerly  collected. 

And  we  think  we  can  see  the  personal  habits  of  the  writer  of 
the  Plays  reflected  in  the  words  of  his  alter  ego,  Hamlet: 

My  tables:  —  meet  it  is  I  set  it  down, 

That  one  may  smile  and  smile  and  be  a  villain.3 

And  again,  in  The  Merry  Wives : 

I  will  make  a  brief  of  it  in  my  note-book.4 

III.     A   Thorough   Student. 

Not  only  was  the  writer  of  the  Plays,  like  Francis  Bacon,  vastly 
industrious,  but  it  was  the  industry  of  a  scholar:  he  was  a  student. 
He  combined  a  life  of  retirement  and  contemplation  with  knowl- 
edge of  affairs,  as  Bacon  did.     He  realized  Goethe's  axiom : 

Es  bildet  ein  'Talent  sic//  in  der  Slille, 
Sick  ein  Ckarakter  in  dent  Strom  der  Welt. 

The  early  plays  all  bespeak  the  student;  they  breathe  the  atmos- 
phere of  the  university. 
Proteus  complains: 

Thou,  Julia,  hast  metamorphosed  me; 
Made  me  neglect  my  studies,  lose  my  time. 

1  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii.  *  Hamlet,  i,  5. 

2  Ibid.  '  Merry  Wi^es  of  Windsor,  i,  1. 


470  PARALLELISMS. 

Love's  Labor  Lost  is  full  of  allusions  to  studies: 

Biron.  What  is  the  end  of  study  ? 

King.  Why,  that  to  know  which  else  we  should  not  know. 

Biron.  Things  hid  and  barred,  you  mean,  from  common  sense? 

King.  Ay,  that  is  study's  god-like  recompense.1 

And,  like  Bacon,  the  writer  of  the  Plays  believed  that  books 
were  a  means,  not  an  end;  and  that  original  thought  was  a  thou- 
sand times  to  be  preferred  to  the  repetition  of  the  ideas  of  other 
men.     He  says: 

Study  is  like  the  heavens'  glorious  sun, 

That  will  not  be  deep-searched  with  saucy  looks; 

Small  have  continual  plodders  ever  won, 
Save  base  authority,  from  others'  books.2 

We  seem  to  hear  in  this  the  voice  of  Bacon.  In  his  essay  Of 
Studies  he  says: 

To  spend  too  much  time  in  studies,  is  sloth;  to  use  them  too  much  for  orna- 
ment, is  affectation;  to  make  judgment  zvholly  by  their  rules,  is  the  humor  of  a 
scholar. 

And  how  Baconian  are  these  utterances: 

Mi  perdonate,  gentle  master  mine, 

lam  in  all  affected  as  yourself; 

Glad  that  you  thus  continue  your  resolve, 

To  suck  the  S7veels  of  sweet  philosophy. 

Only,  good  master,  while  we  do  admire 

This  virtue,  and  this  moral  discipline, 

Let's  be  no  stoicks,  nor  no  stocks,  I  pray. 

Or  so  devote  to  Aristotle' s  checks, 

As  Ovid  be  an  outcast  quite  abjured: 

Balk  logic  with  acquaintance  that  you  have, 

And  practice  rhetoric  with  your  common  talk: 

Music  and  poetry  use  to  quicken  you; 

The  mathematics,  and  the  metaphysics, 

Fall  to  them,  as  you  find  your  stomach  serves  you: 

No  profit  grows  where  is  no  pleasure  ta'en; 

In  short,  sir,  study  what  you  most  affect.3 

Here  we  find  allusions  to  Bacon's  love  of  philosophy,  his  dis- 
like for  Aristotle,  his  contempt  for  logic,  and  his  studies  of  music 
and  poetry.  And  we  note,  also,  the  didactic  and  educational  tone 
of  the  essay,  natural  to  the  man  who  was  always  laboring  to 
instruct  and  improve  his  fellow-men. 

1  Love's  Labor  Lost.  i.  i .  2  Ibid.  s  Tamingof  the  Shrew,  i,  i. 


IDENTITIES   QE   CHARACTER. 


47 


IV.     His  Wisdom. 

We  know  it  is  conceded  that  Bacon  was  the  wisest  man  of  his 

time,  or  of  all   time.     And   wisdom   is   not  knowledge  merely  of 

things.     It   means   an   accurate   acquaintance  with   the  springs  of 

human  nature,  and  a  capacity  to  adapt  actions  to  events.     And  the 

same  trait  has  been  many  times  noted  in  the  writer  of  the  Plays. 

Henry  Hallam  says: 

The  philosophy  of  Shakespeare  —  his  intimate  searching  out  of  the  human 
heart,  whether  in  the  gnomic  form  of  sentence  or  in  the  dramatic  exhibition  of 
character — is  a  gift  peculiarly  his  own. 

Henry  Giles  says  of  Shakespeare's  genius: 

It  has  the  power  of  practical  intellect.  Under  a  careless  guise  it  implies 
serious  judgment,  and  in  the  vesture  of  motley  it  pronounces  many  a  recondite 
decision.  .  .  .  Out  from  its  mockeries  and  waggeries  there  could  be  collected  a 
philosophy  of  common  sense  by  which  the  gravest  might  be  instructed. 

I  have  already  quoted  (page  150,  ante)  the  expression  of  Emer- 
son, applied  to  Shakespeare: 

He  was  inconceivably  wise;  the  others  conceivably. 
And  of  Landor: 

The  wisest  of  men,  as  well  as  the  greatest  of  poets. 

V.     The  Universality  of  his  Mind. 

We  know  that  Bacon's  mind  ranged  through  all  created  nature, 
and  his  learning  levied  tribute  on  everything  underneath  the  sun. 
He  had  "taken  all  knowledge  for  his  province." 

Osborne,  a  contemporary,  called  Bacon 

The  most  universal  genius  I  have  ever  seen  or  was  like  to  sec 

While,  on  the  other  hand,  De  Quincey  says : 

Shakespeare  thought  more  finely  and  more  extensively  than  all  the  other  poets 
combined. 

Professor  Dowden  says  of  Shakespeare : 

This  vast  and  varied  mass  of  information  he  assimilated  and  made  his  own. 
...  He  was  a  center  for  the  drifting  capital  of  knowledge.  His  whole  power  of 
thought  increased  steadily  as  the  years  went  by,  both  in  sure  grasp  of  the  known 
and  in  brooding  intensity  of  gaze  upon  the  unknown.1 

And  the  same  writer  continues: 

Now,  what  does  extraordinary  growth  imply  ?  It  implies  capacity  for  obtain- 
ing the  materials  of  growth;  in  this  case  materials  for  the  growth  of  intellect,  of 
imagination,  of  the  will,  of  the  emotions.      It  means,  therefore,  capacity  for  seeing 

1  Shak.  Mind  and  Art,  p.  39. 


472  PARALLELISMS. 

many  facts,  of  meditating,  of  feeling  deeply,  and  of  controlling  such  feeling.  .  .  . 
It  implies  a  power  in  the  organism  to  fit  its  movements  to  meet  numerous  external 
coexistences  and  sequences.  In  a  word,  it  brings  us  back  once  again  to  Shake- 
speare's resolute  fidelity  to  the  fact} 

And  surely  "resolute  fidelity  to  the  fact"  was  the  distinguishing 
trait  of  Bacon's  philosophy. 

VI.     Powers  of  Observation. 
Macaulay  says  of  Bacon  : 

y 

In  keenness  of  observation  he  has  been  equaled,  though  perhaps  never  sur- 
passed.    But  the  largeness  of  his  mind  was  all  his  own.'2 

And  the  great  Scotsman  makes  this  fine  comparison  touching 
Bacon's  mind: 

With  great  minuteness  of  observation  he  had  an  amplitude  of  comprehension, 
such  as  has  never  yet  been  vouchsafed  to  any  other  person.  The  small,  fine  mind 
of  Labruyere  had  not  a  more  delicate  tact  than  the  large  intellect  of  Bacon.  .  .  . 
His  understanding  resembled  the  tent  which  the  fairy  Parabanon  gave  to  Prince 
Ahmed.  Fold  it,  and  it  seemed  a  toy  for  the  hand  of  a  lady;  spread  it,  and  the 
armies  of  powerful  sultans  might  repose  beneath  its  shade.3 

While,  on  the  other  hand,  Sir  William  Hamilton  calls  Shake- 
speare 

The  greatest  known  observer  of  human  nature. 

And  Richard  Grant  White  calls  him 

The  most  observant  of  men. 

VII.     His  Secretiveness. 

We  have  seen  Bacon   admitting  that  he  was  "a  concealed  poet." 

Spedding  concedes  that  a  letter  written  in  the  name  of  the  Earl 
of  Essex  to  Sir  Foulke  Greville,  about  the  year  1596,  was  written 
by  Bacon.' 

There  has  been  attributed  to  Bacon  a  work  called  An  Historical 
Account  of  the  Alienation  Office,  published  in  1590,  in  the  name  of 
William  Lambarde. 

Spedding  finds  5  that  the  letters  which  purported  to  have  been 
written  by  the  Earl  of  Essex  to  the  Earl  of  Rutland,  who  was  about 
to  travel  on  the  continent,  containing  advice  as  to  his  course  of 
studies,  were  unquestionably  the  work  of  Bacon. 

1  Shak.  Mind  and  Art,  p.  41.  *  See  vol.  2,  Life  and  Works,  p.  21. 

2  Macaulay's  Essays      Bacon,  \  ■>  Letters  and  Life  of  Bacon,  vol.  ii,  p.  5. 

3  Ibid. 


IDENTITIES   OF   CHARACTER.  473 

Mr.  Spedding  says: 

At  another  time  he  [Bacon]  tries  to  disguise  himself  under  a  style  of 
assumed  superiority,  quite  unlike  his  natural  style;  as  in  the  Tetnporis  Partus 
Mas  cuius,  where  again  the  very  same  argument  is  set  forth  in  a  spirit  of  scornful 
invective,  poured  out  upon  all  the  popular  reputations  in  the  annals  of  philosophy.1 

We  have  seen  him  writing  letters  to  Essex  as  from  his  brother 
Anthony,  in  which  Anthony  is  made  to  refer  back  to  himself,  and 
then  writing  a  reply  from  Essex,  the  whole  to  be  shown  to  the 
Queen. 

We  have   seen    Ben  Jonson   alluding  to  him   in   some  birthday 

verses: 

As  if  a  mystery  thou  didst. 

And  in  all  this  we  see  the  man  who  under  a  mask  could  put  forth 
the  Plays  to  the  world;  and  who,  inside  the  Plays,  could,  in  turn, 
conceal  a  cipher. 

VIII.     Splendid  Tastes. 
Emerson  says  of  Shakespeare: 

What  trait  of  his  private  mind  has  he  hidden  in  his  dramas  ?  One  can  discern 
in  his  ample  pictures  of  the  gentleman  and  the  king  what  forms  and  humanities 
pleased  him;  his  delight  in  troops  of  friends,  in  large  hospitality,  in  cheerful 
giving.  Let  Timon,  let  Warwick,  let  Antonio  the  merchant,  answer  for  his  great 
heart. 

When  we  read  this  the  magnificence  of  Bacon  occurs  to  our 
remembrance  —  his  splendid  marriage,  his  princely  residence  at 
St.  Albans,  his  noble  presents. 

Hepworth  Dixon  thus  describes  his  wedding: 

Feathers  and  lace  light  up  the  rooms  in  the  Strand.  Cecil  has  been  warmly 
urged  to  come  over  from  Salisbury  House.  Three  of  his  gentlemen,  Sir  Walter 
Cope,  Sir  Baptist  Hicks  and  Sir  Hugh  Beeston,  hard  drinkers  and  men  about 
town,  strut  over  in  his  stead,  flaunting  in  their  swords  and  plumes;  yet  the  prodigal 
bridegroom,  sumptuous  in  his  tastes  as  in  his  genius,  clad  in  a  suit  of  Genoese 
velvet,  purple  from  cap  to  shoe,  outbraves  them  all.  The  bride,  too,  is  richly 
dight,  her  whole  dowry  seeming  to  be  piled  up  on  her  in  cloth  of  silver  and  orna- 
ments of  gold.2 

The  author  of  Aulicus  Coquinaria,  speaking  of  Bacon  after  his 

downfall,  says: 

And  let  me  give  this  light  to  his  better  character,  from  an  observation  of  the 
late  King,  then  Prince.  Returning  from  hunting,  he  espied  a  coach  attended  with 
a  goodly  troop  of  horsemen,  who,  it  seems,  were  gathered  together  to  wait  upon 
the  Chancellor  to  his  house  at  Gorhambury,  at  the  time  of  his  declension.     At 

1  Preface-  t!>  part  i:i.  vol.  iii.  Works,  p.  171.  '2  Personal  History  0/  Lord  Bacon,  p.  181. 


474  PARALLELISMS. 

which  the  Prince  smiled:   "Well,  do  we  what  we  can,''  said  he,  "this  man  scorns 
to  go  out  like  a  snuff." 

Nay,  master  King!  And  he  will  not  go  out  like  a  snuff;  —  not 
till  the  civilization  of  the  world  is  snuffed  out.  And  the  time  will 
come  when  even  thou,  —  O  King, —  wilt  be  remembered  simply 
because  thou  didst  live  in  the  same  age  with  him. 

IX.     His  Splendid  Egotism. 

There  was  about  Bacon  a  magnificent  self-assertion. 
Dean  Church  says: 

He  [Bacon]  never  affected  to  conceal  from  himself  his  superiority  to  other 
men,  in  his  aims  and  in  the  grasp  of  his  intelligence.1 

He  recognized  his  own  greatness,  in  an  impersonal  sort  of  way, 
as  he  might  have  perceived  the  magnitude  of  a  mountain.  Hence 
we  find  him  beginning  one  of  his  great  works  in  the  following 
lordly  manner: 

Francis  of  Verulam  thought  thus,  and  such  is  the  method  which  he  within 
himself  pursued,  which  he  thought  it  concerned  both  the  living  and  posterity  to 
become  acquainted  zvith? 

And  again  he  says: 

Francis  Bacon  thought  in  this  manner* 
We  turn  to  Shakespeare,  and  we  find  him,  in  the  sonnets,  indulg- 
ing in  the  same  bold  and  extraordinary,  although  justifiable,  ego- 
tism.    He  says: 

Not  marble, 
Nor  the  gilded  monuments  of  princes, 
Shall  outlive  this  powerful  rhyme. 
And  again: 

Nor  shall  Death  brag  thou  wanderest  in  his  shade, 

When  in  eternal  lines  to  time  thou  goest: 

So  long  as  men  can  breathe  or  eyes  can  see, 
So  long  lives  this,  and  this  gives  life  to  thee.4 

And  again  he  says: 

Oh,  'tis  the  first;  'tis  flattery  in  my  seeing, 
And  my  great  mind  most  kingly  drinks  it  up.h 

If  these  were  the  utterances  of  the  man  of  Stratford,  why  did 
he  not  assert  himself,  as  Bacon  did,  in  the  affairs  of  his  age  ?    Would 

1  Bacon,  p.  58.  3  Filunt  Labyrinth i.  5  Sonnet  cxiv. 

2  Introduction  to  Great  Instauration.  4  Sonnet  xviii. 


IDENTITIES   OF   CHARACTER. 


475 


a  man  with  this  consciousness  of  supreme  greatness  crawl  away  to 
Stratford,  to  brew  beer  and  lend  money?  No;  he  would  have 
fought  for  recognition,  as  Bacon  did,  to  the  last  gasp. 

X.     His  Toleration. 

I  have  already  shown  that  Bacon  and  the  writer  of  the  Plays 

were  tolerant  in  the  midst  of  the  religious  passions  of  the  time. 

William  Henry  Smith  says: 

In  an  age  of  bigotry  and  religious  persecution  we  find  Bacon  and  Shakespeare 
expressing  a  toleration  of  all  creeds  and  religions.1 

Hepworth  Dixon  says,  alluding  to   the  appropriations  for  wTar 

expenses: 

James  takes  this  money,  not  without  joy  and  wonder;  but  when  they  ask  him 
to  banish  recusants  from  London,  to  put  down  masses  in  embassadors'  houses,  to 
disarm  all  the  Papists,  to  prevent  priests  and  Jesuits  from  going  abroad,  he  will 
not  do  it.  In  this  resistance  to  a  new  persecution,  his  tolerant  Chancellor  stands 
at  his  back  and  bears  the  odium  of  his  refusal.  Bacon,  who  thinks  the  penal  laws 
too  harsh  already,  will  not  consent  to  inflame  the  country,  at  such  a  time,  by  a 
new  proclamation;  the  penalties  are  strong,  and  in  the  hands  of  the  magistrates; 
he  sees  no  need  to  spur  their  zeal  by  royal  proclamations  or  the  enactment  of  more 
savage  laws.  Here  is  a  chance  for  Coke.  Raving  for  gibbets  and  pillories  in  a 
style  to  quicken  the  pulse  of  Brownists,  men  wrho  are  wild  with  news  from  Heidel- 
berg or  Prague  believe  in  his  sincerity  and  partake  of  his  heat.  To  be  mild  now. 
many  good  men  think,  is  to  be  weak.  In  a  state  of  war,  philosophy  and  tolerance 
go  to  the  wall;  when  guns  are  pounding  in  the  gates,  even  justice  can  be  only  done 
at  the  drumhead. - 

Bacon's  downfall,  as  we  shall   see  hereafter,  was  largely  due  to 

this  refusal  to  persecute  the  helpless  at  the  bidding  of  the  fanatical, 

led  on  by  the  brutal  and  sordid  Coke. 

XI.     His  Benevolence. 

And  in  the  same  spirit  he  at  all  times  preached  mercy  and  gen- 
erosity, in  both  his  acknowledged  works  and  in  the  Plays. 

Bacon,  in  his  essay  Of  Discourse,  enumerates,  among  the  things 
which  ought  to  be  privileged  from  jest,  "  religion,  matters  of  state, 
and  any  case  that  descrvetJi pity." 

While  Carlyle  says  of  Shakespeare: 

His  laughter  seems  to  pour  forth  in  floods.  .  .  .  Not  at  mere  weakness  —  at 
misery  or  poverty  never. 

Bacon  says: 

The  state  and  bread  of  the  poor  have  always  been  dear  to  my  heart. 

J  Bacon  and  Shak.,  p.  88.  2  Personal History  of  Lord  Bacon,  p.  325. 


476  PARALLELISMS. 

He  labors 

To  lift  men  out  of  their  necessities  and  miseries. 
He  seeks,  "  in  a  despised  weed,  the  good  of  all  men." 
Bacon  describes  one  of  the  fathers  of  "  Solomon's  House,"  in 
The  New  Atlantis,  and  says: 

He  had  an  aspect  as  if  he  pitied  men. 

We  turn  to  Shakespeare  and  we  find  the  same  great  traits  of 
character. 

Charles  Knight  speaks  of 

Shakespeare's  unvarying  kindness  toward  wretched  and  oppressed  humanity, 
in  however  low  a  shape. 

Gerald  Massey  says: 

He  has  infinite  pity  for  the  suffering  and  struggling  and  wounded  by  the  way. 
The  most  powerful  and  pathetic  pleadings  on  behalf  of  Christian  charity,  out  of  the. 
New  Testament,  have  been  spoken  by  Shakespeare.  He  takes  to  his  large,  warm 
heart  much  that  the  world  usually  casts  out  to  perish  in  the  cold.  There  is  nothing 
too  poor  or  mean  to  be  embraced  within  the  circle  of  his  sympathies.1 

Barry  Cornwall  refers  to  "  the  extensive  charity  which  Shake- 
speare inculcates." 

Birch  says: 

He  has,  more  than  any  other  author,  exalted  the  love  of  humanity.  However 
he  may  indulge  in  invective  against  the  artificial  systems  of  religion,  and  be  found 
even  speaking  against  Christianity,  yet  in  his  material  and  natural  speculations  he 
endeavors  to  give  philosophical  consolation  to  mankind,  to  inculcate  submission  to 
inevitable  circumstances  and  encourage  scientific  investigation  into  the  nature  of 
things} 

The  reader  will  probably  pause  to  see  whether  I  have  not  mis- 
placed this  quotation,  so  completely  does  it  fit  the  character  and 
purposes  of  Francis  Bacon.  But  no;  it  was  written  by  an  English 
clergyman,  in  an  essay  upon  the  religion  of  Shakespeare;  and  the 
author  probably  never  heard  of  the  theory  that  Bacon  wrote  the 
Plays. 

I  append  a  few  illustrative  extracts  from  the  Plays,  in  corrobo- 
ration of  these  opinions: 

'Tis  a  cruelty 
To  load  a  falling  man." 

Neither  in  our  hearts  nor  outward  eyes, 
Envy  the  great  nor  do  the  low  despise.4 

1  Sonnets  of  Sliak.,  p.  549.  3  Henry  1 '///.,  V,  2. 

*  Philosophy  and  Religion  of  Shah.,  p.  10.  4  Pericles,  ii,  3. 


IDENTITIES  OE  CHARACTER.  477 

There  is  a  soul  of  goodness  in  things  evil, 
Would  men  observingly  distill  it  out.1 

Oh,  I  have  ta'en 
Too  little  care  of  this  !     Take  physic,  pomp; 
Expose  thyself  to  feel  what  wretches  feel; 
That  thou  mayst  shake  the  superflux  to  them 
And  show  the  heavens  more  just.- 

XII.     His  Command  Over  the  Emotions. 

Ben  Jonson  says  of  Bacon: 

He  commanded  where  he  spoke,  and  had  his  judges  angry  or  pleased  at  hi? 
devotion.     No  man  had  their  affections  [passions]  more  in  his  power. 

Pope  says  of  Shakespeare: 

The  power  over  our  passions  was  never  possessed  in  a  more  eminent  degree, 
or  displayed  in  so  different  instances.  .  .  .  We  are  surprised  the  moment  we 
weep,  and  yet,  upon  reflection,  find  the  passion  so  just,  that  we  should  be  sur- 
prised if  we  had  not  wept,  and  wept  at  that  very  moment.3 

XIII.     His  Wit. 

Basil  Montagu  says  of  Bacon: 

His  wit  was  brilliant,  and  when  it  flashed  upon  any  subject  it  was  never  with 
ill-nature,  which,  like  the  crackling  of  thorns,  ending  in  sudden  darkness,  is  only 
fit  for  the  fool's  laughter.  The  sparkling  of  his  wit  was  that  of  the  precious  dia- 
mond, valuable  for  its  worth  and  weight,  denoting  the  riches  of  the  mine.4 

And  Macaulay,  a  severe  critic,  and   in   many  things,  so  far  as 

Bacon  was  concerned,  an  unjust  one,  says  of  his  wit: 

The  best  jest-book  in  the  world  is  that  which  he  dictated  from  memory,  with- 
out referring  to  any  book,  on  a  day  on  which  illness  had  rendered  him  incapable  of 
serious  study.5 

And  again  he  says: 

But  it  occasionally  happened  that,  when  he  was  engaged  in  grave  and  pro- 
found investigations,  his  wit  obtained  the  mastery  over  all  his  other  faculties,  and 
led  him  into  absurdities  into  which  no  dull  man  could  possibly  have  fallen.6 

And  again  Macaulay  says: 

In  wit,  if  by  wit  be  meant  the  power  of  perceiving  analogies  between  things 
which  appear  to  have  nothing  in  common,  he  never  had  an  equal  —  not  even  Cowley, 
not  even  the  author  of  Hudibras,  Indeed  he  possessed  this  faculty,  or  this  faculty 
possessed  him,  to  a  morbid  degree.  When  he  abandoned  himself  to  it,  without  re- 
serve, as  he  did  in  the  Sapientia  Veterum,  and  at  the  end  of  the  second  book  of  the 
De  Augmentis,  the  feats  which  he  performed  were  not  merely  admirable,  but  portent- 
ous and  almost  shocking.  On  those  occasions  we  marvel  at  him  as  clowns  on  a  fair 
day  marvel  at  a  juggler,  and  can  hardly  help  thinking  that  the  devil  must  be  in  him.' 

1  Henry  V.,  iv,  i.  5  Macaulay's  Essays — Bacon,  p.  270. 

2  Lear,  iii,  4.  6  Ibid.,  p.  285. 

3  William  H.  Smith,  Bacon  and  Shak.,  p.  6.  7  Ibid.,  p.  285. 

4  Works  0/  Lord  Bacon,  vol.  i,  p.  116. 


478 


PARALLELISMS. 


And  Ben  Jonson  says  of  Bacon: 

His  language,  where  he  could  spare  or  pass  by  a  jest,  was  nobly  censorious. 

I  need  not  cite  many  authorities  to  prove  that  the  writer  of  the 
Shakespeare  Plays  was  not  only  a  great  wit,  but  that  his  wit  some- 
times overmastered  his  judgment. 

Hudson  says  of  Falstaff: 

I  must  add  that,  with  Shallow  and  Silence  for  his  theme,  Falstaff's  wit  fairly 
grows  gigantic,  and  this,  too,  without  any  abatement  of  its  frolicsome  agility. 
The  strain  of  humorous  exaggeration  with  which  he  pursues  the  theme  is  indeed 
almost  sublime.  Yet  in  some  of  his  reflections  thereon,  we  have  a  clear  though 
brief  view  of  the  profound  philosopher  underlying  the  profligate  humorist  and  make- 
sport,  for  he  there  discovers  a  breadth  and  sharpness  of  observation  and  a  depth  of 
practical  sagacity  such  as  might  have  placed  him  [Shakespeare]  in  the  front  rank  of 
statesmen  and  sages. ! 

XIV.     Great  Aims. 

We  know  the  grand  objects  Bacon  kept  continually  before  his 
mind's  eye. 

The  writer  of  the  Plays  declares,  in  sonnet  exxv,  that  he  had 

Laid  great  bases  for  eternity. 

What  were  they  ?  What  "  great  bases  for  eternity  "  had  the 
Stratford  man  built  or  attempted  to  build  ? 

Francis  Bacon  wrote  The  New  Atlantis,  an  attempt  to  show  to 
what  perfections  of  civilization  developed  mankind  might  attain 
in  a  new  land,  an  island;  and  we  find  Shakespeare  also  planning 
an  improved  commonwealth  upon  another  island  —  the  island  that 
was  the  scene  of  The  Tempest.  And  we  find  him  borrowing  therein 
from  Montaigne. 

Gonzalo  says  in  the  play: 

Had  I  plantation  of  this  isle,  my  lord,   .  .   . 
I'  the  commonwealth,  I  would  by  contraries 
Execute  all  things;  for  no  kind  of  traffic 
Would  I  admit;  no  name  of  magistrate; 
Letters  should  not  be  known;  riches,  poverty, 
And  use  of  service  none;  contract,  succession, 
Bourn,  bound  of  land,  tilth,  vineyard,  none: 
No  use  of  metal,  corn,  or  wine  or  oil: 
No  occupation;  all  men  idle,  all  — 
And  women,  too;  but  innocent  and  pure. 
No  sovereignty: 

All  things  in  common  nature  should  produce 
Without  sweat  or  endeavor;  treason,  felony, 

1  Shak.  Life  and  Art,  vol.  ii,  p.  94. 


IDENTITIES   OE   CHARACTER.  479 

Sword,  pike,  knife,  gun  or  need  of  any  engine, 
Would  I  not  have,  but  nature  should  bring  forth, 
Of  its  own  kind,  all  foison,  all  abundance, 
To  feed  my  innocent  people.' 

Here,  as  in  The  New  Atlantis,  we  see  the  philosopher-poet  devis- 
ing schemes  to  lift  men  out  of  their  miseries  —  to  "feed  the  inno- 
cent people." 

XV.      His  Goodness. 

Coleridge  says: 

Observe  the  fine  humanity  of  Shakespeare,  in  that  his  sneerers  are  all  villains. 

Gerald  Massey  says  of  Shakespeare: 

There  is  nothing  rotten  at  the  root,  nothing  insidious  in  the  suggestion.  Vice 
never  walks  abroad  in  the  mental  twilight  wearing  the  garb  of  virtue. - 

Coleridge  says: 

There  is  not  one  really  vicious  passage  in  all  Shakespeare. 

We  know  that  Bacon,  in  his  acknowledged  works,  said  nothing 

that  could  impair  the  power  of  goodness  in  the  world. 

XVI.     Another  Curious  Fact. 

While  the  last  pages  of  this  work  are  going  through  the  press, 
my  friend  Professor  Thomas  Davidson  sends  me  a  letter  addressed 
to  him  by  a  correspondent  (M.  Le  B.  G.),  in  which  occur  these  words: 

Please  look  at  the  6th  chapter  of  Peter  Bayne's  new  Life  of  Luther,  if  you 
have  not  already  read  it.  It  is  called  The  Century  of  Luther  and  Shakespeare.  It 
is  a  glorification  of  Shakespeare,  but,  curiously  enough,  quotes  from  Brewer, 
about  the  correspondence  in  altitude  between  Bacon  and  Luther;  and  then  goes  on 
to  show  that  Shakespeare  was  perfectly  familiar  not  only  with  the  Bible  but  with 
Luther's  thought,  and  with  special  incidents  of  his  history. 

Bayne  says  that  all  the  main  points  in  the  theology  of  the  Reformation  could 
be  pieced  together  from  the  dramas  of  Shakespeare.  One  would  not  naturally 
look  in  a  Life  of  Luther  for  any  testimony  on  the  "  Baconian  Theory,"  so  please 
(if  it  seems  worth  while  to  you)  to  call  Mr.  Donnelly's  attention  to  this  rather  cur- 
ious chapter. 

I  quote  this  with  pleasure,  although  a  little  out  of  place  in  this 
chapter,  as  another  case  where  the  indentations  of  the  Baconian 
theory  fit  into  all  other  related  facts  and,  as  an  additional  evidence 
that  the  Plays  were  not  pumped  out  of  ignorance  by  the  handle  of 
genius,  under  the  pressure  of  a  play-actor's  necessities,  but  were 
the  works  of  a  broadly-learned   man,  who  was  fully  abreast  of  all 

1  Tempest,  it,  2.  *  Sonnets  0/ Shakespeare,  p. 


4<So 


PARALLELISMS. 


the  affairs  of  his  day,  and  who  had  read  everything  that  was  acces- 
sible in  that  age,  in  every  field  of  thought. 

In  short,  each  new  addition  to  our  information  requires  us  to 
widen  the  shelves  of  the  library  of  the  man  who  wrote  the  Plays. 

XVII.     Conclusions. 

When,   therefore,  we  institute  a   comparison   between   the   per- 
sonal character  and  mental  disposition  of   Francis  Bacon  and  that 
of  the  man  who  wrote  the  Plays,  we  find  that: 
i.  Both  were  poetical. 

2.  Both  were  philosophical. 

3.  Both  were  vastly  industrious. 

4.  Both  were  students. 

5.  Both  were  profoundly  wise. 

6.  Both  possessed  a  universal  grasp  of  knowledge. 

7.  Both  had  splendid  tastes. 

8.  Both  were  tolerant  of  religious  differences  of  opinion. 

9.  Both  were  benevolent. 

10.  Both  were  wits. 

11.  Both  were  possessed  of  great  aims  for  the  good  of  man. 

12.  Both  were  morally  admirable. 

I  cannot  better  conclude  this  chapter  than  with  a  comparison 
extracted  from  the  work  of  Mr.  William  Henry  Smith,  the  patri- 
arch of  the  Baconian  discussion  in  England.  Mr.  Smith  quotes 
Archbishop  Whately  as  follows: 

There  is  an  ingenious  and  philosophical  toy  called  "  a  thaumatrope,"  in  which 
two  objects  painted  on  opposite  sides  of  a  card — for  instance,  a  man  and  a  horse, 
a  bird  and  a  cage,  etc. — are,  by  a  quick  rotary  motion,  made  so  to  impress  the  eye 
in  combination  as  to  form  one  picture  —  of  the  man  on  the  horse's  back,  the  bird 
in  the  cage,  etc.  As  soon  as  the  card  is  allowed  to  remain  at  rest,  the  figures,  of 
course,  appear  as  they  really  are,  separate  and  on  opposite  sides.1 

Mr.  Smith  continues: 

Bacon  and  Shakespeare  we  know  to  be  distinct  individuals,  occupying  posi- 
tions as  opposite  as  the  man  and  the  horse,  the  bird  and  the  cage;  yet,  when  we 
come  to  agitate  the  question,  the  poet  appears  so  combined  with  the  philosopher, 
and  the  philosopher  with  the  poet,  we  cannot  but  believe  them  to  be  identical. 

1  Bacon  and  Shak.,  p.  89. 


CHAPTER    IX. 
/ D A'- VT1  TIE S   OF   STYL  E . 

I  replied.  "Nay,  Madam,  rack  him  not;  .   .   .  rack  his  Btylc" —  Bacon. 

WE  come  now  to  an  interesting  branch  of  our  subject,  to-wit: 
Is    there    any    resemblance    between    the    style   of    Francis 
Bacon  and  that  of  the  writer  of  the  Plays  ? 

I.     The  Genius  of  Shakespeark. 

And  first  let  us  ask  ourselves,  what  are  the  distinguishing  feat- 
ures of  the  writings  which  go  by  the  name  of  Shakespeare  ?  In 
other  words,  what  is  his  style? 

It  might  be  described  as  the  excess  of  every  great  faculty  of 
the  soul.  Reason,  the  widest  and  most  profound;  imagination,  the 
most  florid  and  tropical;  vivacity,  the  most  sprightly  and  untiring; 
passion,  the  most  burning  and  vehement;  feeling,  the  most  earnest 
and  intense. 

In  other  words,  it  is  a  human  intellect,  multiplied  many  hun- 
dred-fold beyond  the  natural  standard.  Behind  the  style  and  the 
works  we  see  the  man:  —  a  marvelous,  many-sided,  gigantic  soul;  a 
monster  among  thinkers;  —  standing  with  one  foot  upon  the  bare 
rocks  of  reason,  and  the  other  buried  ankle-deep  in  the  flowers  of 
the  imagination;  spanning  time  and  accomplishing  immortality. 

Behind  the  tremendous  works  is  a  tremendous  personality. 

Xot  from  a  weak  or  shallow  thought 
His  mighty  Jove  young  Phidias  wrought. 

His  was  a  ponderous,  comprehensive,  extraordinary  intelligence,, 
inflamed  as  never  man's  was,  before  or  since,  by  genius;  and  filled 
with  instincts  and  purposes  which  we  cannot  but  regard  as  divine. 
Every  part  of  his  mind  was  at  white  heat  —  \t  flamed.  He  has  left 
all  mankind  to  repeat  his  expressions,  because  never  before  did 
any  one  so  captivate  and  capture  words,  or  crush  them  into  sub- 
jection, as    he    did.     The  operations  of    his   mind  —  its    greed,  its 

spring,  its  grasp,  its  domination  —  were,  so  to  speak,  ferocious.     It 

481 


482  PARALLELISMS. 

is  no  wonder  that  his  body  showed  the  marks  of  premature  age;  it 
is  a  surprise  that  this  immense,  vehement  and  bounding  spirit  did 
not  tear  the  flesh  into  disorganization  long  before  his  allotted  time. 

And  yet,  high  aloft  in  the  charioteer's  seat,  above  the  plunging, 
rebellious,  furious  Passions,  sat  the  magnificent  Reason  of  the  man; 
curbing,  with  iron  muscles,  their  vehemence  into  measured  pace, 
their  motion  into  orderly  progression. 

Hear  what  the  great  Frenchman,  H.  A.  Taine,  says  of  Shake- 
speare: 

I  am  about  to  describe  an  extraordinary  species  of  mind,  perplexing  to  all  the 
French  modes  of  analysis  and  reasoning,  all-powerful,  excessive,  master  of  the 
sublime  as  well  as  of  the  base;  the  most  creative  mind  that  ever  engaged  in  the 
exact  copy  of  the  details  of  actual  existence,  in  the  dazzling  caprice  of  fancy,  in  the 
profound  complications  of  superhuman  passions;  a  nature  poetical,  immortal, 
inspired,  superior  to  reason  by  the  sudden  revelations  of  its  seer's  madness;  so 
extreme  in  joy  and  grief,  so  abrupt  of  gait,  so  agitated  and  impetuous  in  its  trans- 
ports, that  this  great  age  alone  could  have  cradled  such  a  child.1 

And,  speaking  of  the  imagination  of  the  great  poet,  Taine  says: 

Shakespeare  imagines  with  copiousness  and  excess;  he  scatters  metaphors 
profusely  over  all  he  writes;  every  instant  abstract  ideas  are  changed  into  images; 
it  is  a  series  of  paintings  which  is  unfolded  in  his  mind.2 

And  the  same  writer  says: 

This  exuberant  fecundity  intensifies  qualities  already  in  excess,  and  multiplies 
a  hundred-fold  the  luxuriance  of  metaphor,  the  incoherence  of  style,  and  the 
unbridled  vehemence  of  expression.3 

And  Richard  Grant  White  speaks  to  much  the  same  purpose: 

Akin  to  this  power  in  Shakespeare  is  that  of  pushing  hyperbole  to  the  verge 
of  absurdity;  of  mingling  heterogeneous  metaphors  and  similes  which,  coldly 
examined,  seem  discordant;  in  short,  of  apparently  setting  at  naught  the  rules  of 
rhetoric.4 

And  again  White  says: 

Never  did  intellectual  wealth  equal  in  degree  the  boundless  riches  of  Shake- 
speare's fancy.  He  compelled  all  nature  and  all  art,  all  that  God  had  revealed, 
and  all  that  man  had  discovered,  to  contribute  materials  to  enrich  his  style  and 
enforce  his  thought;  so  that  the  entire  range  of  human  knowledge  must  be  laid 
under  contribution  to  illustrate  his  writings.  This  inexhaustible  mine  of  fancy, 
furnishing  metaphor,  comparison,  illustration,  impersonation,  in  ceaseless  alterna- 
tion, often  intermingled,  so  that  the  one  cannot  be  severed  from  the  other,  .  .  . 
is  the  great  distinctive  intellectual  trait  of  Shakespeare's  style.  In  his  use  of 
simile,  imagery  and  impersonation  he  exhibits  a  power  to  which  that  of  any  other 

1  Taine's  History  of  English  L^iterature,  3  Ibid.,  p.  213. 

pp.  204  and  205.  4  Life  and  Genius  of  Shak.,  p.  229. 

2  Ibid.,  p.  211. 


IDENTITIES   OF   ST  VIE 


4*3 


poet  in  this  respect  cannot  be  compared,  even  in  the  way  of  derogation,  for  it  is  not 

only  superior  to  but  unlike  any  other.1 

When  we  turn  to  Bacon,  we  find  the  formal,  decorous,  world- 
respecting  side  of  the  man's  character.  Under  the  disguise  of  the 
player  of  Stratford  he  could  give  free  vent  to  all  the  passions  and 
enormities  of  his  soul.  In  the  first  capacity  he  was  a  philosopher, 
courtier  and  statesman;  in  the  latter  he  was  simply  a  poet  and 
play-writer.  In  the  one  he  was  forced  to  maintain  appearances 
before  court,  bar  and  society;  in  the  other,  behind  his  mask,  he 
was  utterly  irresponsible  and  could  turn  out  his  very  soul,  with 
none  to  question  him. 

Hence  we  must  look  for  the  characteristics  of  the  poet  in  a 
modified  form  in  those  of  the  philosopher.  He  is  "off  the  tripod."' 
But  even  then  we  shall  find  the  traces  of  the  constitution  of  the 
mind  which  distinguished  Shakespeare. 

I  have  just  cited  Taine's  description  of  Shakespeare;  let  us  see 
what  he  has  to  say  of  Bacon: 

In  this  band  of  scholars,  dreamers  and  inquirers,  appears  the  most  comprehen- 
sive, sensitive,  originative  of  the  minds  of  the  age,  Francis  Bacon;  a  great  and 
luminous  intellect,  one  of  the  finest  of  this  poetic  progeny,  who,  like  his  predecessors, 
was  naturally  disposed  to  clothe  his  ideas  in  the  most  splendid  dress:  in  this  age  a 
thought  did  not  seem  complete  until  it  had  assumed  form  and  color.  But  what 
distinguishes  him  from  the  others  is,  that  with  him  an  image  only  serves  to  con- 
centrate meditation.  He  reflected  long,  stamped  on  his  mind  all  the  parts  and 
relations  of  his  subject;  he  is  master  of  it,  and  then,  instead  of  exposing  this  com- 
plete idea  in  a  graduated  chain  of  reasoning,  he  embodies  it  in  a  comparison  so 
expressive,  exact,  lucid,  that  behind  the  figure  we  perceive  all  the  details  of  the 
idea,  like  liquor  in  a  fine  crystal  vase.1 

And  a  writer  in  the  Encyclop<.edia  Britannica,  speaking  of  Bacon, 

says: 

A  sentence  from  the  Essays  can  rarely  be  mistaken  for  the  production  of  any 
other  writer.     The  short,  pithy  sayings, 

Jewels,  five  words  long, 
That  on  the  stretched  forefinger  of  all  time 
Sparkle  forever, 

have  become  popular  mottoes  and  household  words.  The  style  is  quaint,  original, 
abounding  in  allusions  and  witticisms,  and  rich,  even  to  gorgeousness,  with  piled-up 
analogies  and  metaphors. 

Alexander  Smith  says  of  Bacon's  Essays: 

He  seems  to  have  written  his  Essays  with  the  pen  of  Shakespeare. 

1  Lift  and  Genius  of  Shak.,  p.  252.  2  Taine's  History  0/ English  Literature,  p.  153. 


484  PARALLELISMS. 

E.  P.  Whipple  says  of  them: 

They  combine  the  greatest  brevity  with  the  greatest  beauty  of  expression. 

A.  F.  Blaisdell  says: 

Notice,  also,  the  poetry  of  his  style.  So  far  as  is  known,  he  wrote  but  one 
poem,  but  all  his  literary  works  are  instinct  with  poetry \  in  the  wider  sense  of  the 
word.  Sometimes  it  is  seen  in  a  beautiful  simile  or  a  felicitous  phrase;  sometimes 
in  a  touch  of  pathos,  more  often  in  the  rhythmical  cadence  of  a  sentence  which 
clings  to  the  memory  as  only  poetry  can. 

Even  the  passion  and  vehemence  which  we  have  found  to  be  such 

distinguishing  traits  of  Shakespeare's  genius  are  found  in  Bacon. 

The  laborious,  but  incredulous,  Spedding  remarks: 

Bacon's  mind,  with  its  fullness  and  eagerness  of  thong/it,  was  at  all  times  apt  to 
outrun  his  powers  of  grammatical  expression,  but  also  of  the  history  of  the  English 
language,  then  gradually  finding  its  powers  and  settling,  but  not  settled,  into  form.1 

This  outrunning  the  powers  of  grammatical  expression  is  the 
very  trait  which  has  been  observed  in  Shakespeare;  —  as  when  he 
makes  Mark  Antony  say  of  the  wound  inflicted  upon  Caesar  by  the 
dagger  of  Brutus: 

This  was  the  most  unkindest  cut  of  all.2 

And  here  we  are  reminded  of  Bacon's  theory  that  the  English 
grammar  should  be  reorganized;  that  he  thought  of  making  a 
grammar  for  himself. 

And  Spedding  says  of  the  Natural  History,  a  most  dry  subject: 

The  addresses  to  the  reader  are  full  of  weighty  thought  and  passionate  elo- 
quence? 

But  there  was  one  man  who  knew  Francis  Bacon  better  than 
any  and  all  others  of  his  age;  that  was  his  " other  self,"  Sir  Tobie 
Matthew.  He  was  in  the  heart  of  all  Bacon's  secrets;  he  knew  just 
what  Bacon  had  written,  because  his  compositions  were  all  sub- 
mitted to  him  in  the  first  instance,  hot  from  the  mint  of  the 
author's  great  mind.  He  knew  Bacon's  acknowledged  writings, 
and  he  knew,  also,  those  "concealed"  writings  which  constituted 
him,  in  his  judgment,  "the  greatest  wit  of  our  country,  .  .  . 
though  he  be  known  by  another  name."  And  Sir  Tobie  was  a 
scholar  and  an  author,  and  an  eminently  conscientious  and 
righteous  man;  who  had  suffered  exile  from  his  native  land,  and 
had  sacrificed  all  the  victories  of  life  for  his  religious  convictions; 

1  Life  and  Works,  vol.  i,  p.  145.  3  Life  and  Works,  vol.  vii,  p.  381. 

^fulius  Ccesar,  iii,  2. 


IDENTITIES  OF  STYLE. 


485 


and  the  man  who  does  that,  whatever  may  be  his  creed  or  his 
dogmas,  is  worthy  of  all  praise  and  honor.  And  Sir  Tobie,  with 
all  this  knowledge  of  Bacon,  spoke  of  him,  long  after  his  death,  in 
terms  which  are  extravagant  if  applied  to  Bacon's  acknowledged 
writings,  but  which  fit  precisely  into  the  characteristics  of  the 
Shakespeare  Plays.     He  said: 

...  A  man  so  rare  in  knowledge,  of  so  many  several  kinds,  endued  with  the 
facility  and  felicity  of  expressing  it  all  in  so  elegant,  significant,  so  abundant,  and 
yet  so  choice  and  ravishing  a  way  of  words,  of  inelaphors,  of  allusions,  as  perhaps 
the  world  hath  not  seen  since  it  was  a  world.1 

II.     A  Startling   Revelation. 

And  even  as  this  book  is  being  printed,  a  writer  in  the  Chicago 
Tribune  calls  attention  to  the  surprising  fact  that  the  New  English  Dic- 
tionary, now  being  published  in  England,  on  a  magnificent  scale,  and 
in  which  is  given  the  time  when  and  the  place  where  each  English 
word  made  its  first  appearance,  proves  that  in  the  first  two  hundred 
pages  of  the  work  there  are  one  hundred  and  forty-six  words,  now  in 
common  use,  which  were  invented,  or  formed  out  of  the  rawT  mate- 
rial of  his  own  and  other  languages,  by  the  man  who  wrote  the 
Shakespeare  Plays.  And  the  writer  shows  that,  at  this  rate,  our 
total  indebtedness  to  the  man  we  call  Shakespeare,  for  additions 
to  the  vocabulary  of  the  English  tongue,  cannot  be  less  than  five 
thousand  words.      I  quote: 

Rome  owed  only  one  word  to  Julius  Caesar.  The  nature  of  our  debt  will  be 
more  apparent  if  we  examine  some  of  these  hundred  and  a  half  of  Shakespearean 
words,  all  so  near  the  beginning  of  the  alphabet  that  the  last  one  of  them  is  air. 
We  owe  the  poet  the  first  use  of  the  word  air  itself  in  one  of  its  senses  as  a  noun, 
and  in  three  as  a  verb  or  participle.  He  first  said  air-drawn  and  airless.  He 
added  a  new  signification  to  airy  and  aerial.  Nobody  before  him  had  written 
aired,  and  more  than  a  tithe  of  the  verbal  gifts  now  in  view  were  such  perfect 
participles.  Well-nigh  as  many  were  adverbs.  In  no  previous  writer  have  Dr. 
Murray's  argus  eyes  detected  accidentally,  nor  any  of  the  following:  Abjectly, 
acutely,  admiringly,  adoptedly,  adversely.  How  our  fathers  could  exist  so  long 
without  some  of  these  vocables  must  move  our  special  wonder.  To  absolutely, 
accordingly,  actively  and  affectionately  Shakespeare  added  a  new  sense.  It  is 
not  a  little  surprising  that  the  word  abreast  was  never  printed  before  the 
couplet: 

My  soul  shall  thine  keep  company  to  heaven: 
Tarry,  sweet  soul,  for  mine,  then  fly  abreast. 

Of  the  146  words  and  meanings  first  given  us  by  Shakespeare  at  least  two-thirds 
are  of  classical  origin.    .    .   .   The  strangest  thing  seems  to  be  that  so  few  of  Shake- 

'  Address  to  tin-  Reader,  prefixed  to  Collection  of  English  Letters,  1660. 


486  PARALLELISMS. 

speare's  innovations  —  not  so  much  as  one-fifth — have  become  obsolete.     He  gave 
them  not  only  life,  but  immortality. 

Is  anybody  shallow  enough  to  believe  that  the  play-actor  of 
Stratford — selling  malt  and  suing  his  neighbors — had  the  brain, 
the  capacity  or  the  purpose  to  thus  create  a  language  ? 

I  say  a  language,  for  it  is  to  be  remembered  that  the  ordi- 
nary peasant  or  navvy  of  England  has  but  about  three  hundred  words 
in  his  vocabulary.  And  here  was  one  man  who,  we  are  told,  added 
to  the  English  tongue  probably  seventeen  times  the  number  of  words 
used  by  the  inhabitants  of  Stratford  in  that  age. 

And  when  we  turn  to  Bacon's  Promus,  or  storehouse  of  sug- 
gestions for  elegancies  of  speech,  we  find  him  in  the  very  work  of 
manufacturing  words  to  enrich  the  English  tongue.  We  see  him,  in 
Promus  notes  12 14  and  12 15,  playing  on  the  words  "Abedd — ro(u)se 
you  —  owtbed":  and  then  we  find  him  developing  this  into  uprouse, 
a  word  never  seen  before  in  the  world;  and,  as  Mrs.  Pott  has  shown, 
this  reappears  in  the  play  of  Romeo  and  Juliet  in  connection  with 
golden  sleep  (which  is  also  found  in  the  Promus  notes1)  thus: 

But  where  unbruised  youth  with  unstuffed  brain 
Doth  couch  his  limbs,  there  golden  sleep  doth  reign: 
Therefore  thy  earliness  doth  me  assure 
Thou  art  uprotised  by  some  distemperature.2 

And,  close  at  hand,  in  these  Promus  notes,  we  find  the  word 
rome,  which  may  have  been  a  hint  jotted  down  for  the  name  of 
Romeo.  And  we  find  that  Bacon,  in  these  Promus  notes,  coined 
and  used  for  the  first  time  barajar  {ior  shuffle),  real,  brazed,  per  ad- 
venture, etc. 

In  other  words,  we  learn  now  that  the  writer  of  the  Plays  added 
five  thousand  new  words  to  the  English  language.  We  look  into 
Bacon's  work-shop  and  we  find  the  great  artist  at  work  manu- 
facturing words.  We  peep  into  the  kitchen  of  New  Place,  Strat- 
ford, and  we  see  the  occupant  brewing  beer  !     Who  wrote  the  plays  ? 

And  Bacon  notes  that  the  English  language  has  been  greatly 
enriched  during  Elizabeth's  reign  ! 

More  than  this,  Mrs.  Pott  has  shown  in  her  great  work3  that 
Bacon,  anxious  to  humanize  his  race  and  civilize  his  age,  created 
and  introduced   into  our  speech   those   pleasant   conventionalities 

1  Promus,  note  1207.  v  Romeo  and  Juliet,  ii,  3.  s  Promus,  p.  61. 


IDENTITIES  OE  STY  IK.  487 

and  sweet  courtesies  with  which  we  now  salute  each  other;  as 
"good-morrow,"  ''good-night,"  etc.;  and  that  he  is  found  jotting 
them  down  in  his  Promus  notes,  from  which  they  reappear  in  the 
Shakespeare  Plays,  for  the  first  time  in  English  literature.  And  all 
this  goes  to  confirm  my  view,  hereinbefore  expressed,  of  the  great 
purposes  which  lie  behind  the  Plays:  for  in  it  all,  with  the  creation 
of  the  five  thousand  new  words,  we  see  the  soul  of  the  philan- 
thropist, who,  "in  a  despised  weed,  had  procured  the  good  of  all 
men."  Mighty  soul !  We  are  but  beginning  to  catch  glimpses  of 
thy  vast  proportions !  Shame  on  the  purblind  ages  that  have 
failed  to  recognize  thy  light. 

And  in  connection  with  all  this  we  must  remember  Bacon's 
modest  remark,  that  during  the  reign  of  Elizabeth  the  powers  of 
the  English  language  had  been  vastly  increased. 

Why,  this  man  overshadows  the  world  !  He  has  not  only  revo- 
lutionized our  philosophy,  delighted  our  eyes,  enraptured  our  ears 
and  educated  our  hearts,  but  he  has  even  armed  our  tongues  with 
new  resources  and  fitted  our  English  speech  to  become,  as  it  will 
in  time,  the  universal  language  of  the  globe. 

III.     Other  Details  of  Style. 
The  great  Scotch  essayist,  Mackintosh,  said  of  Bacon: 

No  man  ever  united  a  more  poetical  style  to  a  less  poetical  philosophy.  One  great 
end  of  his  discipline  is  to  prevent  mysticism  and  fanaticism  from  obstructing  the 
pursuit  of  truth.  With  a  less  brilliant  fancy  he  would  have  had  a  mind  less  quali- 
fied for  philosophical  inquiry.  His  fancy  gave  him  that  power  of  illustrative  meta- 
phor, by  which  he  seemed  to  have  invented  again  the  part  of  language  which 
respects  philosophy;  and  it  rendered  new  truths  more  distinctly  visible  even  to  his 
own  eye,  in  their  bright  clothing  of  imagery., 

And,  again,  the  same  writer  says: 

But  that  in  which  he  most  excelled  all  other  men  was  the  range  and  compass 
of  his  intellectual  view,  and  the  power  of  contemplating  many  and  distant  objects 
together  without  indistinctness  or  confusion,  which  he  himself  has  called  the  "dis- 
cursive" or  "comprehensive"  understanding.  This  wide-ranging  intellect  was 
illuminated  by  the  brightest  fancy  that  ever  contented  itself  with  the  office  of  only  min- 
istering to  Reason:  and  from  this  singular  relation  of  the  two  grand  faculties  of  man 
it  has  resulted  that  his  philosophy,  though  illustrated  still  more  than  adorned  by 
the  utmost  splendor  of  imagery,  continues  still  subject  to  the  undivided  supremacy  of 
Intellect.  In  the  midst  of  all  the  prodigality  of  an  imagination  which,  had 
it  been  independent,  would  have  been  poetical,  his  opinions  remained  severely 
rational.2 

1  The  Modern  British  Essayists—  Mackintosh,  p.  18.  *  Ibid.,  p.  17. 


j  88  /J-  /  RA  LLELISMS. 

And,  on  the  other  hand,  as  matching  this  utterance,  Mr.  T.  B. 
Shaw  finds  in  both  Bacon  and  Shakespeare  the  same  combination 
of  reason  and  imagination.     He  says,  speaking  of  Bacon: 

In  his  style  there  is  the  same  quality  which  is  applauded  in  Shakespeare,  a  com- 
bination of  the  intellectual  and  the  imaginative,  the  closest  reasoning  in  the  boldest 
metaphor. 

And  Taine  says  of  Bacon: 

Like  the  poets,  he  peoples  nature  with  instincts  and  desires;  attributes  to  bodies 
an  actual  voracity;  to  the  atmosphere  a  thirst  for  light,  sounds,  odors,  vapors, 
which  it  drinks  in;  to  metals  a  sort  of  haste  to  be  incorporated  with  acids.1 

The  same  trait  of  impersonation  is  found  in  Shakespeare  car- 
ried to  the  greatest  excess.     The  echo  becomes 

The  babbling  gossip  of  the  air.2 

The  wind  becomes  "  the  wanton  wind;  "  "the  bawdy  wind,  that 

kisses  all  it  meets;  "  "the  scolding  wind;"  "the  posting  wind,"  etc. 

In  short,  every  quality  of  nature  becomes  a  living  individuality. 

He  puts  a  spirit  of  life  in  everything, 

Till  wanton  nature  laughs  and  leaps  with  him. 

IV.     Pleonasms. 

Speaking  of  the  affluence  and  superabundance  of  Shakespeare's 
genius,  Taine  says: 

These  vehement  expressions,  so  natural  in  their  upwelling,  instead  of  follow- 
ing one  after  the  other  slowly  and  with  effort,  are  hurled  out  by  hundreds  with  an 
impetuous  ease  and  abundance  like  the  bubbling  waves  from  a  welling  spring, 
which  are  heaped  together,  rise  one  above  another,  and  find  nowhere  room  enough 
to  spread  and  exhaust  themselves?  You  may  find  in  Romeo  and  Juliet  a  score  of 
examples  of  this  inexhaustible  inspiration.  The  two  lovers  pile  up  an  infinite 
mass  of  metaphors,  impassioned  exaggerations,  clenches,  contorted  phrases, 
amorous  extravagances.3 

This  trait  leads  in  both  writers  to  that  use  of  redundant  words 
known  in  rhetoric  as  pleonasm.  It  marks  a  trait  of  mind  which  can- 
not be  satisfied  with  a  bare  statement  of  fact,  but  in  its  prodigal 
richness  heaps  adjective  on  adjective  and  phrase  on  phrase. 

Take  this  instance  from  Bacon: 

Everything  has  been  abandoned  either  to  the  mists  of  tradition,  the  whirl  and 
confusion  of  argument,  or  the  waves  and  /nazes  of  chance,  and  desultory,  ill-com- 
bined experiments.4 

1  Taine's   History  of  English    Literature^  3Taine's  History  of  English  Literature, 

P-  155-  P-  2I3- 

2  Twelfth  Night,  i,  5.  *  Novum  Organum,  book  1. 


IDENTITIES   OF   STYLE.  489 

Again  he  says: 

Those  acts  which  axe.  permanent  and  perpetual? 

And  here  we  see  the  piling-on  of  adjectives  often  observed  in 

Shakespeare,  what  Swinburne  calls  "an  effusion  or  effervescence  of 

words  ": 

It  is  the  property  of  good  and  sound  knowledge  to  putrefy  and  dissolve  into  a 
number  of  subtle,  idle,  unwholesome,  and,  I  may  term  them,  vermiculate  questions.2 

And  again  he  speaks  of 

The  flowing  and  watery  vein  of  Osorius,  the  Portugal  bishop. 

And  again: 

Was  esteemed  and  accounted  a  more  pernicious  engine." 

All  things  dissolve  into  anarchy  and  confusion. 4 

The  emulation  and  provocation  of  their  example  have  much  quickened  and 
strengthened the  state  of  learning.5 

And  again: 

All  things  may  be  endowed  and  adorned  with  speeches,  but  knowledge  itself  is 
more  beautiful  than  any  apparel  of  words  that  can  be  put  upon  it.* 

We  turn  to   Shakespeare,  and  we  find    Grant  White  noting  the 

same  tendency.     He  says: 

Shakespeare  mingles  words  of  native  and  foreign  origin  which  are  synonymous 
so  closely  as  to  subject  him  to  the  charge  of  pleonasm;  ...  he  has,  for  instance, 
in  King  John,  "infinite  and  boundless  reach;"  in  Measure  for  Measure,  "rebate 
and  blunt  his  natural  edge  ;*'  and  in  Othello,  "to  such  exsujticate  and  blown  sur- 
mises." 7 

Let  me  give  some  further  examples  of  this  inherent  tendency  of 

Shakespeare  to  pour  words  in  superabundance  over  thoughts: 

I  am  one 
Whom  the  vile  blows  and  buffets  of  the  world 
Have  so  incensed.8 

Hugged and embraced by  the  strumpet  wind.11 

Into  the  harsh  and  boisterous  tongue  of  Avar.'" 

Of  hinds  and  peasants,  rude  and  merciless.™ 

That  it  may  grow  and  sprout  as  high  as  heaven.1*2 

Hath  given  them  heart  and  courage  to  proceed.13 

1  Advancement  of  Learnings  book  i.  •  Macbeth,  i:i,  1. 

a  Ibid.  9  Merchant  of  I  'enice,  ii,  6. 

3  Ibid .  '*  2d  Henry  II '. ,  i  v ,  i . 

4  Ibid.  ' '  2d  Henry  l'I.,  iv,  4. 
s  Ibid.  l**d Henry  IV.,  ii,  3. 
*;  In  Praise  of  Knowledge.  I3  2d  Henry  VI.,  iv,  4. 
7  Life  and  Genius  of  S/iak.,  p.  219. 


49° 


PARALLELISMS, 


Within  the  book  and  volume  of  my  brain.1  "*v^',^ '.'", 


If  that  rebellion 
Came  like  itself  in  base  and  abject  routs. "2 

To  fleer  and scorn  at  our  solemnity." 

As  broad  and  general  as  the  casing  air.4 

Luxurious,  avaricious,  false,  deceitful} 

What  trash  is  Rome, 
What  rubbish  and  70 hat  offal} 

Led  by  a  delicate  and  tender  prince.7 

Tortive  and  errant  from  his  course  of  growth.8 

Things  base  and  vile,  holding  no  quantity.9 

Hast  thou  so  cracked  and  splitted  my  poor  tongue.10 

And  I  will  stoop  and  humble  my  intents.11 

An  unlessoned  girl,  unschooled,  unpracticed.12 

Garnished  and  decked  in  modest  compliment.13 

Divert  and  crack,  rend  and  deracinate 
The  unity  and  married  calm  of  states 
Quite  from  their  fixture.14 

1  might  heap  up  many  more  examples  to  demonstrate  the  unity 
of  style  in  the  two  sets  of  writings  in  this  particular,  but  it  seems 
to  me  that  it  is  not  necessary.  I  will  close  this  branch  of  the  sub- 
ject with  a  quotation  from  Mark  Antony's  speech  over  the  dead 
body  of  Caesar: 

Oh,  pardon  me,  thou  bleeding  piece  of  earth, 
That  I  am  meek  and  gentle  with  these  butchers . 

Which  like  dumb  mouths  do  ope  their  ruby  lips, 
To  beg  the  voice  and  utterance  of  my  tongue  ! 
A  curse  shall  light  upon  the  limbs  of  men; 
Domestic  fury  and  fierce  civil  strife 
Shall  cumber  all  the  parts  of  Italy; 
Blood  and  destruction  shall  be  so  in  use.u 

1  Hamlet,  i,  5.  '•'  Midsummer  Nigh?*  Dream,  \%  i» 

2  2d  Henry  IV.,  iv,  i .  lfl  Comedy  of  Errors,  v,  1. 

3  Cymbeline,  i,  4.  n  2d  Henry  IV.,  v.  2. 

4  Macbeth,  iii,  4.  12  Merchant  of  Venice,  iii,  2. 
6  Ibid.,  iv,  3.  *  Henry  V.,  ii,  2. 

''Julius  Ccesar,  1,  3.  I4  Troilus  and  Cressida,  i,  3. 

''Hamlet,  iv,  4.  " Julius  Casar,  iii,  1. 

8  Troilus  and  Cresstda,  i,  3. 


IDEXTl  TIES   OF   STYLE. 


491 


It  is  no  wonder  that  the  precise  and  single-minded  Hume 
thought  that  both  Bacon  and  Shakespeare  showed 

A  want  of  simplicity  and  purity  of  diction,  with  defective  taste  and  elegance. 

Certainly  no  other  men  in  the  world  ever  wasted  such  an  afflu- 
ence of  words,  thoughts,  images  and  metaphors  in  their  writings. 

V.     Condensation  of  Style. 

Another  marked  feature  of  the  style  of  both  sets  of  writings  is 
their  marvelous  compactness  and  condensation.  Macaulay  says 
of  Bacon: 

He  had  a  wonderful  faculty  for  packing  thought  close  and  rendering  it  portable.1 
We  need  only  turn  to  Bacon's  Essays  to  find  ample  confirmation 
of  this  statement. 

Take  one  instance,  from  one  of  his  letters,  which  might  serve  to 
pass  into  a  proverb: 

A  timorous  man  is  everybody's,  and  a  covetous  man  is  his  own.'2 
Neither  is  it  necessary  to  use  any  argument  to  demonstrate  that 
Shakespeare  possessed  in  an  exceptional  degree  this  faculty  of  "  pack- 
ing thought  close  and  rendering  it  portable."     Take  an  example: 

Who  steals  my  purse  steals  trash; 

1  Twos  /nine,  'tis  his,  and  has  been  slave  to  thousands. 

Here  is  an  essay  stated  in  two  lines.     And  here  we  have  another: 

Let  the  end  try  the  man.3 
Again: 

Let  proof  speak.4 
Again : 

Things  won  are  done;  joy's  soul  lies  in  the  doing.5 

Take  this  instance: 

We  defy  augury;  there  is  a  special  providence  in  the  fall  of  a  sparrow.  If  it 
be  now,  'tis  not  to  come;  if  it  be  not  to  come,  it  will  be  now;  if  it  be  not  now,  yet 
it  will  come;  the  readiness  is  all.6 

It    requires    an    analytical    mind    to    follow    the    thought    here 

through  the  closely-packed  and  compressed  sentences. 

But  the  faculty  is  the  same  in  both.     Taine  says  of  Bacon: 

Shakespeare  and  the  seers  do  not  contain  more  vigorous  or  expressive  con- 
densations of  thought,  more  resembling  inspiration;  and  in  Bacon  they  are  to  be 
found  everywhere. : 

1  Essays  —  Bacon,  p.  285.  5  Troilus  and  Cressida,  \,  2. 

2  Letter  to  the  Lord  Keeper,  April  5,  1594.  *  Hamlet,  v,  2. 

3  2d  Henry  IV.,  ii,  2.  "'  History  of  English  Literature,  p.  154. 

4  Cytr.beline,  iii,  1. 


492 


PARALLELISMS. 


\\.     The  Tendency  to  Aphorisms, 


One  of  the  most  marked  characteristics  of  both  sets  of  writings 
is  the  tendency  to  rise  from  particulars  to  principles;  to  see  in  a 
mass  of  facts  simply  the  foundation  for  a  generalization;  to  indulge 
in  aphorisms. 

Taine  says  of  Bacon: 

On  the  whole,  his  process  is  not  that  of  the  creators:  it  is  intuition,  not  reason- 
ing. When  he  has  laid  up  his  store  of  facts,  the  greatest  possible,  on  some  vast 
subject,  on  some  entire  province  of  the  mind,  on  the  whole  anterior  philosophy, 
on  the  general  condition  of  the  sciences,  on  the  power  and  limits  of  human  reason, 
he  casts  over  all  this  a  comprehensive  view,  as  it  were,  a  great  net,  brings  up 
a  universal  idea,  condenses  his  idea  into  a  maxim,  and  hands  it  to  us  with  the  words, 
"Verify  and  profit  by  it."  .  .  .  Nothing  more;  no  proof,  no  effort  to  convince: 
he  affirms,  and  does  nothing  more;  he  has  thought  in  the  manner  of  artists  and 
poets,  and  he  speaks  after  the  manner  of  prophets  and  seers.  Cogitata  et  Visa,  this  title 
of  one  of  his  books  might  be  the  title  of  all.  The  most  admirable,  the  Novum 
Organum,  is  a  string  of  aphorisms — a  collection,  as  it  were,  of  scientific  decrees, 
as  of  an  oracle,  who  foresees  the  future  and  reveals  the  truth.  And  to  make  the 
resemblance  complete  he  expresses  them  by  poetical  figures,  by  enigmatic  abbrevi- 
ations, almost  in  Sibyllene  verses.  Idola  speeds,  Idola  tribus,  Idola  fori,  Idola 
theatri ;  every  one  will  recall  these  strange  names  by  which  he  signifies  the  four 
kinds  of  illusions  to  which  man  is  subject.1 

The  words  which  Taine  applies  to  Bacon's  Novum  Organum,  "  a 
string  of  aphorisms,"  might  with  equal  appropriateness  be  used  to 
describe  the  Shakespeare  Plays.  We  can  hardly  quote  from  them 
an  elevated  passage  which  does  not  enunciate  some  general  princi- 
ple. Hence  his  utterances  cling  to  the  tongues  of  men  like  prov- 
erbs. He  takes  a  mass  of  facts,  as  the  chemist  takes  the  crude 
bark  of  the  Peruvian  tree,  and  distills  out  of  it,  in  the  marvelous 
alembic  of  his  mind,  a  concentrated  essence,  which,  while  it  holds 
an  infinitesimal  relation  to  the  quantity  of  the  original  substance, 
yet  contains  all  its  essential  virtues. 

Let  me  give  a  few  instances  of  this  trait.     Shakespeare  says: 

His  rash,  fierce  blaze  of  riot  cannot  last, 

(i)  For  violent  fires  soon  burn  out  themselves; 

(2)  Small  showers  last  long,  but  sudden  storms  are  short; 

(3)  He  tires  betimes  that  spurs  too  fast  betimes; 

(4)  With  eager  feeding  food  doth  choke  the  feeder; 

(5)  Like  vanity,  insatiate  cormorant, 
Consuming  means,  soon  preys  upon  itself.'2 

One  would  scarcely  believe  that  these  five  aphorisms,  contained 

in  seven  lines,  stood  in  this  connected  order  in  the  play.      It  would 

1   Taine  s  History  of  English  Literature,  p.  154.  2  Richard  //.,  ii,  1. 


IDENTITIES   OF   STYLE.  493 

naturally  be  thought  that  they  had  been  selected  from  a  wide 
range.  The  tendency  to  form  generalizations  might  almost  be 
called  a  disease  of  style  in  both  writers. 

Shakespeare  can  hardly  touch  a  particular  fact  without  rising 
from  it  to  a  principle.     He  says: 

Take  up  this  mangled  matter  at  the  best; 
Men  do  their  broken  weapons  rather  use 
Than  their  bare  hands.1 


Again  : 

Again: 
Again: 

Again: 


(i)  Our  indiscretions  sometimes  serve  us  well, 
When  our  deep  plots  do  pall;  and  that  should  teach  us, 
(2)  There's  a  divinity  that  shapes  our  ends, 
Rough-hew  them  how  we  will.' 

Thev  sav  best  men  are  molded  out  of  faults.3 


(1)  The  evil  that  men  do  lives  after  them; 

(2)  The  good  is  oft  interred  with  their  bones.4 


(1)  Men's  evil  manners  live  in  brass;  (2)  their  virtues 
We  write  in  water.1 

This  last  sentence  reminds  one  of  Bacon's  u  but  limns  the  watet 

and  but  writes  in  dust." 
And  again: 

Thieves  for  their  robbery  have  authority 
When  judges  steal  themselves. 

We  turn  to  Bacon,  and  we  might  fill  pages  with  similar  aphor- 
isms.    Here  are  a  few  examples: 

Extreme  self-lovers  will  set  a  man's  house  afire  to  roast  their  own  eggs. 
The  best  part  of  beauty  is  that  which  a  picture  cannot  express. 

Riches  are  the  baggage  of  virtue;  they  cannot  be  spared  nor  left  behind,  but 
they  hinder  the  march. 

That  envy  is  most  malignant  which  is  like  Cain's,  who  envied  his  brother 
because  his  sacrifice  was  better  accepted  —  when  there  was  nobody  but  God  to 
look  on. 

Discretion  in  speech  is  more  than  eloquence. 

This  reminds  us  of  Shakespeare's  parallel  thought: 

The  better  part  of  valor  is  discretion. 

1  Othello,  i,  3.  3  Measure  for  Measure,  v,  i.  ''Henry  I'///.,  iv,  2. 

2  Havtlet,  v,  2.  *  Julius  Ccesar,  iii.     . 


494 


PARALLELISMS. 


And  again  Bacon  says: 

Fortune  is  like  a  market,  where,  many  times,  if  you  stay  a  little,  the  price  will 
fall. 

A  faculty  of  wise  interrogating  is  half  a  knowledge. 

Observe,  too,  how  Bacon,  like  Shakespeare,  always  reasons  by 

analogy  —  the  great  by  the  small,  the  mind  by  the  body.     He  says, 

speaking  of  natural  philosophy: 

Do  not  imagine  that  such  inquiries  question  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  or 
derogate  from  its  sovereignty  over  the  body.  The  infant  in  its  mother's  womb 
partakes  of  the  accidents  to  its  mother,  but  is  separable  in  due  season. 

What  a  thought  is  this  !  The  body  carries  the  soul  in  it  as  the 
mother's  womb  carries  the  child;  but  the  child  is  separable  at  birth 
and  becomes  a  distinct  entity  —  so  does  the  soul  at  death.  To  care 
for  the  mother  does  not  derogate  from  the  child;  justice  to  the 
conditions  of  the  body,  growing  out  of  knowledge,  cannot  be 
injurious  to  the  tenant   of  the  body,  or  detract  from  its   dignity. 

What  a  mind,  that  can  thus  pack  comprehensive  theories  in  a 
paragraph  ! 

VII.     The  Tendency  to  Triple  Forms. 

We  find  in  Bacon  a  disposition,  growing  out  of  his  sense  of 
harmony,  to  run  his  sentences  into  triplicate  forms,  and  we  will 
observe  the  same  characteristic  in  Shakespeare. 

Compare,  for  instance,  the  two  following  sentences.  I  mark 
the  triplicate  form  by  inserting  numbers. 

Shakespeare  says,  in  Maria's  letter  to  Malvolio: 

(i)  Some  are  born  great,  (2)  some  achieve  greatness,  and  (3)  some  have  great- 
ness thrust  upon  them.1 

Bacon  says,  in  his  essay  Of  Studies: 

(1)  Some  books  are  to  be  tasted,  (2)  others  are  to  be  swallowed,  (3)  and  some 
few  to  be  chewed  and  digested. 

Can  any  man  doubt  that  these  utterances  came  out  of  the  same 
mind?  There  is  the  same  condensation;  the  same  packing  of 
thought  into  close  space;  the  same  original  and  profound  way  of 
looking  into  things;  and  the  same  rhythmical  balance  into  triplicate 
forms. 

But,  lest  the  reader  may  think  that  I  have  selected  two  phrases 
accidentally  alike,  I  give  the  sentences  in  which  they  are  found. 

^Twelfth  Night,  ii,  5. 


IDENTITIES  OF  STYLE.  495 

Maria  says  to  Malvolio: 

Be  not  afraid  of  greatness,  (i)  Some  are  born  great,  (2)  some  achieve  great- 
ness, and  (3)  some  have  greatness  thrust  upon  them.  ...  (1)  Be  opposite  with  a 
kinsman,  surly  with  servants;  (2)  let  thy  tongue  tang  arguments  of  state;  (3)  put 
thyself  into  the  trick  of  singularity.  ...  If  not,  let  me  see  thee  (i)  a  steward  still, 
(2)  the  fellow  of  servants,  and  (3)  not  worthy  to  touch  Fortune's  fingers. 

And  here  is  a  larger  extract  from  Bacon's  essay  Of  Studies: 

Studies  serve  (1)  for  delight,  (2)  for  ornament,  and  (3)  for  ability.  .  .  .  (1)  To 
spend  too  much  time  in  them  is  sloth;  (2)  to  use  them  too  much  for  ornament  is 
affectation;  (3)  to  make  judgment  wholly  by  their  rules  is  the  humor  of  a  scholar. 
.  .  .  (1)  Crafty  men  contemn  them,  (2)  simple  men  admire  them,  (3)  and  wise 
men  use  them.  .  .  .  (1)  Read  not  to  contradict  and  confute,  (2)  nor  to  believe  and 
take  for  granted,  (3)  nor  to  find  talk  and  discourse;  but  to  weigh  and  consider.  (1) 
Some  books  are  to  be  tasted,  (2)  others  to  be  swallowed,  (3)  and  some  few  to  be 
chewed  and  digested.  .  .  .  (1)  Reading  maketh  a  full  man,  (2)  conference  a  ready 
man,  (3)  and  writing  an  exact  man.  And  therefore  (1)  if  a  man  write  little  he  had 
need  to  have  a  great  memory;  (2)  if  he  confer  little,  he  had  need  have  a  present 
wit;  (3)  and  if  he  read  little,  he  had  need  have  much  cunning,  to  seem  to  know  that 
he  doth  not.1 

We  find  this  triplicate  form  all  through   Bacon's  writings.     He 

says : 

He  can  disclose  and  bring  forward,  therefore,  things  which  neither  (1)  the 
vicissitudes  of  nature,  (2)  nor  the  industry  of  experiment,  (3)  nor  chance  itself 
would  ever  have  brought  about,  and  which  would  forever  have  escaped  man's 
thoughts.2 

And  again: 

What  is  (1)  constant,  (2)  eternal  and  (3)  universal  in  nature  ?s 

And  again: 

Every  interpretation  of  nature  sets  out  from  the  senses,  and  leads  by  a  (1) 
regular,  (2)  fixed  and  (3)  well-established  road.4 

And  again: 

Letters  are  good  (1)  when  a  man  would  draw  an  answer  by  letter  back  again; 
(2)  or  when  it  may  serve  for  a  man's  justification  afterward,  or  (3)  where  there  may 
be  danger  to  be  interrupted  or  heard  by  pieces.-' 

And  again: 

A  (1)  brief,  (2)  bare  and  (3)  simple  enumeration.'' 

And  again: 

Nature  is  (1)  often  hidden,  (2)  sometimes  overcome,  (3)  seldom  extinguished.'1 

And  again: 

The  (1)  crudities,  (2)  impurities  and  (3)  leprosities  of  metals.8 

5  Essay  Of  Studies.  4  Ibid.,  book  i.  7  Essay  Of  Nature  in  Men. 

*  Novum  Organum,  book  ii.  5  Essay  Of  Negotiating.  8  Natural  History,  %  326. 

3  Ibid.  fi  Novum  Organum,  book  i. 


496 


PARALLELISMS. 


And  again: 

Whether  it  be  (i)  honor,  or  (2)  riches,  or  (3)  delight,  or  (1)  glory,  or  (2)  knowl- 
edge, or  (3)  anything  else  which  they  seek  after.1 

And  again: 

To  (1)  assail,  (2)  sap,  and  (3)  work  into  the  constancy  of  Sir  Robert  Clifford.2 

We  turn  to  Shakespeare,  and  we  find  the  same  tendency.     How 

precisely   in    the   style   of   Bacon's   Essays  are   the  disquisitions  of 

Falstaff: 

Yea,  but  how  if  honor  prick  me  off  when  I  come  on;  how  then?  (1)  Can  honor 
set  a  leg?  No.  (2)  Or  an  arm?  No.  (3)  Or  take  away  the  grief  of  a  wound? 
No.  Honor  has  no  skill  in  surgery,  then?  No.  (1)  What  is  honor?  A  word. 
(2)  What  is  that  word?  Honor.  (3)  What  is  that  honor?  Air.  A  trim  reckoning. 
Who  hath  it?  He  that  died  Wednesday.  (1)  Doth  he  feel  it?  No.  (2)  Doth  he 
hear  it  ?  No.  (3)  Is  it  insensible,  then  ?  Yea,  to  the  dead.  But  will  it  not  live 
with  the  living?     No.      Detraction  will  not  suffer  it.3 

And,  speaking  of  the  effect  of  good  wine,  Falstaff  says: 

It  ascends  me  into  the  brain;  dries  me  there  all  the  (1)  foolish,  (2)  and  dull,  (3) 
and  crudy  vapors  which  environ  it:  makes  it  (1)  apprehensive,  (2)  quick,  (3)  for- 
getive;  full  of  (1)  nimble,  (2)  fiery  and  (3)  delectable  shapes.  .  .  .  The  cold  blood 
he  did  naturally  inherit  from  his  father,  he  hath,  like  (1)  lean,  (2)  sterile  and  (3)  bare 
land,  (1)  manured,  (2)  husbanded  and  (3)  tilled.4 

But  this  trait  is  not  confined  to  the  utterances  of  Falstaff,  We 
find  it  all  through  the  Plays.     Take  the  following  instances: 

For  I  have  neither  (1)  wit,  (2)  nor  words,  (3)  nor  worth, 

(1)  Action,  (2)  nor  utterance,  (3)  nor  the  power  of  speech, 
To  stir  men's  blood.5 

Again: 

(1)  Romans,  (2)  countrymen  and  (3)  lovers.  .  .  .  (1)  As  Caesar  loved  me,  I 
weep  for  him;  (2)  as  he  was  fortunate,  I  rejoice  at  it;  (3)  as  he  was  valiant,  I  honor 
him;  but,  as  he  was  ambitious,  I  slew  him.  .  .  .  (1)  Who  is  here  so  base  that 
would  be  a  bondman?  If  any,  speak;  for  him  have  I  offended.  (2)  Who  is  here  so 
rude  that  would  not  be  a  Roman?  If  any,  speak;  for  him  have  I  offended.  (3) 
Who  is  here  so  vile  that  will  not  love  his  country?  If  any,  speak;  for  him  have  I 
offended.     I  pause  for  a  reply.6 

Again: 

(1)  Thou  art  most  rich  being  poor; 

(2)  Most  choice,  forsaken;  (3)  and  most  loved,  despised.7 
Again: 

Alas,  poor  Romeo  !  he  is  already  dead;  (1)  stabbed  with  a  white  wench's  black 
eye;  (2)  shot  through  the  ear  with  a  love-song;  (3)  the  very  pin  of  his  heart  cleft 
with  the  blind  bow-boy's  butt-shaft.8 

1  Wisdom  of  the  Ancients  3  1st  Henry  II'.,  v,  1.  6  Ibid. 

—  Dionysins.  4  2d  Henry \  IV, %  iv,  3.  ""Lear,  i,  1. 

2 History  0/ Henry  I'll.  • Julius  Ctrsar,  iii,  /.,  8 Romeo  and Juliet,  ii,  4. 


IDENTITIES  OF  STYLE.  497 


Again 


Oh,  what  a  noble  mind  is  here  o'erthrown  ! 

(1)  The  courtier's,  (2)  soldier's,  (3)  scholar's  (1)  eye,  (2)  tongue,  (3)  sword. 

Again: 

I  am  myself  indifferent  honest:  but  yet  I  could  accuse  me  of  such  things,  that 
it  were  better  my  mother  had  not  borne  me:  I  am  very  (1)  proud,  (2)  revengeful, 
(3)  ambitious;  with  more  offenses  at  my  beck  than  I  have  (1)  thoughts  to  put  them 
in,  (2)  imagination  to  give  them  shape,  or  (3)  time  to  act  them  in.1 

Again: 

'Tis  slander, 
(1)  Whose  edge  is  sharper  than  the  sword;  (2)  whose  tongue 
Outvenoms  all  the  worms  of  Nile;  (3)  whose  breath 
Rides  on  the  posting  winds,  and  doth  belie 
All  corners  of  the  world:  (1)  kings,  (2)  queens  and  (3)  states, 
(1)  Maids,  (2)  matrons,  nay,  (3)  the  secrets  of  the  grave, 
This  viperous  slander  enters.2 

Again: 

This  peace  is  nothing  but  (1)  to  rust  iron,  (2)  increase  tailors  and  (3)  breed 
ballad-makers.3 

Again: 

Live  loathed  and  long, 
Most  (1)  smiling,  (2)  smooth,  (3)  detested  parasites, 
(1)  Courteous  destroyers,  (2)  affable  wolves,  (3)  meek  bears, 
(1)  You  fools  of  fortune,  (2)  trencher  fiends,  (3)  time's  flies, 
(1)  Cap-and-knee  slaves,  (2)  vapors,  and  (3)  minute  jacks.4 

Again : 

Must  I  needs  forego 
(1)  So  good,  (2)  so  noble  and  (3)  so  true  a  master.8 

And  again  : 

(1)  Her  father  loved  me;  (2)  oft  invited  me; 

(3)  Still  questioned  me  the  story  of  my  life, 

From  year  to  year;  the  (1)  battles,  (2)  sieges,  (3)  fortunes 

That  I  have  passed.6 

Again  : 

It  would  be  (1)  argument  for  a  week,  (2)  laughter  for  a  month,  and  (3)  a  good 
jest  forever.7 

Again: 

(1)  Wooing,  (2)  wedding  and  (3)  repenting  are  as  (1)  a  Scotch  jig,  (2)  a  measure, 
and  (3)  a  cinque  pace:  (1)  the  first  suit  is  hot  and  hasty,  like  a  Scotch  jig,  and  full 
as  fantastical;  (2)  the  wedding  mannerly,  modest,  as  a  measure  full  of  state  and 
ancientry;  and  (3)  then  comes  repentance,  and,  with  his  bad  legs,  falls  into  the 
cinque  pace  faster  and  faster,  until  he  sinks  into  his  grave.8 

1  Hamlet*  iii,  1.  4  Titus  Adronicus,  ii,  6.  7  ist  Henry  IK,  ii,  2. 

2  Cymbeline,  iii,  4.  6 Henry  VIII.,  ii,  2.  8  Much  Ado  about  Nothing,  iii,  1. 

3  Coriolanus,  iv,  5.  6  Othello*  i,  3. 


49*S  PARALLELISMS. 

Again: 


Oh,  that  I  were  a  god,  to  shoot  forth  thunder 
Upon  these  (i)  paltry,  (2)  servile,  (3)  abject  drudges.1 

Not  only,  Mistress  Ford,  in  the  simple  office  of  love,  but  in  all  (1)  accoutrement, 
(2)  complement  (3)  and  ceremony  of  it.2 


Again; 

Not  onl; 
:omplem 

Again : 


How  could  (1)  communities, 
(2)  Degrees  in  schools  and  (3)  brotherhood  in  cities, 

(1)  Peaceful  commerce  from  divided  shores, 

(2)  The  primogeniture  and  due  of  birth, 

(3)  Prerogative  of  age,  (1)  crowns,  (2)  scepters,  (3)  laurels, 
But  by  degree,  stand  in  authentic  place?3 

Again: 

But  (1)  manhood  is  melted  into  courtesies,  (2)  valor  into  compliment,  and  (3) 
men  are  turned  into  tongues,  and  trim  ones,  too.4 


Again: 
Again: 

Again: 

Again: 

Again: 
Again: 


For  she  is  (1)  lumpish,  (2)  heavy,  (3)  melancholy. 


Say  that  upon  the  altar  of  her  beauty 

You  sacrifice  (1)  your  tears,  (2)  your  sighs,  (3)  your  heart.6 

Had  I  power  I  should 

(1)  Pour  the  sweet  milk  of  concord  into  hell, 

(2)  Uproar  the  universal  peace,  (3)  confound 
All  unity  on  earth.1 

To  be  directed 
As  from  her  (1)  lord,  (2)  her  governor,  (3)  her  king/ 


To  wound  (1)  thy  lord,  (2)  thy  king,  (3)  thy  governor. 


Is  fit  for  (1)  treasons,  (2)  stratagems  and  (3)  spoils.10 
I  might  continue  these  examples  at  much  greater  length,  but  I 
think  I  have  given  enough  to  prove  that  both  Bacon  and  the  writer 
of  the  Plays  possessed,  as  a  characteristic  of  style,  a  tendency  to 
balance  their  sentences  in  triplicate  forms.  This  trait  grew  out  of 
the  sense  of  harmony  in  the  ear;  it  was  an  unconscious  arrange- 
ment of  thoughts  in  obedience  to  a  peculiar  inward  instinct,  and  it 
goes  far  to  establish  identity. 

1  2d  Henry  VI.,  iv,  1.  6  Ibid. 

-  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  iv,  2.  7  Macbeth,  iv,  3. 

3  Troilus  and  Cressida,  i,  3.  8  Merchant  0/  Venice,  iii,  2. 

4  Much  Ado  about  Nothing,  iv,  t.  9  Taming  0/  the  Shrew,  v,  2. 
8  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  iii,  2.  l0  Merchant  of  Venice,  v,  1. 


**§/<*.  IDENTITIES   OF   STYLE.  499 

^^H^^^^  VIII.     Catalogues  of  Words. 

The  man  who  thinks  in  concrete  forms  solidifies  words  into 
ideas.  He  who  has  trained  himself  to  observe  as  a  natural  philoso- 
pher, builds  in  numerical  order  bases  for  his  thought.  He  erects 
the  poem  on  a  foundation  of  facts.  He  collects  materials  before 
he  builds. 

This  trait  is  very  marked  in  Bacon.  He  was  the  most  observant 
of  men.  No  point  or  fact  escaped  him.  Hence  he  runs  to  the 
habit  of  stringing  together  catalogues  of  words. 

For  instance,  he  says  in  The  Experimental  History: 

There  are  doubtless  in  Europe  many  capable,  free,  sublimed,  subtile,  solid, 
constant  wits. 

Again  he  speaks  of 

Servile,  blind,  dull,  vague  and  abrupt  experiments.1 

Again  he  says: 

Let  anti-masques  not  be  long;  they  have  been  commonly  of  fools,  satyrs 
baboons,  wild  men,  antics,  beasts,  spirits,  witches,  Ethiopes,  pigmies,  turquets, 
nymphs,  rustics,  cupids,  statues  moving,  and  the  like.8 

Bacon  also  says: 

Such  are  gold  in  weight,  iron  in  hardness,  the  whale  in  size,  the  dog  in  smell, 
the  flame  of  gunpowder  in  rapid  expansion,  and  others  of  like  nature.3 

We  turn  to  Lear,  and  we  hear  the  same  voice  speaking  of 

False  of  heart,  light  of  ear,  bloody  of  hand;  hog  in  sloth,  fox  in  stealth,  wolf  in 
greediness,  dog  in  madness,  lion  in  prey.4 

Again  Shakespeare  says: 

As  honor,  love,  obedience,  troops  of  friends.5 

And  here  is  another  instance  of  the  tendency  to  make  catalogues 

of  words: 

Beauty,  wit, 
High  birth,  vigor  of  bone,  desert  in  service, 
Love,  friendship,  charity,  are  subjects  all 
To  envious  and  calumniating  time.6 

Again  we  have,  in  the  same  play  —  the  most  philosophical  of 
all  the  Plays  —  these  lines: 

All  our  abilities,  gifts,  natures,  shapes, 
Severals  and  generals  of  grace  exact, 
Achievements,  plots,  orders,  preventions. 
Excitements  to  the  field,  or  speech  for  truce. 

1  Great  histauration.  3  Novum  Orguuum,  book  ii.  5  Macbeth ,  v,  2. 

-  Essay  Of  Masks.  4  Lear,  iii,  4.  8  Troilns  and  Cressida,  iii,  3. 


5  oo  PA  RA  LL  ELI  SMS. 

Success  or  loss,  what  is,  or  what  is  not,  serves 
As  stuff  for  these  two  to  make  paradoxes.1 

And  in  the  famous  description  of  the  horse,  in  Venus  and  Adonis, 
we  see  the  same  closely-observing  eye  of  the  naturalist: 

Round-hoofed,  short- jointed,  fetlocks  shag  and  long. 
Broad  breast,  full  eye,  small  head,  and  nostril  wide, 

High  crest,  short  ears,  straight  legs  and  passing  strong, 
Thin  mane,  thick  tail,  broad  buttock,  tender  hide. 

Prof.  Dowden  says: 

This  passage  has  been  much  admired;  but  is  it  poetry  or  a  paragraph  from  an 
advertisement  of  a  horse-sale  ?' 

And  here,  in  a  more  poetical  passage,  we  observe  the  same  ten- 
dency to  the  enumeration  of  facts: 

My  hounds  are  bred  out  of  the  Spartan  kind, 
So  fiew'd,  so  sanded,  and  their  heads  are  hung 
With  ears  that  sweep  away  the  morning  dew; 
Crook-kneed  and  dew-lapped,  like  Thessalian  bulls; 
Slow  in  pursuit,  but  matched  in  mouth-like  bells, 
Each  under  each.3 

And   in  the  same  vein   of   close    and    accurate    observation   of 

details,  "the  contracting  of  the  eye  of  the  mind,"  as  Bacon  calls  it, 

is  the  following  description  of  a  murdered  man: 

But  see,  his  face  is  black  and  full  of  blood; 

His  eye-balls  further  out  than  when  he  lived, 

Staring  full-ghastly  like  a  strangled  man; 

His  hair  upreared,  his  nostrils  stretched  with  struggling; 

His  hands  abroad  displayed,  as  one  that  grasped 

And  tugged  for  life,  and  was  by  strength  subdued. 

Look,  on  the  sheets  his  hair,  you  see,  is  sticking; 

His  well-proportioned  beard  made  rough  and  rugged, 

Like  to  the  summer's  corn  by  tempests  lodged.4 

IX.     The  Euphonic  Test. 

Tn  Mr.  Wilkes'  book,  Shakespeare  from  an  American  Point  of  View, 

there  is  contained  an  essay  (p.  430)  by  Professor  J.  W.  Taverner,  of 

New  York,  in  which  he  attempts  to  show  that  Bacon  could  not 

have  written  the  Shakespeare  Plays,  because  of  the  Euphonic  Test. 

And  yet  he  says: 

Upon  examination  of  the  limited  poetry  which  we  have  from  the  pen  of  Bacon, 
I  find  nothing  to  criticise.  Like  unto  Shakespeare,  he  takes  good  note  of  any 
deficiency  of  syllabic  pulsation,  and  imparts  the  value-  of  but  one  syllable  to  the 

1  Troilus  and  Cressida,  i,  3.  3  Midsummer  Nigkfs  Dream,  iv,  '. 

"  ^hak.  Mind  and  A  ri,  p.  45.  *  2d  Henry  1 '/.,  iii,  2. 


IDENTITIES   OF  STYLE.  50I 

dissyllables  heaven,  wearest,  many,  even,  goeth;  and  to  glittering  and  chariot  but  the 
value  of  two,  precisely  as  Shakespeare  would. 

But  he  tries  to  show  that  Bacon  could  not  have  written  the 
Plays  because  it  was  his  custom  to  run  his  sentences,  as  I  have 
shown,  into  triplets.      He  says: 

Bacon,  in  this  feature  of  the  rhythmical  adjustment  of  clauses,  attaches  to 
those  sentences  of  his  which  are  composed  of  triple  clauses  of  equal  dimensions,  and 
which  possess  such  regularity  which  he  never  seeks  to  disturb,  etc. 

And  he  gives  in  addition  to  the  instances  I  have  quoted  from 
Bacon  the  following,  among  others: 

A  man  cannot  speak  (i)  to  his  son  but  as  a  father,  (2)  to  his  wife  but  as  a  hus- 
band, and  (3)  to  his  enemy  but  upon  terms. 

Judges  ought  to  be  (1)  more  learned  than  witty,  (2)  more  reverent  than  plausi- 
ble, and  (3)  more  advised  than  confident. 

And  he  argues  that  Shakespeare 

Does  not  object  to  four  or  more  clauses,  but  he  does  to  three. 

And  therefore  Bacon  did  not  write  the  Plays.  Such  arguments 
are  fully  answered  by  the  pages  of  examples  I  have  just  given  from 
the  Shakespeare  Plays,  showing  that  the  poet  is  even  more  prone 
to  fall  into  the  triple  form  of  expression  than  Bacon  —  more  prone, 
because  there  is  more  tendency  to  harmonious  and  balanced  ex- 
pressions in  poetry  than  in  prose. 

But  the  Professor  admits  that  there  "is  a  kind  of  melody  of 
speech  that  belongs  to  Bacon,"  and  that  his  ear  is  exact,  "and 
counts  its  seconds  like  the  pendulum  of  a  clock." 

In  truth,  if  any  man  would  take  the  pains  to  print  the  prose 
disquisitions  and  monologues  of  Shakespeare,  intermixed  with 
extracts  from  as  nearly  similar  productions  of  Bacon  as  may  be, 
the  ordinary  reader  would  scarcely  be  able  to  tell  which  was  which.. 

If  such  a  reader  was  handed  this  passage,  and  asked  to  name 
the  author,  I  think  the  probabilities  are  great  that  he  would  say  it 
was  from  the  pen  of  Francis  Bacon: 

Novelty  is  only  in  request;  and  it  is  dangerous  to  be  aged  in  any  kind  of 
course,  as  it  is  virtuous  to  be  constant  in  any  undertaking.  There  is  scarce  truth 
enough  alive  to  make  societies  secure,  but  security  enough  to  make  fellowship 
accursed:  much  upon  this  riddle  runs  the  wisdom  of  the  world. 

We  have  here  the  same  condensed,  pithy  sentences  which  mark 
the  great  philosopher,  together  with  the  same  antithetical  way  of 
balancing  thought  against  thought. 


5  o  2  PA  RA  L  LEL  ISMS. 

Yet  this  is  from  Shakespeare.  It  will  be  found  in  Measure  for 
Measure. ' 

And  we  can  conceive  that  the  following  passage  might  have 

been  written  by  Shakespeare  —  the  very  extravagance  of  hyperbole 

sounds  like  him: 

Contrary  is  it  with  hypocrites  and  impostors,  for  they,  in  the  church  and  before 
the  people,  set  themselves  on  fire,  and  are  carried,  as  it  were,  out  of  themselves,  and, 
becoming  as  men  inspired  with  holy  furies,  they  set  heaven  and  earth  together. } 

There  is  not  a  great  stride  from  this  to  the  poet's  eye  in  a  fine 
phrensy  rolling  from  earth  to  heaven,  from  heaven  to  earth;  and 
the  madman  seeing  more  devils  than  vast  hell  could  hold. 

In  short,  the  resemblance  between  the  two  bodies  of  compo- 
sitions is  as  close  as  could  be  reasonably  expected,  where  one  is 
almost  exclusively  prose,  and  the  greatness  of  the  other  consists  in 
the  elevated  flights  of  poetry.  In  the  one  case  it  is  the  lammer- 
geyer  sitting  among  the  stones;  in  the  other  it  is  the  great  bird 
balanced  on  majestic  pinions  in  the  blue  vault  of  heaven,  far  above 
the  mountain-top  and  the  emulous  shafts  of  man. 

'Act,  iii,  scene  2.  *Meditationet  Sacra' — Of  Impostors. 


HP- 


BOOK  II. 


THE  DEMONSTRATION 

"Come  hither,  Jpirit, 
Jet  Caliban  ass  hi/  Compsjiionr  free: 
Untie  the  Jpell" 

Tempejt,  V,L 


PART  !. 

THE  CIPHER  IN  THE  PLAYS. 

CHAPTER  I. 

HOW  I  CAME   TO  LOOK  FOR  A   CIPHER. 

I  will  a  round,  unvarnished  tale  deliver. 

Othello,  /,.,•. 

I  HAVE  given,  in  the  foregoing  pages,  something  of  the  reason- 
ing—  and  yet  but  a  little  part  of  it  —  which  led  me  up  to  the  con- 
clusion that  Francis  Bacon  was  the  author  of  the  so-called  Shake- 
speare Plays. 

But  one  consideration  greatly  troubled  me,  to-wit:  Would  the 
writer  of  such  immortal  works  sever  them  from  himself  and  cast 
them  off  forever  ? 

All  the  world  knows  that  the  parental  instinct  attaches  as 
strongly  to  the  productions  of  the  mind  as  to  the  productions  of  the 
body.  An  author  glories  in  his  books,  even  as  much  as  he  does 
in  his  children.  The  writer  of  the  Plays  realized  this  fact,  for  he 
speaks  in  one  of  the  sonnets  of  "  these  children  of  the  brain:''  They 
were  the  offspring  of  the  better  part  of  him. 

But,  it  may  be  urged,  he  did  not  know  the  value  of  them. 

This  is  not  the  fact.  He  understood  their  merits  better  than  all 
the  men  of  his  age;  for,  while  they  were  complimenting  him  on  "his 
facetious  grace  in  writing,"  he  foresaw  that  these  compositions 
would  endure  while  civilized  humanity  occupied  the  globe.  The 
sonnets  show  this.     In  sonnet  cvii  he  says: 

My  love  looks  fresh,  and  Death  to  me  subscribes, 
Since  spite  of  him  I'll  live  in  this  poor  rhyme, 

While  he  insults  o'er  dull  and  speechless  tribes  : 
And  thou  in  this  shalt  find  thy  monument, 
When  tyrants'  crests  and  tombs  of  brass  are  spent. 

And  in  sonnet  lxxxi  he  says: 

:>°5 


506  THE    CIPHER   JX    THE  PLA  VS. 

The  earth  can'  yield  me  but  a  common  grave, 
When  you  entombed  in  men's  eyes  shall  lie. 
Your  monument  shall  be  my  gentle  verse, 

Which  eyes  not  yet  created  shall  o'er-read; 
And  tongues  to  be  your  being  shall  rehearse, 
When  all  the  breathers  of  this  world  are  dead; 
You  still  shall  live  (such  virtue  hath  my  pen), 
WThere  breath  most  breathes,  even  in  the  mouths  of  men. 

And  in  sonnet  lv  he  says: 

Not  marble,  not  the  gilded  monuments 

Of  princes,  shall  outlive  this  powerful  rhyme; 
But  you  shall  shine  more  bright  in  these  contents 

Than  unswept  stone  besmeared  with  sluttish  time. 

Gainst  death  and  all-oblivious  enmity, 

Shall  you  pace  forth;  your  praise  shall  still  find  room 
Even  in  the  eyes  of  all  posterity, 
That  wear  this  world  out  to  the  ending  doom. 
So,  till  the  judgment  that  yourself  arise, 
You  live  in  this,  and  dwell  in  lovers'  eyes. 

There  was,  as  it  seems  to  me,  no  doubt:  i.  That  Bacon  wrote 
the  Plays;  2.  That  he  loved  them  as  the  children  of  his  brain;  3. 
That  he  estimated  them  at  their  full  great  value. 

The  question  then  arose,  How  was  it  possible  that  he  would  dis- 
own them  with  no  hope  or  purpose  of  ever  reclaiming  them  ?  How 
could  he  consent  that  the  immortal  honors  which  belonged  to  him- 
self should  be  heaped  upon  an  unworthy  impostor?  How  could  he 
divest  Bacon  of  this  great  world-outliving  glory  to  give  it  to 
Shakspere  ? 

This  thought  recurred  to  me  constantly,  and  greatly  perplexed 
me. 

One  day  1  chanced  to  open  a  book,  belonging  to  one  of  my  chil- 
dren, called  Every  Boy's  Book,  published  in  London,  by  George 
Routledge  &  Sons,  1868;  a  very  complete  and  interesting  work  of 
its  kind,  containing  over  eight  hundred  pages.  On  page  674  I 
found  a  chapter  devoted  to  "  Cryptography,"  or  cipher-writing,  and 
in  it  I  chanced  upon  this  sentence: 

The  most  famous  and  complex  cipher  perhaps  ever  written  was  by  Lord  Bacon. 
It  was  arranged  in  the  following  manner: 

aaaaa  stands  for  a.  abaaa  stands  for  i  and  j.  baaaa  stands  for  r. 


aaaab  ' ' 

"  b. 

abaab  ' ' 

"  k. 

baaab 

"  s. 

aaaba  ' ' 

c. 

ababa  ' ' 

"  1. 

baaba  ' ' 

"  t. 

aaabb  ' ' 

"  d. 

ababb  " 

"  m. 

baabb  ' ' 

"  u  and  v. 

HOW  I  CAME    TO  LOOK  FOR   A    CIPHER.  507 

aabaa  stands  for  e.  abbaa  stands  for  n.  babaa  stands  for  w. 

aabab     "  "    f.  abbab     "  "     o.  babab     "  "     x. 

aabba     "         "    g.  abbba     "         "     p.  babba     "         "    y. 

aabbb     "         "    h.  abbbb     "         "     q.  babbb     "         "    z. 

Now  suppose  you  want  to  inform  some  one  that  "All  is  well."    First  place 
down  the  letters  separately  according  to  the  above  alphabet: 

aaaaa     ababa    ababa     abaaa     baaab     babaa     aabaa     ababa     ababa 
Then  take  a  sentence  five  times  the  length  in  letters  of  "  All  is  well  "  —  say  it 
is,  "  We  were  sorry  to  have  heard  that  you  have  been  so  unwell." 
Then  fit  this  sentence  to  the  cipher  above,  like  this: 

aaaaaababaababaabaaabaaabbabaaaabaaababaababa 
we  were  so  rrytofiav  <'hea/d  t  h^y^uhav  <?bee«sounwe/l 

Marking  with  a  dash  every  letter  that  comes  under  a  b.  Then  put  the  sen- 
tence down  on  your  paper,  printing  all  marked  letters  in  italics  and  the  others  in 
the  ordinary  way,  thus: 

We  were  sorry  to  /mve  hea;d  that  you  haw  been  so  unwell. 
The  person  who  receives  the  cipher  puts  it  down  and  writes  an  a  under  ever) 
letter  except  those  in  italics:  these  he  puts  a  b  under;  he  then  divides  the  cipher 
obtained  into  periods  of  five  letters,  looks  at  his  alphabet,  and  finds  the  meaning  to 
be:  "  All  is  well." 

And  on  page  681  of  the  same  chapter  I  found  another  allusion 

to  Bacon: 

Most  of  the  examples  given  will  only  enable  one  to  decipher  the  most  simple 
kind,  such  as  are  generally  found  in  magazines,  etc.;  for  if  that  intricate  cipher  of 
Lord  Bacon's  were  put  in  a  book  for  boys  it  would  be  a  waste  of  paper,  as  we  will 
venture  to  say  that  not  one  in  a  thousand  would  be  able  to  find  it  out. 

Here  was  indeed  a  pregnant  association  of  ideas: 

1.  Lord  Bacon  wrote  the  Plays. 

2.  Lord  Bacon  loved  them;  and  could   not  desire   to   dissociate 

himself  from  them. 

3.  Lord  Bacon  knew  their  inestimable  greatness;  and 

4.  Lord    Bacon    dealt    in    ciphers;     he     invented     ciphers,    and 

ciphers  of  exquisite  subtlety  and  cunning. 
Then  followed,  like  a  flash,  this  thought: 

5.  Could  Lord  Bacon  have  put  a  cipher  in  the  Plays? 

The  first  thing  to  do  was  to  see  what  Lord  Bacon  had  said  on 
the  subject  of  ciphers.  I  remembered  that  Basil  Montagu  in  his 
Life  of  Bacon  had   said,  speaking  of  his  youth  and  before  he  came 

of  age: 

After  the  appointment  of  Sir  Amias  Paulett's  successor,  Bacon  traveled  into 
the  French  provinces  and  spent  some  time  at  Poictiers.  He  prepared  a  work  upon, 
ciphers,  which  he  afterward  published.1 

1   Works  of  Lord  Bacon,  vol.  i. 


5o8  THE    CIPHER  IN   THE  PLA  VS. 

I  turned  to  the  De  Augment's,  and  there  I  found  what  is  practi- 
cally an  essay  on  ciphers.  The  statement  of  Montagu  is  some- 
what of  an  error,  for  no  separate  essay  was  ever  published  by 
Bacon  on  that  subject. 

Bacon   says: 

As  for  writing,  it  is  to  be  performed  either  by  the  common  alphabet  (which  is 
used  by  everybody)  or  by  a  secret  and  private  one,  agreed  upon  by  particular  per- 
sons, which  they  call  ciphers.1 

Now  I  had  noted  that,  in  his  letters  to  Sir  Tobie  Matthew,  he 
spoke  of  certain  writings  as  the  works  of  the  alphabet.  The  reader 
will  observe  how  often  in  this  essay  the  word  alphabet  is  used  in 
connection  with  cipher-writing.  In  the  sentence  just  quoted  he 
tells  us  that  writing  may  be  performed  in  a  secret  and  private 
alphabet  "which  they  call  ciphers'*  Was  the  reverse  true?  Could 
cipher-writings  be  called  "  works  of  the  alphabet "  ?  There  is  some- 
thing very  mysterious  about  these  "works  of  his  recreation  " — these 
"works  of  the  alphabet" — which  no  one  was  to  be  "allowed  to 
copy." 

Bacon  continues: 

Let  us  proceed,  then,  to  ciphers.  Of  these  there  are  many  kinds  :  simple 
ciphers,  ciphers  mixed  with  non-significant  characters,  ciphers  containing  two  differ- 
ent letters  in  one  character,  wheel  ciphers,  key  ciphers,  word  ciphers,  and  the  like. 
But  the  virtues  required  in  them  are  three  :  that  they  be  easy  and  not  laborious  to 
write;  that  they  be  safe  and  be  impossible  to  be  deciphered,  and  lastly,  that  they 
be,  if  possible,  stick  as  not  to  raise  suspicion.  For  if  letters  fall  into  the  hands  of 
those  who  have  power  either  over  the  writers  or  over  those  to  whom  they  are 
addressed,  although  the  cipher  itself  may  be  safe  and  impossible  to  decipher,  yet 
the  matter  comes  under  examination  and  question,  unless  the  cipher  be  such  as 
either  to  raise  no  suspicion  or  to  elude  inquiry.  Now  for  this  elusion  of  inquiry, 
there  is  a  new  and  useful  contrivance  for  it,  which,  as  I  have  it  by  me,  why  should  I  set 
it  down  among  the  desiderata,  instead  of  propounding  the  thing  itself?  It  is  this  : 
Let  a  man  have  two  alphabets,  one  of  true  letters,  the  other  of  non-significants; 
and  let  him  infold  in  them  two  letters  at  once,  one  carrying  the  secret,  the  other 
such  a  letter  as  the  writer  would  have  been  likely  to  send,  and  yet  without  anything 
dangerous.  Then  if  any  one  be  strictly  examined  as  to  the  cipher  let  him  offer 
the  alphabet  of  non-significants  for  the  true  letters,  and  the  alphabet  of  true  letters 
for  the  non-significants.  Thus  the  examiner  will  fall  upon  the  exterior  letter,  which 
finding  probable,  he  will  not  suspect  anything  of  another  letter  within. 

How  subtle  and  cunning  is  all  this  !  Note  the  use  of  the  word 
alphabet.  Note,  too,  the  excuse  that  he  gives  for  discussing  the 
cipher:  "  he  has  it  by  him  " — lest  anyone  might  suppose  he  was 

*  Works  of  Francis  Bacon,  vol.  ix,  p.  115. 


HO  W  I  CAME    TO  LOOK  FOR  A    CIPHER. 


5°9 


furnishing  a  key  to  some  other  writings.     Observe  his  rule,  that 
the  cipher  "must  not  raise  suspicion"  as  to  its  existence;  it  must 
be  "infolded"  in  something  else;  so  that  the  reader,  falling  upon 
the  exterior  writing,  will  not  suspect  another  writing  within. 
He  continues: 

But  for  avoiding  suspicion  altogether,  I  will  add  another  contrivance  which  I 
devised  myself  when  I  was  at  Paris  in  my  early  youth,  and  which  I  still  think 
worthy  of  preservation.  For  it  has  the  perfection  of  a  cipher,  which  is  to  make 
anything  signify  anything;  subject,  however,  to  this  condition,  that  the  infolding 
writing  shall  contain  at  least  five  times  as  many  letters  as  the  writing  infolded  :  no 
other  restriction  or  condition  whatever  is  required.  The  way  to  do  it  is  this  : 
First  let  all  the  letters  of  the  alphabet  be  resolved  into  transpositions  of  two 
letters  only.  For  the  transposition  of  two  letters  through  five  places  will  yield 
thirty-two  differences,  much  more  twenty-four,  which  is  the  number  of  letters  in 
our  alphabet.     Here  is  an  example  of  such  an  alphabet. 

Here  follows  the  alphabet  I  have  already  quoted  from  the  Every 

Boys  Book. 

He  continues: 

Nor  is  it  a  slight  thing  which  is  thus  by  the  way  effected.  For  hence  we  see 
how  thoughts  may  be  communicated  at  any  distance  of  place  by  means  of  any 
objects  perceptible  either  to  the  eye  or  ear,  provided  only  that  those  objects  are 
capable  of  two  differences;  as  by  bells,  trumpets,  torches,  gun-shots,  and  the  like. 

Herein  he  anticipated  the  telegraphic  alphabet. 

But  to  proceed  with  our  business  :  When  you  prepare  to  write,  you  must 
reduce  the  interior  epistle  to  this  biliteral  alphabet.     Let  the  interior  epistle  be  — 

Fly. 

Example  of  reduction. 

FLY 

aabab    ababa    babba 

Have  by  you  at  the  same  time  another  alphabet  in  two  forms — I  mean  one  in 
which  each  of  the  letters  of  the  common  alphabet,  both  capital  and  small,  is 
exhibited  in  two  different  forms  —  any  forms  that  you  find  convenient. 

Example  of  an  alphabet  in  two  forms: 


A 

B 

A 

B 

A 

B 

A 

B 

A 

B 

A 

B 

\ 

A 

a 

B 

B 

b 

» 

C 

c 

C 

C 

D 

D 

(1 

,/ 

E 

E 

e 

F 

F 

f 

f 

G 

G 

g 

g 

II 

II 

h 

// 

I 

I 

i 

i 

K 

K 

k 

k 

L 

I 

1 

/ 

M 

M 

m 

in 

N 

N 

n 

n 

() 

o 

o 

0 

P 

P 

P 

P 

0 

Q 

q 

q 

R 

X 

r 

r 

s 

S 

s 

s 

T 

T 

t 

U 

u 

u 

u 

Y 

V 

V 

V 

W 

W 

w 

u' 

X 

z 

X 

z 

: 

X 

i 

Y 

Y 

y 

y 

5io  THE   CIPHER   IX    THE   J' J. A  VS. 

Then  take  your  interior  epistle,  reduced  to  the  biliteral  shape,  and  adapt  to  it 
letter  by  letter  your  exterior  epistle  in  the  biform  character;  and  then  write  it  out. 
Let  the  exterior  epistle  be: 

DO  NOT  GO  TILL  I  COME. 

Example  of  adaptation. 
FLY 

aa  bab  ab  abab  a    bba 
Do  not  go     till    I  come. 

I  add  another  large  example  of  the  same  cipher  —  of  the  writing  of  anything  by 
anything. 

The  interior  epistle,  for  which  I  have  selected  the  Spartan  dispatch,  formerly 
sent  in  the  Scytale  : 

All  is  lost.  Mindarus  is  killed.  The  soldiers  want  food.  We  ean  neither  get 
hence  nor  stay  longer  here. 

The  exterior  epistle,  taken  from  Cicero's  first  letter  and  containing  the  Spartan 
dispatch  within  it: 

In  all  duly  or  rather  piety  tozvards  you  I  satisfy  everybody  except  myself.  Myself 
I  never  satisfy.  Eor  so  gj-eat  are  the  services  which  you  have  rendered  me,  that,  seeing 
you  did  not  rest  in  your  endeavors  on  my  behalf  till  the  thing  was  done,  I  feel  as  if  my 
life  had  lost  ALL  its  sweetness,  because  I  cannot  do  as  much  in  this  cause  of  yours. 
The  occasions  are  these :  Ammonius  the  king's  ambassador  openly  besieges  us  with 
money,  the,  business  IS  carried  on  through  the  same  creditors  who  were  employed  in  it 
when  you  were  here,  etc. 

I  have  here  capitalized  the  words  all  and  is,  supposing  them  to 

be  part  of  the  sentence,  "All  is  lost/'  but  I  am  not  sure  that  I  am 

right  in   doing  so.     The  sentence  ends  as  above  and  leaves  us  in 

the  dark.     Bacon  continues: 

This  doctrine  of  ciphers  carries  along  with  it  another  doctrine  which  is  its  rela- 
tive. This  is  the  doctrine  of  deciphering,  or  of  detecting  ciphers,  though  one  be 
quite  ignorant  of  the  alphabet  used  or  the  private  understanding  between  the 
parties  :  a  thing  requiring  both  labor  and  ingenuity,  and  dedicated,  as  the  other 
likewise  is,  to  the  secrets  of  princes.  By  skillful  precaution  indeed  it  may  be  made 
useless;  though,  as  things  are,  it  is  of  very  great  use.  For  if  good  and  safe 
ciphers  were  introduced,  there  are  very  many  of  them  which  altogether  elude  and 
exclude  the  decipherer,  and  yet  are  sufficiently  convenient  and  ready  to  read 
and  write.  But  such  is  the  rawness  and  unskillfulness  of  secretaries  and  clerks  in 
the  courts  of  kings,  that  the  greatest  matters  are  commonly  trusted  to  weak  and 
futile  ciphers. 

I  said  to  myself:    What  is  there  unreasonable  in  the  thought 

that  this  man,  who  dwelt  with  such  interest  upon  the\  subject  of 

ciphers,  who  had  invented  ciphers,  even   ciphers  within  ciphers  — 

that  this  subtle  and  most  laborious  intellect  might  have  1  rjected  a 

cipher  narrative,  an  "interior  epistle,"  into  the  Shakespeare  Plays, 

in  which  he  would  assert  his  authorship  of  the  same,  and  reclaim 

for  all  time  those  "  children  of  his  brain  "  who  had  been  placed,  for 

good  and  sufficient  reasons,  under  the  fosterage  of  another? 


HOW  I   CAME    TO   LOOK  FOR   A    CIPHER.  51  r 

I  knew  also  that  Bacon  had  all  his  life  much  to  do  with  ciphers. 
Spedding  says: 

In  both  France  and  Scotland  Essex  had  correspondents,  in  his  intercourse  with 
whom  Anthony  Bacon  appears  to  have  served  him  in  a  capacity  very  like  that  of  a 
modern  under-secretary  of  state,  receiving  all  letters,  which  were  mostly  in  cipher, 
in  the  first  instance,  forwarding  them  (generally  through  his  brother  Francis' 
hands)  to  the  Earl  deciphered,  and  accompanied  with  their  joint  suggestions.1 

But  Bacon  also  referred  again  to  the  subject  of  ciphers  in  the 
second  book  of  The  Advancement  of  Learnings  where  he  briefly  treats 
of  the  same  theories.     He  says: 

The  highest  degree  whereof  is  to  write  omnia  per  omnia,  which  is  undoubtedly 
possible,  with  a  proportion  quintuple  at  most  of  the  writing  infolding  to  the  writing 
infolded,  and  no  other  restraint  whatsoever. 

In  his  enumeration  of  the  different  kinds  of  ciphers,2  he  names, 
as  I  have  shown,  "word  ciphers."  These  are  ciphers  where  the 
word  is  infolded  in  other  words,  and  where  the  cipher  is  not  one  of 
representatives  of  the  alphabetical  signs.  This  seems  to  be  the 
meaning  of  the  example  given  of  the  Spartan  dispatch,  although, 
as  I  have  said,  he  seems  to  leave  the  subject  purposely  obscure. 

Speaking  of  Dr.  Lopez'  conspiracy  to  poison  the  Queen,  Bacon 
refers  to  certain  letters  — 

Written  in  a  cipher,  not  of  alphabet,  but  of  words,  such  as  mought,  if  it  were 
opened,  impart  no  vehement  suspicion." 

In  the  Second  Book  of   The  Advancement  of  Learning  Bacon  says: 

But  there  yet  remains  another  use  of  Poesy  Parabolical,  opposite  to  the  former, 
wherein  it  serves,  as  I  said,  for  an  infoldment;  for  such  things,  I  mean,  the  dignity 
whereof  requires  that  they  should  be  seen,  as  it  were,  through  a  veil;  that  is,  when 
the  secrets  and  mysteries  of  religion,  policy  and  philosophy  are  involved  in  fables 
or  parables.4 

Note  here  the  significant  use  of  the  word  infoldment. 

And  in  this  connection  I  quote  the  following  from  the  Valerius 

Terminus: 

That  the  discretion  anciently  observed,  though  by  the  precedent  of  many  vain 
persons  and  deceivers  abused,  of  publishing  part  and  reserving  part  to  a  private  suc- 
cession, and  publishing  in  such  a  manner  whereby  it  may  not  be  to  the  taste  or 
capacity  of  all,  but  shall,  as  it  were,  single  and  adopt  his  reader,  is  not  to  be  laid  aside, 
both  for  the  avoiding  of  abuse  in  the  excluded,  and  the  strengthening  of  affection 
in  the  admitted.5 

1  Spedding,  Life  and  Works,  vol.  i,  p.  250.  3  Life  and  Works,  vol.  i,  p.  282. 

3  Advancement  0/ Learning,  vol.  ix,  p.  116.         4  De  A  ugnientis,  vol.  viii,  p.  442. 
5  Pe  Augment/*,  chap.  18. 


$12  THE    CIPHER   JX    THE   J' LAYS. 

And  again: 

To  ascend  further  by  scale  I  do  forbear,  partly  because  it  would  draw  on  the 
example  to  an  over-great  length,  but  chiefly  because   it  would  open  that  which  in 

this  7vork  I  determine  to  reserve} 

And  again  he  says: 

And  as  Alexander  Borgia  was  wont  to  say  of  the  expedition  of  the  French  for 
Naples,  that  they  came  with  chalk  in  their  hands,  to  mark  up  their  lodgings,  and 
not  with  weapons  to  fight;  so  I  like  better  that  entry  of  truth  which  cometh  peace- 
ably with  chalk,  to  mark  up  those  minds  which  are  eapable  to  lodge  and  harbor  it,  than 
that  which  cometh  with  pugnacity  and  contention. 

And  again  he  says,  in  the  same  work: 

Another  diversity  of  method  there  is  [he  is  speaking  of  the  different  methods  of 
"tradition,"  i.e.,  of  communicating  and  transmitting  knowledge],  which  hath  some 
affinity  with  the  former,  tised  in  some  eases  by  the  discretion  of  the  ancients,  but  dis- 
graced since  by  the  imposture  of  many  vain  persons,  who  have  made  it  as  a  false 
light  for  their  counterfeit  merchandises;  and  that  is,  enigmatical  and  disclosed.  The 
pretense  thereof  [that  is,  of  the  enigmatical  method]  is  to  remove  the  vulgar  capac- 
ities from  being  admitted  to  the  secrets  of  knowledge,  and  to  reserve  them  to  selected 
auditors,  or  wits  of  such  sharpness  as  can  pierce  the  veil. 2 

And  he  also  says  in  the  Second  Book  of  the  De  Augmentis: 

Now,  whether  any  mystic  meaning  be  concealed  beneath  the  fables  of  the 
ancient  poets  is  a  matter  of  some  doubt.  For  my  part,  I  am  inclined  to  think  a 
mystery  is  involved  in  no  small  number  of  them. 

Spedding  says: 

The  question  is  whether  the  reserve  Bacon  contemplated  can  be  justly  com- 
pared with  that  practiced  by  the  alchemists  and  others,  who  concealed  their  discov- 
eries as  "  treasures  of  which  the  value  would  be  decreased  if  others  were  allowed  to 
share  it."  ...  It  is  true  that  in  both  of  these  extracts  Bacon  intimates  an  intention 
to  reserve  the  communication  of  one  part  of  his  philosophy — "formula  ipsa  interpre- 
tationis  et  inventa  per  eande/u" — to  certain  fit  and  chosen  persons.  .  .  .  The  fruits 
which  he  anticipated  from  his  philosophy  were  not  only  intended  for  the  benefit  of 
all  mankind,  but  were  to  be  gathered  in  another  generation? 

Of  course  all  this  is  expressed  obscurely  by  Bacon,  although  no 
man  was  more  capable  of  expressing  it  clearly,  had  he  desired  so  to 
do.  But,  putting  all  these  things  together,  I  drew  the  inference 
that  Bacon  proposed  to  reserve  some  part  of  his  teaching  for  another 
generation,  for  the  benefit  of  mankind;  that  this  was  to  be  behind  a 
veil,  which  keen  wits  might  pierce;  and  he  believed  that  the  great 
writers  of  antiquity  had,  in  like  manner,  buried  certain  mysteries  in 
their  works,  the  keys  to  which  are  now  lost. 

1  De  Augmenttf,  chap.  2.  2  Works,  Boston,  vol.  i,  p.  185.  3  Ibid. 


HOW  I   CAME    TO   LOOK  FOR   A    CIPHER.  513 

And  says  Speckling: 

Thus  I  conceive  that  six  out  of  the  ten  passages  under  consideration  must  be 
set  aside  as  not  bearing  at  all  upon  the  question  at  issue.  Of  the  four  that  remain, 
two  must  be  set  aside  in  like  manner,  because,  though  they  directly  allude  to  the  prac- 
tice of  transmitting  knowledge  as  a  secret  from  hand  to  hand,  they  contain  no  evidence 
that  Bacon  approved  of  it. 

And  it  is  most  remarkable  that  in  the  next  chapter  after  that  in 
which  we  find  the  lengthy  discourse  about  ciphers,  already  quoted, 
Bacon  proceeds  to  discuss  "  the  Handing  on  of  the  Lamp,  or  Method 
of  Delivery  to  Posterity,"  and  repeats  himself  again.  He  says  there 
are  two  ways  to  transmit  knowledge: 

For  both  methods  agree  in  aiming  to  separate  the  vulgar  among  the  auditors 
from  the  select;  but  then  they  are  opposed  in  this,  that  the  former  makes  use  of  a 
way  of  delivery  more  open  than  the  common;  the  latter  (of  which  I  am  now  going 
to  speak),  of  one  more  secret.  Let  the  one,  then,  be  distinguished  as  the  Exoteric 
method,  the  other  as  the  Acroamatic;  a.  distinction  observed  by  the  ancients  princi- 
pally in  the  publication  of  books,  but  which  I  transfer  to  the  method  of  delivery. 
Indeed  this  acroamatic  or  enigmatical  method  was  itself  used  among  the  ancients, 
and  employed  with  judgment  and  discretion.  But  in  later  times  it  has  been  dis- 
graced by  many,  who  have  made  it  a  false  and  deceitful  light  to  put  forward  their 
counterfeit  merchandise.  The  intention  of  it,  however,  seems  to  be  by  obscurity  of 
delivery  to  exclude  the  vulgar  (that  is  the  profane  vulgar)  from  the  secrets  of  knowl- 
edge, and  to  admit  those  only  who  have  either  received  the  interpretation  of  the 
enigmas  through  the  hands  of  the  teachers,  or  have  wits  of  such  sharpness  and  dis- 
cernment as  can  pierce  the  veil.1 

Is  it  not  significant  that  immediately  after  the  discussion  of 
ciphers,  in  which  he  said  that  there  were  two  kinds  of  writing, 
"  either  by  the  common  alphabet  or  by  a  private  and  secret  one," 
he  should  proceed  to  tell  us  that  there  are  two  ways  of  handing 
on  the  lamp  to  posterity,  both  of  which  exclude  the  vulgar,  but  one 
of  them  is  more  secret  than  the  other,  used  formerly  among  the 
ancients  [he  has  just  given  us  an  example  in  the  Spartan  Scytale] — 
an  acroamatic  or  enigmatical  method,  the  "  veil  "  of  whose 
"  obscure  delivery  *J  can  only  be  penetrated  by  those  who  have  been 
let  into  the  secret,  or  who  have  wits  sharp  enough  to  pierce  it. 

Delia  Bacon  says  of  the  Elizabethan  period: 

It  was  a  time  when  the  cipher,  in  which  one  could  write  "omnia  per  omnia," 
was  in  request;  when  even  "  wheel  ciphers  "  and  doubles  were  thought  not  unwor- 
thy of  philosophic  notice  .  .  .  with  philosophic  secrets  that  opened  down  into  the 
bottom  of  a  tomb,  that  opened  into  the  Tower,  that  opened  on  the  scaffold  and  the 
block.2 

1  De  A  ugmentis,  book  vi.  2  Philosophy  of  S/iak.  Plays  I  Tnfotded,  p.  10. 


514  THE    CIPHER    IN    THE  PLAYS. 

Ben  Jonson,  in  his  Epigrams,  says,  speaking  of  the  young  states- 
men of  London: 

They  all  get  Porta  for  -the  sundry  ways 
To  write  in  cipher,  and  the  several  keys 
To  ope  the  character.1 

Porta  was  the  famous  Neapolitan,  Johannes  Baptista  Porta.    He 

died  in  1615. 

Says  W.  F.  C.  Wigston: 

It  is  difficult  for  us  in  this  free  age  to  understand  all  this.  .  .  .  For  the  neces- 
sity that  arose  for  secrecy,  and  the  intimacy  of  religion,  politics  and  poetry  cannot 
be  fully  grasped  in  an  age  where  they  have  neither  necessity  nor  interest  to  be  in 
any  way  inter-related  or  inter-dependent.2 

And  that  Bacon  expected  that  in  the  future  he  would  have  an 

increase  of  fame  or  a  justification  of  his  life,  seems  to  be  intimated 

in  the  first  draft  of  his  will: 

I  leave  my  memory  to  the  next  ages  and  foreign  nations,  and  to  my  own  coun- 
trymen after  some  time  be  passed. 

And  in  the  last  copy  of  his  will  he  changes  this  phraseology,  and 

says: 

For  my  name  and  memory  I  leave  it  to  men's  charitable  speeches,  and  to  for- 
eign nations,  and  to  the  next  ages. 

Did  he  omit  the  words  in  italics  because  they  might  be  too  sig- 
nificant ? 

He  always  looked  over  the  heads  of  the  generation  in  which  he 

lived,  and  fastened  his  eyes  upon  posterity.     He  anticipated   the 

great   religious  and  political  revolution  which  soon  after  his  death 

swept  over  England.     He  believed  that  the  world  was  on  the  eve  of 

great   civil   convulsions,   growing    out   of    religious   fanaticism,  in 

which  it  was  possible  civilization  might  perish,  despite  the  art  of 

printing.     He  says: 

Nor  is  my  resolution  diminished  by  foreseeing  the  state  of  these  times,  a  sort  of 
declination  and  ruin  of  the  learning  which  is  now  in  use;  for  although  I  dread  not 
the  incursions  of  barbarians  (unless,  perhaps,  the  empire  of  Spain  should  strengthen 
itself,  and  oppress  and  debilitate  others  by  arms,  itself  by  the  burden),  yet  from 
civil  wars  (which,  on  account  of  certain  manners,  not  long  ago  introduced,  seem  to 
me  about  to  visit  many  countries),  and  the  malignity  of  sects,  and  from  these  com- 
pendiary  artifices  and  cautions  which  have  crept  into  the  place  of  learning,  no  less 
a  tempest  seems  to  impend  over  letters  and  science.  Nor  can  the  shop  of  the 
typographer  avail  for  these  evils.3 

1  Epigram  xcii.  The  New  City.  2  A  New  Story  of  S/iak.,  p.  193. 

;i  On  the  Interpretation  0/  Nature. 


HOW  I  CAME    TO   LOOK  FOR   A    CIPHER.  515 

What  more  natural  than  that  he,  the  cipher-maker,  being  the 
author  of  the  Plays,  should  place  in  the  Plays  a  cipher  story,  to  be 
read  when  the  tempest  that  was  about  to  assail  civilization  had 
passed  away,  —  the  Plays  surviving,  for  they  were,  he  tells  us,  to 
live  when  "  marble  and  the  gilded  monuments  of  princes  "  had 
perished  —  even  to  the  general  judgment.  If  he  was  right;  if  the 
Plays  were  indeed  as  imperishable  as  the  verses  of  Homer,  they 
must  necessarily  be  the  subject  of  close  study  by  generations  of 
critics  and  commentators;  and  sooner  or  later  some  one  would 
"  pierce  the  veil  "  and  read  the  acroamatic  and  enigmatical  story 
infolded  in  them.  Then  would  he  be  justified  to  the  world  by  that 
internal  narrative,  reflecting  on  kings,  princes,  prelates  and  peers, 
and  not  to  be  published  in  his  own  day;  not  to  be  uttered  with- 
out serious' penalties  to  his  kinsfolk,  his  family,  his  very  body  in 
the  grave.  Then,  when  his  corpse  was  dust,  his  blood  extinct,  or 
diluted  to  nothingness  in  the  course  of  generations;  then,  when  all 
vanities  of  rank  and  state  and  profession  and  family  were  obliter- 
ated; when  his  memory  and  name  were  as  a  sublimated  spirit;  then, 
"in  the  next  ages,"  "when  some  time  had  been  passed,"  he  would, 
through  the  cipher  narrative,  rise  anew  from  the  grave. 

So  the  life  that  died  with  shame 

Would  live  in  death  with  glorious  fame.1 

"  His  eye,"  says  Montagu,  "pierced  into  future  contingents." 
That  can   not  be  called  improbable  which  has  happened.     If  I 
had  not  fallen  upon  the  cipher,  some  one  else  would.    It  was  a  mere 
question  of  time,  with  all  time  in  which  to  answer  it. 

And  this  material  and  practical  view  sets  aside  that  other  and 
profounder  conception,  in  which  the  operations  of  the  minds  of  men 
are  but  the  shadowings  of  an  eternal  purpose,  and  all  history 
and  all  nature  but  the  cunningly  adjusted  parts  of  a  great  exter- 
nal spiritual  design. 


Much  Ado  About  Nothing,  ii,  3. 


CHAPTER    IT. 
HOW  J  BECAME  CERTAIN  THERE    IV AS  A   CIPHER. 

A  book  where  men  may  read  strange  matters. 

Macbeth^  t\j. 

IN  the  winter  of  1878-9  I  said  to  myself:  I  will  re-read  the  Shake- 
speare Plays,  not,  as  heretofore,  for  the  delight  which  they  would 
give  me,  but  with  my  eyes  directed  singly  to  discover  whether  there 
is  or' is  not  in  them  any  indication  of  a  cipher. 

And  I  reasoned  thus:  If  there  is  a  cipher  in  the  Plays,  it  will 
probably  be  in  the  form  of  a  brief  statement,  that  "  I,  Francis 
Bacon,  of  St.  Albans,  son  of  Nicholas  Bacon,  Lord  Keeper  of  the 
Great  Seal  of  England,  wrote  these  Plays,  which  go  by  the  name  of 
William  Shakespeare." 

The  things  then  to  be  on  the  look-out  for,  in  my  reading,  were 
the  words  Francis,  Bacon,  Nicholas,  Bacon,  and  such  combinations 
of  Shake  and  speare,  or  Shakes  and  peer,  as  would  make  the  word 
Shakespeare. 

I  possessed  no  Concordance  at  the  time,  or  I  might  have  saved 
myself  much  unnecessary  trouble. 

The  first  thing  that  struck  me  was  the  occurrence  in  The  Merry 
Wives  of  Windsor1  of  the  word  Bacon.  The  whole  scene  is  an 
intrusion  into  the  play.  The  play  turns  upon  Sir  John  Falstaffs 
making  love  to  two  dames  of  Windsor  at  the  same  time,  and  the 
shames  and  humiliations  he  suffered  therefrom.  And  this  scene 
has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  the  plot  of  the  play.  Mistress 
Page,  one  of  the  Merry  Wives,  accompanied  by  her  boy  William, 
meets  with  Sir  Hugh  Evans,  the  Welsh  parson  and  schoolmaster, — 
old  Dame  Quickly  being  by;  —  and  Mistress  Page  tells  the  school- 
master that  her  husband  says  the  boy  William  "  profits  nothing  at 
his  book;"  and  she  requests  him  to  "  ask  him  some  questions  in  his 
accidence."  In  the  first  place,  it  is  something  of  a  surprise  to  find 
the  wife  of  a   yeoman,  or  man   of  the  middle  class,  who  is  able  to> 

1  Act  iv,  scene  i. 

516 


HO  W  I  BECAME    CERTAIN    THERE    WAS  A    CIPHER.         517 

tell  whether  or  not  the  boy  correctly  answers  the  Latin  questions 
put  to  him.  But  what,  in  the  name  of  all  that  is  reasonable,  has 
the  boy's  proficiency  in  Latin  to  do  with  Sir  John  Falstaff  s  love- 
making  ?  And  why  take  up  a  whole  scene  to  introduce  it  ?  The 
box  William  nowhere  appears  in  the  playy  except  in  that  scene.  He  is 
called  up  from  the  depths  of  the  author's  consciousness,  to  recite  a 
school  lesson;  and  he  is  dismissed  at  the  end  of  it  into  nothingness, 
never  to  appear  again  in  this  world.     Is  not  this  extraordinary  ? 

We  have  also  the  older  form  of  the  play,  which  is  only  half  the 
size  of  the  present,  and  there  is  no  William  in  it,  and  no  such  scene. 
That  first  form  was  written  to  play,  and  it  has  everything  in  it  of 
action  and  plot  necessary  to  make  it  a  successful  stage  play,  and 
tradition  tells  us  that  it  was  successful.  But  what  was  this 
enlarged  form  of  the  play  written  for,  if  the  old  form  answered  all 
the  purposes  of  a. play?     And  why  insert  in  it  this  useless  scene  ? 

Richard  Grant  White  calls  it  "that  very  superfluous  scene  in 
The  Merry  Wires  of  Windsor."  He  acknowledges  that  "it  has 
nothing  whatever  to  do  with  the  plot."  ' 

Speaking  of  the  contemporaries  of  Shakspere,  Swinburne   says: 

There  is  not  one  of  them  whom  we  can  reasonably  imagine  capable  of  the 
patience  and  self-respect  which  induced  Shakespeare  to  re-write  the  triumphantly- 
popular  parts  of  Romeo,  of  Falstaff  and  of  Hamlet,  with  an  eye  to  the  literary  per- 
fection and  performance  of  work,  which,  in  its  first  outline,  had  won  the  crowning 
suffrage  of  immediate  and  spectacular  applause.*2 

But  while  these  reasons  might  possibly  account  for  the  re-writing 
of  the  parts  of  Romeo,  Falstaff  and  Hamlet,  there  is  no  literary  per- 
fection about  The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor  to  explain  the  doubling 
of  it  in  size;  there  is  very  little  blank  verse  in  the  comedy,  and  still 
less  of  anything  that  can  aspire  to  be  called  poetry.  Why,  then, 
was  it  re-written  ?  And  why,  when  re-written,  was  this  superfluous 
scene  injected  into  it?  That  the  reader  may  be  the  better  able  to 
judge  of  it,  I  quote  the  scene  entire,  just  as  it  appears  on  pages  53 
and  54  of  the  Folio  of  1623: 

Actus  Quartus.     Sc-kxa  Prima. 

Enter  Mistris  Page,  Quickly,   William,  Evans. 

Mist.  Pag.      Is  he  at  M.  Fords  already  think'st  thou? 

Qui .  Sure  he  is  by  this;  or  will  be  presently;  but  truely  he  is  very  couragious 
mad,  about  his  throwing  into  the  water.     Mistris  Ford  desires  you  to  come  sodainely. 

1  Genius  of  Shak.,  p.  283,  -  Thomas  Middleton,  Shakespeariana,  vol.  iii,  No.  26,  p.  61. 


5i8  THE   CIPHER  IN    THE  PLAYS. 

Mist.  Pag.  He  be  with  her  by  and  by:  He  but  bring  my  yong-man  here  to 
Schoole  :  looke  where  his  Master  comes;  'tis  a  playing  day  I  see;  how  now  Sir 
Hugh,  no  Schoole  to-day? 

Eva.     No  :  Master  Slender  is  let  the  Boyes  leave  to  play. 

Qui.     'Blessing  of  his  heart. 

Mist.  Pag.  Sir  Hugh,  my  husband  saies  my  sonne  profits  nothing  in  the 
world  at  his  Booke:   I  pray  you  aske  him  some  questions  in  his  Accidence. 

Ev.     Come  hither  William;  hold  up  your  head;  come. 

Mist.  Pag.  Come-on,  Sirha;  hold  up  your  head;  answere  your  Master;  be 
not  afraid. 

Eva.      William,  how  many  numbers  is  in  Nownes  ? 

Will.     Two. 

Qui.  Truely,  I  thought  there  had  bin  one  Number  more,  because  they  say 
od's-Nownes. 

Eva.     Peace,  your  tatlings.     What  is  (Faire)  William? 

Will.     Pulcher. 

Qu,      Powlcats?     There  are  fairer  things  than  Powlcats,  sure. 

Eva.  You  are  a  very  simplicity  o'man  :  I  pray  you  peace.  What  is  (Lapis)r 
William  ? 

Will.     A  Stone. 

Eva.     And  what  is  a  Stone  (  William  ?) 

Will.     A  Peeble. 

Eva.     No,  it  is  Jjipis:   I  pray  you  remember  in  your  praine. 

Will.      Lapis. 

Eva,     That  is  a  good   William:  what  is  he  (  William)  that  do's  lend  articles. 

Will.  Articles  are  borrowed  of  the  Pronoune,  and  be  thus  declined.  Singu- 
lar iter  nominativo  hie,  hae,  hoc. 

Eva,  Nominativo  hig,  hag,  hog:  pray,  you  marke:  genitivo  huius.  Well. 
what  is  your  Accusative-case? 

Will.     Accusativo  hinc. 

Eva.     I  pray  you  have  your  remembrance  (childe)  Accusativo  hing,  hang,  hog. 

Qu.     Hang-hog,  is  latten  for  Bacon,  I  warrant  you. 

Eva.     Leave  your  prables  (o'man).      What  is  the  Focative  case  (  William  ?) 

Wilt.     O,   Vocativo,  O. 

Eva.     Remember  William,  Focative,  is  caret. 

Qui.     And  that's  a  good  roote. 

Eva.     O'man,  forbeare. 

Mist.  Page.     Peace. 

Eva.      What  is  your  Genitive  case  phi  nil  I  (  //  'illiam  /) 

Will.      Genitive  case? 

Eva.      I. 

Will.     Genitive  horum,  ha  rum,  horum. 

Qu.  'Vengeance  of  Ginyes  case;  fie  on  her;  never  name  her  (childe)  if  she  be- 
a  whore. 

Eva.      For  shame  o'man. 

Qu.  You  do  ill  to  teach  the  childe  such  words;  hee  teaches  him  to  hie,  and  to 
hac;  which   they'll  do  fast  enough  of  themselves,  and   to  call  horum ;  fie  upon  you. 

Evans.  O'man,  art  thou  Lunatics  ?  Hast  thou  no  understandings  for  thy 
Cases  &  the  number  of  the  Genders?  Thou  art  as  foolish  Christian  creatures,  as 
I  would  desires. 

Mi.  Page,      Pre'thee  hold  thy  peace. 

Ev,     Shew  me  now  (  William)  some  declensions  of  your  Pronounes. 


I/O  IV  /  BECAME    CERTAIN    THERE    WAS  A    CIPHER,        519 

Will.     Forsooth,  I  have  forgot. 

Ev.  It  is  Qui,  que,  quod;  if  you  forget  your  Quies,  your  Ours  and  your  Quods 
you  must  be  preeches  :  Go  your  waies  and  play,  go. 

M.  Pag.     He  is  a  better  scholler  then  I  thought  he  was. 

Ev.     He  is  a  good  sprag-memory  :   Farewel  Mis.  Page. 

Mis.  Page.  Adieu  good  Sir  Hugh  :  Get  you  home,  boy,  Come  we  stay  too 
long.  Exeunt. 

I  will  ask  the  reader,  after  a  while,  to  recur  to  this  scene,  and 
note  the  unusual,  the  extraordinary  way  in  which  the  words  are 
bracketed  and  hyphenated. 

It  is  very  evident  that  there  is  nothing  in  this  scene  which  has 
the  slightest  relation  to  the  play  of  The  Merry  Wives.  It  is  simply 
a  schoolmaster,  who  speaks  broken  English,  hearing  a  boy  his 
lesson.  There  is  no  wit  in  the  scene,  and  what  attempts  at  wit 
there  are  seem  to  me  very  forced. 

It  was  written  and  inserted  simply  to  enable  the  author  to 
reiterate  the  name  William  eleven  times,  and  to  bring  in  the 
word  Bacon.  The  whole  scene  is  built  up,  created,  constructed 
and  forced  into  the  play  to  find  an  opportunity  to  use  the  word 
Bacon  without  arousing  suspicion. 

"  Hang-hog  is  the  Latin  for  Bacon,"  says  Dame  Quickly,  and  we 
know  just  where  the  pun  came  from.  I  have  already  quoted  the 
anecdote  in  a  former  chapter,  but  I  repeat  it  here.  It  was  inserted 
by  the  publisher  of  the  third  edition  of  the  Resuscitatio,  1671,  to- 
gether with  fifteen  other  anecdotes: 

Sir  Nicholas  Bacon,  being  appointed  a  judge  for  the  northern  circuit,  and 
having  brought  his  trials  that  came  before  him  to  such  a  pass,  as  the  passing  of 
sentence  on  malefactors,  he  was  by  one  of  the  malefactors  mightily  importuned  to 
save  his  life;  which,  when  nothing  that  he  had  said  did  avail,  he  at  length  desired 
his  mercy  on  account  of  kindred.  "Prithee,"  said  my  lord  judge,  "  how  car  e 
that  in?"  "Why,  if  it  please  you,  my  lord,  your  name  is  Bacon  and  mine  is 
Hog,  and  in  all  ages  Hog  and  Bacon  have  been  so  near  kindred  that  they 
are  not  to  be  separated."  "Ay;  but,"  replied  Judge  Bacon,  "you  and  I  cannot 
be  kindred  except  you  be  hanged;  for  Hog  is  not  Bacon  until  it  be  well  hanged." 

Here  we  have  precisely  the  idea  played  upon  by  Dame  Quickly. 
"  Hang-hog  is  the  Latin  for  Bacon,"  says  the  old  woman.  "  Hog  is 
not  Bacon  until  it  be  well  hanged,"  says  Sir  Nicholas. 

Here,  then,  we  have  not  only  a  scene  forced  into  the  play,  to 
introduce  a  jest  with  the  word  Bacon  in  it;  but  we  find  that 
jest  connected  with  Sir  Francis,  because  it  related  to  an  incident  in 
the  life  of  his  father. 


/ 


520  THE    CIPHER   JX    THE   PLAYS. 

All  this  is  most  remarkable.  But,  having  found-  William  repeated 
eleven  times,  I  asked  myself,  Where  is  the  rest  of  the  name,  Shakes- 
peare, if  there  is  really  a  cipher  here,  and  the  recurrence  of  Willia?n 
and  the  occurrence  of  Bacon  are  not  accidents  ?     I  soon  found  it. 

On  the  same  page  and  column  on  which  the  scene  I  have  just 
quoted  terminates,  page  54,  in  the  next  scene,  Mistress  Page,  speak- 
ing of  Ford's  jealousy,  says: 

Why,  woman,  your  husband  is  in  his  olde  lines  againe:  he  so  takes  on  yonder 
with  my  husband;  so  railes  against  all  married  mankinde;  so  curses  all  Eves 
daughters  of  what  complexion  soever;  and  so  buffettes  himself  on  the  forehead, 
crying  peere-ovA.,  peere-oxxt,  that  any  madnesse  I  ever  yet  beheld,  etc. 

Here  we  have  the  last  part  of  Shakespeare's  name,  and  we  will  see 
hereafter  that,  in  the  cipher  rule,  the  hyphenated  words  are,  at  times, 
counted  as  two  separate  words.  It  seemed  to  me  very  unnatural 
that  any  jealous  man  would  beat  his  forehead  and  tell  it  to  peer  out; 
or  even  tell  his  brain  to  peer  out.  Men  usually  employ  their  eyes  for 
purposes  of  watchfulness.  All  that  Ford  needed  was  the  evidence 
of  his  eyes  to  satisfy  his  jealousy.  It  was  not  a  case  of  intellectual 
eyesight  —  of  the  brain  peering  into  some  complicated  mental 
puzzle.     It  seemed  to  me,  again,  as  if  this  was  forced  into  the  text. 

But  where  was  the  first  part  of  Shakespeare's  name  ?  As  the 
last  syllable  was  pecre,  the  first  syllable — to  give  the  full  sound 
— ■  would  have  to  be  shakes^  and  not  shake.  I  found  it  on  the  next 
page  but  one,  page  56,  in  the  sentence  which  describes  the  ghost 
of  Heme  the  hunter,  in  the  Windsor  forest: 

Mist.  Page.     There  is  an  old  tale  goes  that  Heme,  the 
Hunter  (sometime  a  keeper  here  in  Windsor  Forest), 
Doth  all  the  winter  time,  at  still  midnight, 
Walk  round  about  an  Oake,  with  great  rag'd  horns, 
And  there  he  blasts  the  tree,  and  takes  the  cattle, 
And  makes  milch-kine  yield  blood,  and  shakes  a  chain 
In  a  most  hideous  and  dreadful  manner. 

I  turned  to  the  original  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  which  I  find 
published  in  Hazlitfs  Shakespeare  Library,  "  as  it  hath  bene  divers 
times  acted  by  the  right  Honorable  my  Lord  Chamberlaines  ser- 
vants, both  before  her  Maiestie,  and  elsewhere;  "  and  I  found  the 
original  of  this  passage  in  the  following  crude  and  brief  form: 

Oft  have  you  heard  since  Home,  the  hunter,  dyed, 
That  women,  to  affright  their  little  children, 
Ses  that  he  walks  in  shape  of  a  great  stagge. 


HO  W   J   BECAME    CERT  A IX     /HERE     WAS  A    CIPHER*       521 

Here  there  is  nothing  of  "shakes  a  chain."  Neither  is  there  any- 
thing of  the  "  peere-out,  peere-out,"  in  the  other  sentence.  The 
original  is  : 

Mrs.  Page.  Mistress  Ford,  why,  woman,  your  husband  is  in  his  old  vaine 
again,  hee's  coming  to  search  for  your  sweet  heart,  but  I  am  glad  he  is  not  here. 

Now  as  I  had  / 7 'illiani  Shakes-peere  and  Bacon,  I  said  to  myself, 
Is  there  anything  of  Bacon's  first  name  ? 

There  is  no  Francis  in  the  play;  but  we  have  Frank  and 
Francisco.     In  act  ii,  scene  i,  Mistress  Ford  says  to  her  husband: 

How  now  (sweet prank),  why  art  thou  melancholy? 

Everywhere  else  in  the  play  he  appears  as  Master  Ford;  as,  for 
instance,  his  wife  says: 

Mis.  Ford.     You  use  me  well,  Master  Ford,  do  you  ? 

Is  it  not  singular  that  when  a  Frank  was  needed  to  complete  the 
name,  it  should  crop  out  in  this  unnecessary  way,  once  only  and 
no  more  ? 

Again,  the  Host  of  the  Tavern  says,  speaking  of  the  duel  between 

Dr.  Caius  and  Sir  Hugh  Evans: 

To  see  thee  fight,  to  see  thee  foigne,  to  see  thee  traverse,  to  see  thee  here,  to  see 
thee  there,  to  see  thee  pass  thy  puncto,  thy  stock,  thy  reverse,  thy  distance,  thy 
montant.  Is  he  dead,  my  Ethiopian?  Is  he  dead,  my  Francisco?  Ha,  bully  !  what 
says  my  Esculapius  ?  etc. 

As  there  is  no  Francisco  present  or  anywhere  in  the  play,  this  is 
all  rambling  nonsense,  and  the  word  is  dragged  in  for  a  purpose. 

In  the  same  way  I  observed  Pranctsco  to  make  its  appearance 
in  the  enlarged  edition  of  Hamlet,  while  it  did  not  occur  in  the  orig- 
inal. In  the  copy  of  1603,  "as  it  hath  been  diverse  times  acted  by 
His   Highness'   servants   in   the   Cittie  of  London,"  the  play  opens 

thus: 

Enter    Two   Centinels. 

Their  names  are  not  given,  and  their  speeches  are  marked  1  and 
2;  but  in  the  copy  of  1604,  "  newly  imprinted  and  enlarged  to  almost 
as  much  again  as  it  was,  according  to  the  true  and  perfect  coppie," 
we  find: 

Enter  Barnardo  and  Francisco,   two  Centinels. 

And  the  scene  opens  thus: 

Bar.     Whose  there  ? 

Fran.     Nay,  answer  me.     Stand  and  unfold  yourselfe. 

Bar.      Long  live  the  king. 


522  THE    CIPHER    IN    THE    /'LAYS. 

Fran,     fiarnardo. 

Bar.  Hee. 

Fran.     You  come  most  carefully  upon  your  hour. 

Bar.  'Tis  now  struck  twelve,  get  thee  to  bed,  Francisco. 

And  then  Francisco  disappears  to  his  bed  and  never  again  reap- 
pears in  the  play,  any  more  than  William  does  in  the  Merry  Wives, 
after  he  has  recited  that  interesting  Latin  lesson.  Now  why  were  the 
sentinels  named  at  all  ?  There  might  be  some  excuse  for  giving 
Barnardo  a  cognomen,  as  he  continues  in  the  scene  to  converse  with 
Horatio  and  Marcellus.  But  what  importance  was  a  name  to  the  man 
who  was  instantly  swallowed  up  in  oblivion  and  the  bed-clothes  ? 

But  it  was  in  the  first  part  of  King  Henry  IV.  that  I  found  the 
most  startling  proofs  of  the  existence  of  a  cipher. 

In  act  ii,  scene  i,  we  have  a  stable  scene,  with  the  two  "  carriers  " 
and  an  hostler;  it  is  night,  or  rather  early  morning  —  two  o'clock  — 
it  is  the  morning  of  the  Gadshill  robbery;  the  carriers  are  feeding 
their  horses  and  getting  ready  for  the  day's  journey;  and  in  the  dia- 
logue they  speak  as  follows: 

/  Car.     What  Ostler,  come  away  and  be  hanged;   come  away. 
2  Car.     I  have  a  gammon  of  Bacon,  and  two  razes  of  Ginger,  to  be  delivered 
as  far  as  Charing-crosse. 

This  occurs  on  page  53  of  the  Histories  ;  we  have  seen  that  the 
other  word  Bacon  occurs  on  page  53  of  the  Comedies.  As  these  are 
the  only  instances  in  which  the  word  Bacon  occurs  alone  and  not 
hyphenated  with  any  other  word,  in  all  these  voluminous  plays, 
occupying  nearly  a  thousand  pages,  is  it  not  remarkable  that  both 
should  be  found  on  the  same  numbered  page? 

We  have  the  original  of  this  robbery  scene  in  another  old  play, 
entitled  The  Famous  Victories  of  Henry  the  Fifth.  In  each  case  the 
men  robbed  were  bearing  money  to  the  King's  treasury;  and  in 
each  case  they  called  upon  the  Prince  after  the  robbery  for  restitu- 
tion. In  the  old  play,  Dericke,  the  carrier,  who  is  robbed  by  the 
Prince's  man,  says: 

Oh,  maisters,  stay  there;  nay,  let's  never  belie  the  man;  for  he  hath  not  beaten 
and  wounded  me  also,  but  he  hath  beaten  and  wounded  my  packe,  and  hath  taken 
the  great  rase  of  Ginger  that  bouncing  Bess  .   .   .   should  have  had. 

But  there  is  no  bacon  in  his  pack.  That  was  added,  as  in  tin/ 
other  instances,  when  the  play  was  re-written,  doubled  in  size,  and 
the  cipher  inserted. 


HOW  I  BECAME    CERTAJX    THERE    WAS  A    CIPHER.       523 

I  said  that  Bacon,  in  making  any  claim  to  the  authorship  of  the 
Plays,  would  probably  seek  to  identify  himself  (as  centuries  might 
elapse  before  the  discovery  of  the  cipher)  by  giving  the  name  of 
his  father,  the  celebrated  Sir  Nicholas,  Queen  Elizabeth's  Lord 
Keeper ;  and  here,  in  the  same  scene,  on  page  53,  appears  his 
father's  name. 

The  chamberlain  enters  the  stable;  also  Gadshill,  "the  setter" 
of  the  thieves,  as  Poins  calls  him;  that  is,  the  one  who  points  the 
game  for  them.     The  chamberlain  says: 

Cham.  Good-morrow,  Master  Gads-Hill;  it  holds  current  that  I  told  you  yester- 
night. There's  a  Franklin  in  the  wilde  of  Kent  hath  brought  three  hundred  marks 
with  him  in  gold.  I  heard  him  tell  it  to  one  of  his  company  last  night  at  supper; 
a  kinde  of  auditor,  one  that  hath  abundance  of  charge,  too  (God  knows  what);  they 
are  up  already  and  call  for  egges  and  butter.     They  will  away  presently. 

Gad.     Sirra,  if  they  meete  not  with  S.  Nicholas  Clarks,  He  give  thee  this  necke. 

Cham.  No;  He  none  of  it.  I  prithee,  keep  that  for  the  hangman,  for  I  know 
thou  worship'st  S.  Nicholas  as  truly  as  a  man  of  falshood  may. 

First,  I  would  observe  the  unnecessary  presence  of  the  word 
Kent.  Why  was  the  county  from  which  the  man  came  mentioned  ? 
Because  Kent  was  the  birthplace  of  Sir  Nicholas  Bacon,  and  in  any 
cipher  narrative  it  was  very  natural  to  speak  of  Sir  Nicholas  Bacon 
born  in  Kent. 

But  observe  how  Saint  Nicholas  is  dragged  in.  He  is  repre- 
sented as  the  patron  saint  of  thieves,  when  in  fact  he  was  nothing 
of  the  kind.  Saint  Anthony,  I  believe,  is  entitled  to  that  honor.  But, 
ingenious  as  Bacon  was,  he  could  see  no  other  way  to  get  Nicholas 
into  that  stable  scene,  and  into  the  talk  of  thieves  and  carriers, 
except  by  such  an  allusion  as  the  foregoing;  and  he  made  it  even 
at  the  violation  of  the  saintly  attributes.  Saint  Nicholas,  Bishop 
of  Myra,  was  born  in  Patara,  Lycia,  and  died  about  340.  "  He  is 
invoked  as  the  patron  of  sailors,  merchants,  travelers  and  captives, 
and  the  guardian  of  school-boys,  girls  and  children."  He  is  the 
original  of  the  Santa-Klaus  of  the  nursery. 

And  in  the  same  scene  on  the  same  column  we  have; 
If  I  hang,  old  Sir  John  hangs  with  mee. 

This  gives  us  the  knightly  prefix  to  Nicholas  Bacon's  name. 
And  it  appeared  to  me  there  was  something  here  about  the 
Exchequer  of  the  Commonwealth  of  England;  for  all  these  words- 
drop  out  in  the  same  connection.     Only  a  few  lines  below  the  word 


524 


THE    CIPHER   IN    THE   PLAYS. 


Nicholas y  the   word    Commonwealth  is    twice    dragged    in,    in    most 
absurd  fashion. 

Describing  the  thieves,  Gadshill  says: 

And  drink  sooner  than  pray;  and  yet  I  lie,  for  they  pray  continually  to  their 
saint  the  Commonwealth ;  or  rather  not  pray  to  her  but  prey  on  her,  for  they  ride 
up  and  down  on  her,  and  make  her  their  Bootes. 

Cham.  What,  the  Commonwealth  their  Bootes?  Will  she  hold  out  water  in 
—  a  foul  way  ? 

The  complicated  exigencies  of  the  cipher  compelled  Bacon  to 
talk  nonsense.  Who  ever  heard  of  a  Saint  Commonwealth  ?  And 
who  ever  heard  of  converting  a  saint  into  boots  to  keep  out  water  ? 

And  on  the  next  page  we  have  the  word  exchequer  twice 
repeated: 

Pal.  I  will  not  bear  mine  own  flesh  so  far  afoot  again  for  all  the  coin  in  thy 
father's  exchequer. 

Again: 

Bardolph,  Case  ye,  case  ye;  on  with  your  vizards,  there's  money  of  the  King 
coming  down  the  hill,  'tis  going  to  the  King's  exchequer. 

Pal.     You  lie,  you  rogue,  'tis  going  to  the  King's  tavern. 

And  a  little  further  on  we  have: 

When  I  am  King  of  England} 

And  as  the  Court  of  Exchequer  was  formerly  a  court  of  equity, 
in  the  same  scene  we  find  that  word: 

Pal.  If  the  Prince  and  Poynes  be  not  two  arrant  cowards,  there's  no  equity 
stirring. 

Here  again  the  language  is  forced;  this  is  not  a  natural  expres- 
sion. 

All  this  is  in  the  second  act  of  the  play,  and  in  the  first  act  we 
have: 

As  well  as  waiting  in  the  court} 

O,  rare  I'll  be  a  brave  judge? 

For  obtaining  of  suits.* 

And  then  we  have  master  of  the  great  seal — 

Good-morrow,  Master  Gads-hill.5 

We'll  but  seal,  and  then  to  horse.6 

For  they  have  great  charge.7 

'Act  ii,  scene  4.  *fst  Henry  II'.,  i,  2.  3  Ibid.,  i,  2.  4  Ibid.,  i,  a. 

.    &  Ibid.,  ii.  1.  "Ibid.,  iii,  ..  Mbid.,  ii,  r. 


HO  IV  I  BECAME    CERT  A  EX    THERE    WAS  A    CITHER.       525 

All  this  is  singular:  Sir —  Nicholas  —  Bacon  —  of  Kent  —  Master 
of  the — great — seal  of  the  Commonwealth  of  England. 

And  again:  Judge  of  the  court  of  the  exchequer  —  equity. 

It  is  true  that  this  might  all  be  the  result  of  accident.  But  I  g0' 
a  step  further. 

On  the  next  page,  54,  and  in  the  next  scene,  I  found  the  follow- 
ing extraordinary  sentences: 

Enter  Travellers. 

Trav.  Come  Neighbor;  the  boy  shall  leade  our  Horses  downe  the  hill:  Wee'll 
walk  a-foot  awhile,  and  ease  our  legges. 

Thieves.     Stay. 

Trav.     Iesu  bless  us. 

Falstaff.  Strike:  down  with  them,  cut  the  villains  throats;  a  whorson  Caterpil- 
lars; Bacon-fed  knaves,  they  hate  us,  youth;  downe  with  them,  fleece  them. 

Trav.     O,  we  are  undone,  both  we  and  ours  for  ever. 

Falstaff.  Hang  ye  gorbellied  knaves,  are  you  undone?  No  ye  fat  Chuffes,  I 
would  your  store  were  here.  On  Bacons,  on,  what,  ye  knaves  ?  Yong  men. 
must  live,  you  are  Grand  Iurers,  are  ye?     Wee'll  iure  ye  i'faith. 

Heere  they  rob  them  and  binde  them. 

Let  us  examine  this. 

The  word  Bacon  is  an  unusual  word  in  literary  work.  It 
describes,  in  its  commonly  accepted  sense,  an  humble  article  o£ 
food.  It  occurs  but  four  times  in  all  these  Plays  of  Shakespeare,. 
viz.: 

1.  In  The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  in  the  instance  I  have  given, 
page  53  of  the  Comedies,  "  Hang-hog  is  the  Latin  for  Bacon.'1'' 

2.  In  the  \st  Henry  IV.,  act  ii,  scene  1,  "a  gammon  of  Bacon/' 
page  53  of  the  Histories. 

3.  In  these  two  instances  last  above  given,  on  page  54  of  the 
Histories. 

So  that  out  of  four  instances  in  the  Plays  in  which  it  is  used 
this  significant  word  is  employed  three  times  on  two  successive 
pages  of  the  same  play  in  the  same  act  ! 

I  undertake  to  say  that  the  reader  cannot  find  in  any  work  of 
prose  or  poetry,  not  a  biography  of  Bacon,  in  that  age,  or  any 
subsequent  age,  where  no  reference  was  intended  to  be  made  to  the 
man  Bacon,  another  such  collocation  of  Nicholas  —  Bacon  —  Bacon- 
fed —  Bacons.     I  challenge  the  skeptical  to  undertake  the  task. 

And  why  does  Falstaff  stop  in  the  full  tide  of  robbery  to  partic- 
ularize the  kind   of  food  on  which  his  victims  feed?      Who  ever 


526  THE    CIPHER   JX    TffE    PLAYS. 

heard,  in  all  the  annals  of  Newgate,  of  such  superfluous  and  absurd 
abuse  ?  Robbery  is  a  work  for  hands,  not  tongues.  And  it  is  out 
of  all  nature  that  Falstaff,  committing  a  crime  the  penalty  of 
which  was  death,  should  stop  to  think  of  bacon,  or  greens,  or  beef- 
steak, or  anything  else  of  the  kind. 

I«  it  intended  as  a  term  of  reproach  ?  No;  the  bacon-fed  man 
in  that  day  was  the  well-fed  man.  I  quote  again  from  the  famous 
Victories  of  Henry  V. 

John,  the  cobbler,  and  Dericke,  the  carrier,  converse;  Dericke 
proposes  to  go  and  live  with  the  cobbler.     He  says: 

I  am  none  of  these  great  slouching  fellows  that  devoure  these  great  pieces  of 
beefe  and  brewes;  alas,  a  trifle  serves  me,  a  woodcccke,  a  chicken,  or  a  capons 
legge,  or  any  such  little  thing  serves  me. 

John.  A  capon  !  Why,  man,  I  cannot  get  a  capon  once  a  yeare,  except  it  be 
at  Christmas,  at  some  other  man's  house,  for  we  cobblers  be  glad  of  a  dish  of  rootes. 

Falstaff  might  fling  a  term  of  reproach  at  his  victims,  but 
scarcely  a  term  of  compliment. 

But  Falstaff  calls  the  travelers  Bacons  !  Think  of  it.  If  he  had 
called  them  hogs,  I  could  understand  it,  but  to  call  them  by  the 
name  of  a  piece  of  smoked  meat  !  I  can  imagine  a  man  calling 
another  a  bull,  an  ox,  a  beef;  but  never  a  tenderloin.  Moreover, 
why  should  Falstaff  say,  "On,  Bacons,  on  !"  unless  he  was  chasing 
the  travelers  away  ?  But  he  was  trying  to  detain  them,  to  hold  on 
to  them,  for  the  stage  direction  says:  "Here  they  rob  them  and 
binde  them," 

When  I  read  that  phrase,  "On,  Bacons,  on  !  "  I  said  to  myself: 
Beyond  question  there  is  a  cipher  in  this  play. 

And  on  the  same  page,  in  the  same  scene,  I  found: 

Falstaff.     I  prithee,  good  Prince  Hal,  help  me  to  my  horse,  good  King's  sonne. 

Here  the  last  words  were  unnecessary  —  Falstaff  s  request  was 
complete  without  it.  But  suppose  it  followed  the  word  Bacons  in 
the  cipher  —  then  we  would  have  Sir  Nicholas  Bacon  s  son. 

And  on  page  55,  the  next  page  of  the  Folio,  I  found  the  fol- 
lowing : 

Sc.KNA   QUARTA. 
Enter  Prince'  and  Poines. 

Prin.  Ned,  prithee  come  out  of  that  fat  room,  and  lend  me  thy  hand  to  laugh 
a  little. 

Poines.     Where  hast  been.  Hall  ' 


HOW   /   BECAME    CERTAIN    THE. RE     WAS   A    CIPHER,         527 

Priii.  With  three  or  four  logger-heads,  amongst  three  or  four  score  Hogs- 
heads. I  have  sounded  the  very  base  string  of  humility.  Sirra,  I  am  sworn, 
brother,  to  a  leash  of  Drawers,  and  can  call  them  by  their  names,  as  Torn,  Dicke 
and  Francis. 

Why  Tom,  Dick  and  Francis?.  The  common  expression,  here 
alluded  to,  is,  as  every  one  knows,  "  Tom,  Dick  and  Harry."  Why 
was  Harry  thrown  out  and  Francis  substituted  ?  Why  ?  Because 
the  cipher  required  it;  because  it  gives  us: 

Francis  —  Bacon  —  Nicholas  —  Bacon  s  —  sonne. 

But  this  isn't  all.  On  the  next  page,  56,  we  have  a  continuation 
of  this  conversation  between  the  Prince  and  Poins;  and  in  it  this 
occurs  (I  print  it  precisely  as  it  stands  in  the  Folio): 

Prince.  .  .  .  But  Ned,  to  drive  away  time  till  Falslaffe  come,  I  prythee  do  thou 
stand  in  some  by-roome,  while  I  question  my  puny  Drawer,  to  what  end  he  gave 
me  the  Sugar,  and  do  never  leave  calling  Francis,  that  his  tale  to  me  may  be 
nothing  but,  Anon:  step  aside  and  He  shew  thee  a  President. 

Poincs.      Frajicis. 

Prince.     Thou  art   perfect. 

Fain.      Francis. 

Enter  Drawer. 

Fran.     Anon,  anon,  sir;   look  down  into  the  Pomgarnet,  Ralfe. 

Prince.     Come  hither  Francis. 

Fran.     My  Lord. 

Prin.     How  long  hast  thou  to  serve,  Francis  ? 

Fran.      Forsooth  five  years,  and  as  much  as  to 

Poin.     Francis. 

Fran.     Anon,  anon  sir. 

Prin.  Five  years.  Berlady,  a  long  Lease  for  the  clinking  of  Pewter.  But 
Francis,  darest  thou  be  so  valiant,  as  to  play  the  coward  with  thy  Indenture,  & 
shew  it  a  faire  paire  of  heeles,  and  run  from  it  ? 

Fran.  O  Lord  sir,  He  be  sworne  upon  all  the  Books  in  England,  I  could  find 
in  my  heart. 

Poin.     Francis. 

Fran.     Anon,  anon  sir. 

Prin.     How  old  art  thou*  Francis? 

Fran.     Let  me  see,  about  Michaelmas  next  I  shalbe 

Poin.     Francis. 

Fran.     Anon  sir;  pray  you  stay  a  little,  my  Lord. 

Prin.  Nay,  but  harke  you  Francis,  for  the  sugar  thou  gav'st  me,  'twas  a  peny- 
worth,  was't  not? 

Fran.     O  Lord  sir,  I  wish  it  had  bene  two. 

Prin.  I  will  give  thee  for  it  a  thousand  pound  :  Aske  me  when  thou  wilt,  and 
thou  shalt  have  it. 

Poin.     Francis. 

Fran.     Anon,  anon. 

Prin.  Anon  Francis?  No  Francis,  but  to-morrow  Francis;  or  Francis,  on 
thursday:  or  indeed  Francis  when  thou  wilt.     But  Francis. 

Fran.     My  Lord. 


528  THE    CIPHER  IN    THE  PLAYS. 

Erin.  Wilt  thou  rob  this  Leatherne  Ierkin,  Christall  button,  Not-pated,  Agat 
ring,  Puke  stocking,  Caddice  garter,  Smooth  tongue,  Spanish  pouch. 

Iran.     O  Lord  sir,  who  do  you  meane? 

Erin.  Why  then  your  browne  Bastard  is  your  onely  drinke  :  for  looke  you. 
Francis,  your  white  Canvas  doublet  will  sulley.  In  Barbary  sir,  it  cannot  come  to 
so  much. 

Fran.     What  sir? 

Foin.     Francis. 

Prin.     Away  you  Rogue.      Dost  thou  heare  them  call? 

What  was  the  purpose  of  this  nonsensical  scene,  which,  as  some 
one  has  said,  is  about  on  a  par  with  the  wit  of  a  negro-minstrel 
show  ?     What  had  it  to  do  with  the  plot  of  the  play  ?     Nothing. 

But  it  enabled  the  author  to  bring  in  the  name  of  Francis 
twenty  times  in  less  than  a  column.  And  observe  how  curiously 
the  words  Francis  are  printed:  five  times  it  is  given  in  italics 
and  fifteen  times  in  Roman  type. 

And  are  not  these  twenty  Francises  on  page  56  of  the  Histories, 
and  the  Shakes  on  page  56  of  the  Comedies,  and  the  peere  on  page 
54  of  the  Comedies,  and  the  Bacon-fed  and  Bacons  on  page  54  of  the 
Histories,  and  the  Bacon  on  page  53  of  the  Comedies,  and  the  Nicho- 
las and  Bacon  on  page  53  of  the  Histories,  and  the  William  eleven 
times  repeated  on  page  53  of  the  Comedies,  all  linked  together,  and 
simply  so  many  extended  fingers  pointing  the  attention  of  the 
sleepy-eyed  world  to  the  fact  that  there  is  something  more  here 
than  appears  on  the  surface  ?  These  are  the  indices,  the  exclamation 
points,  that  Bacon  believed  would,  sooner  or  later,  fall  under  the 
attention  of  some  reader  of  the  plays. 

But  go  a  step  farther.  On  page  67  of  the  same  play  in  which 
all  this  Nicholas-Bacon-Francis-Bacon-Bacons  is  found,  we  find  the 
name  of  Bacon's  country-seat,  St.  Albans. 

No  point  of  the  earth's  surface  was  more  closely  identified  with 
Francis  Bacon  than  St.  Albans.  It  was  his  father's  home,  his  moth- 
er's residence;  the  place  where  he  spent  his  leisure,  where  probably 
he  produced  many  of  these  very  plays;  the  place  from  which  he 
took  his  knightly  title,  Viscount  St.  Albans,  when  he  rose  to  great- 
ness. I  have  shown  how  the  name  is  peppered  all  over  several  of 
the  plays,  while  there  is  no  mention  of  Stratford-on-Avon  from 
cover  to  cover  of  the  volume.  On  page  67  we  have  Falstaff's  cele- 
brated description  of  his  ragged  company.  It  concludes  as  fol- 
lows: 


HOW  I  BECAME    CERTAIN    THERE    WAS  A    CIPHER.        529 

There's  not  a  Shirt  and  a  halfe  in  all  my  company,  and  the  halfe  Shirt  is  two 
Napkins  tackt  together,  andthrowne  over  the  shoulders  like  a  Heralds  coat,  without 
sleeves:  and  the  Shirt,  to  say  the  truth,  stolne  from  my  host  of  S.  Alboncs,  or  the 
Red-Nose  Inne-keeper  of  Davintry.  But  that's  all  one,  they'le  finde  Linnen 
enough  on  every  Hedge. 

This  might  pass  well  enough  so  long  as  one's  suspicions  were  not 
aroused  as  to  the  existence  of  a  cipher.  But  the  critical  would  then 
ask,  Why  St.  Albans  ?  There  were  hundreds  of  little  villages  in 
England  of  equal  magnitude.  Why  should  the  man  of  Stratford, 
who  is  supposed  to  have  had  no  more  connection  with  St.  Albans 
than  he  had  with  Harrow,  Barnet,  Chesham,  Watford,  Hatfield, 
Amersham,  Stevenage,  or  any  other  of  the  villages  near  St.  Albans, 
why  should  he  select  the  residence  of  Francis  Bacon  as  the  scene  of 
the  theft  of  the  shirt  ? 

But  in  2d  Henry  IV.,  act  ii,  scene  2,  page  81  of  the  Folio,  we  find 
St.  Albans  again,  under  equally  suspicious  circumstances.  Prince 
Hal  asks  Bardolph,  Falstaff's  servant,  where  his  master  sups,  and 
vhat  company  he  has. 

Prin.  Sup  any  women  with  him  ? 

Page.  None  my  Lord,  but  old  Mistris  Quickly  and  M.  Doll  Teare-sheet. 

Prin.  What  Pagan  may  that  be  ? 

Page.  A  proper  Gentlewoman,  Sir,  and  a  Kinswoman  of  my  Masters. 

Here  we  are  asked  to  believe  that  Prince  Hal,  the  constant  com- 
panion of  Falstaff  (for  Falstaff  and  his  men  are  called  his  ''contin- 
ual followers  "),  did  not  even  know  the  name  of  the  woman  who 
held  the  relations  to  Falstaff  which  Doll  Tearsheet  sustained.  But 
we  will  see  that  this  surprising  ignorance  was  necessary  for  the 
question  he  was  about  to  ask  : 

Prin.     .   .  .  This  Doll  Teare-sheet  should  be  some  Rode  ? 

Poins.     I  warrant  you,  as  common  as  the  way  betweene  S.  Albans  and  London. ' 

We  can  see  the  process  of  construction  going  on  before  our  very 
eyes,  and  leading  up  to  that  word  St.  A/bans;  just  as  we  saw  the 
school-boy's  lesson  in  The  Merry  Wives  culminating  in  the  word 
Bacon. 

The  prince  asks  where  Falstaff  sups  —  who  is  with  him  ?  Doll 
Teare-sheet.  Who  is  she?  She  must  be  some  road  —  some  com- 
mon path?  Yes;  as  common  as  the  way  between  St.  Albans  and 
London. 

1  2d  Henry  IV.,  71,  2. 


530  THE    CIPHER    IX    THE   PLA  VS. 

Why  St.  Albans  ?  All  roads  in  England  lead  to  London.  Why 
not  the  road  to  York  ?  Or  to  Stratford  ?  Or  to  Warwick  ?  Or  to 
Coventry  ?  Or  to  Kenilworth  ?  Why,  out  of  all  the  multitude  of 
towns  and  cities  of  all  sizes  and  degrees  in  England,  does  the  writer 
again  pick  out  the  residence  of  the  man  who  was  Francis  —  Bacon 
—  Nicholas  —  Bacons  —  sonnc, —  and  whose  name  so  mysteriously 
appears  on  pages  53,  54  and  56  of  the  Comedies  and  Histories  ? 

There  was  another  spot  in  England  with  which  Francis  Bacon 
wTas  closely  identified  —  Gray's  Inn,  London.  Here  he  received  his 
law  education;  here  he  was  lecturer,  or  "double-reader;"  here  he 
gave  costly  entertainments,  masques  and  plays  to  the  court;  here  he 
built  his  famous  lodge;  here  he  retired  in  his  old  age.  And  this 
word,  too  —  a  few  pages  from  the  St,  Albans  I  have  just  quoted  — 
appears  in  the  play.  Speaking  to  his  cousin  Silence  about  Sir  John 
Falstaff,  Robert  Shallow,  justice  of  the  peace,  says: 

Shal.  The  same  Sir  John,  the  very  same.  I  saw  him  break  Scoggan's  head 
at  the  Court-gate,  w*hen  he  was  a  crack  not  this  high;  and  the  very  same  day  did  I 
fight  with  one  Sampson  Stock-fish,  a  Fruiterer,  behinde  Greyes-Inn} 

As  Shallow  and  his  fight,  and  Sampson  Stock-fish  the  fruiterer, 
and  the  whole  play,  were  the  work  of  the  imagination  and  never 
had  any  real  existence,  why  locate  the  battle,  which  has  nothing 
to  do  with  the  play,  or  with  Falstaff,  or  with  anything  else, 
behind  Francis  Bacon's  law  school?  What  had  the  man  of 
Stratford  to  do  with  Gray's  Inn,  that  he  should  thus  drag  it  into 
his  play,  neck  and  heels,  when  there  was  not  the  slightest  necessity 
for  it  ? 

And  then  again,  right  in  this  same  scene,  and  a  few  lines  prior  to 
the  words  I  have  just  quoted,  I  found  another  mysterious  William 
who  bobs  up  into  the  text  of  the  play  without  the  least  particle  of 
connection  with  the  plot,  and  then  settles  down  again  forever  under 
the  waters  of  time,  just  as  the  boy  William  did  in  The  Merry  Wives. 

Silence  and  Shallow  are  cousinsj  Silence  is  in  commission  with 
Shallow  as  justice  of  the  peace.  The  scene  opens  with  a  conver- 
sation between  them. 

Shallow.     By  yea  and   nay,  Sir,   I  dare   say  my  cousin  William   is  become  a 
good  Scholleg  he  is  at  Oxford  still,  is  he  not? 
Silence.      Indeed,  sir,  to  my  cost. 

*  2d  Henry  IV. y  iii,    . 


HOW   1   BECAME    CERTAIN    THERE    WAS  A    CIPHER.        53' 

What  has  this  got  to  do  with  the  play  ?  Why  should  Shallow 
be  so  ignorant  of  the  whereabouts  of  his  cousin  ?  Are  there  any 
other  plays  in  the  world  where  characters  appear  for  an  instant  and 
disappear  in  this  extraordinary  fashion,  saying  nothing  and  doing 
nothing;  but  remaining,  like  Chevy  Slyme,  in  Martin  Chuzzlewit, 
perpetually  out  of  sight  around  a  corner? 

But  there  are  a  great  many  other  Williams  that  thus  float  for  an 
instant  before  our  eyes  and  vanish.  In  act  v,  scene  i  of  this  same 
2d  Henry  71'.,  we  have  three  in  the  space  of  half  a  column.  Shal- 
low is  talking  to  his  man-of-all-work,  Davy  : 

Shallow.  Davy,  Davy,  Davy,  let  me  see  (Davy),  let  me  see;  William  Cooke, 
bid  him  come  hither.   .   .   . 

Davy.     And  again,  sir,  shall  we  sowe  the  head-land  with  Wheate? 

Shallow.  With  red  Wheate  Davy.  But  for  William  Cooke  .  are  thereno young 
Pigeons? 

Davy.     Yes  Sir. 

William  the  Cook  does  not  "come  hither."     And  a  little  fur.... 
on  Shallow  again  refers  to  him: 

Shallow,  Some  pigeons  Davy,  a  eouple  of  short-legged  Hennes:  a  ioynt  of 
Mutton,  and  any  pretty  little  tine  Kickshawes,  tell   William  Cooke. 

And  so  William  Cook  goes  off  the  scene  into  oblivion. 
And  then  there  is  another  William. 

Davy.  Sir,  a  new  link  to  the  bucket  must  needs  be  had.  And,  sir,  do  you 
mean  to  stop  any  of  William's  wages,  about  the  sack  he  lost  the  other  day  at 
Hinckley  Fair? 

And  still  a  third  William  flashes  upon  us  for  an  instant,  like  a 
dissolving  view. 

Davy.  I  beseech  you,  sir,  to  countenance  William  Visor,  of  Woncot,  against 
Clement  Perkes  of  the  hill. 

Hut  Visor,  like  the  rest,  disappears  in  vacuum. 

And  in  As  You  Like  If1  another  William  comes  in,  to  go  off 
again.  He  has  no.  necessary  coherence  with  the  play;  the  plot 
would  proceed  without  him.  He  proposes  to  marry  Audrey,  but 
the  clown  scares  him  off,  and,  after  having  fretted  his  brief  five 
minutes  on  the  stage,  he  wishes  the  clown  *k  God  rest  you,  merry 
sir  :  "  and  steps  out  into  the  darkness.  He  is  a  temporary  fool,  and 
he  answers  no  purpose  save  to  bring  in  the  word   William. 

1  Ac  t  v.  scene  t. 


5$2  THE   CIPHER  IN   the   pla  vs. 

Will.     Good  even  Audrey. 
And.     God  ye  good  Even   William. 
Clown.     Is  thy  name  William? 

Will.      William,  sir. 

Clown.     A  fair  name.     Wast  borne  i'  th  Forrest  here? 

Will.     I,  sir,  I  thank  God. 

I  found  also  that  the  combinations,  Shake  and  speare,  or  "sphere. 
or  Shakes  and  peer,  or  spur,  or  spare,  occur  in  all  the  plays.  The  word 
Shake  or  Shakes  is  found  in  every  play  in  the  Folio,  and  in  Pericles,  which 
7i<as  not  printed  in  the  Folio. 

In  manv  cases  the  word  Shake  or  Shakes  is  evidently  forced  into 
the  text. 

In  All's  Well  that  Ends  Well  we  have: 

Clown.  Marry  you  are  the  wiser  man:  for  many  a  man's  tongue  shakes  out  his 
master's  undoing.1 


Again: 
Again: 

Again: 
Again : 


But  I  must  shake  fair  weather.2 

And  like  the  tyrannous  breathing  of  the  north 
Shakes  all  our  buds  from  growing. :; 

First,  Marcus  Brutus,  will  I  shake  with  you.4 

Servant.     If  you  did  wear  a  beard  upon  your  chin 
I'd  shake  it  in  this  quarrel. 


And,  again,  the  voluble  old  nurse  in  Romeo  and  Juliet  refers  to- 
an  earthquake  that  occurred  when  she  was  weaning  Juliet: 

When  it  did  taste  the  wormwood  on  the  nipple 
Of  my  dug,  and  felt  it  bitter,  pretty  fool! 
To  see  it  tetchy  and  fall  out  with  the  dug. 
Shake,  quoth  the  dove-house.5 

And  observe  how  singularly,  in  such  a  master  of  rhythm  and 
language,  the  word  shake  is  forced  into  this  speech  of  Hamlet, 
when  he  is  swearing  Horatio  and  Marcellus: 

As  I,  perchance,  hereafter  may  think  meet 

To  put  an  antic  disposition  on  — 

That  you,  at  such  times  seeing  me,  never  shall 

With  arms  encumber'd  thus,  or  thus  head  shake, 

Or  by  pronouncing  of  some  doubtful  phrase,  etc.,; 

1  Act  ii,  scene  4.  3  Cymbeline,  i,  4.  "  Romeo  and  Juliet,  i,  3. 

2 2d  Henry  VI. ,  v,  1.  *  Julius  Ceetar,  iii,  1.  ■  Hamlet,  i,  5. 


110 IV  I  BECAME    CERTAIN    THERE    WAS  A    CITHER.       $33 

In  the  2d  Henry  IV.,  when  the  swaggering  Pistol  is  below 
and  asks  to  come  up,  Dame  Quickly  protests  against  it,  but  Falstaff 
reassures  her,  that  he  is  not  a  swaggerer,  but  a  cheater  : 

Cheater  call  you  him?  I  will  bar  no  honest  man  my  house,  nor  no  cheater; 
but  I  do  not  love  swaggering.  I  am  the  worse  when  one  says,  swagger  :  Feele 
masters  how  I  shake. 

And  this  is  the  same  Dame  Quickly  who,  a  little  before,  in  the 
same  play,  threatens  to  throw  the  ponderous  Falstaff  into  the 
channel,  and  who  "cares  nothing  for  his  thrust "  if  she  "can  but 
close  with  him!  "  Any  one  can  see  that  her  act,  in  turning  to  Fal- 
staff and  the  servant,  and  asking  them  to  "feel  how  she  shakes,"  is 
forced  and  unreasonable. 

Clifford  says  to  Cade's  followers: 

Who  loves  the  king,  and  will  embrace  his  pardon, 
Fling  up  his  cap  and  say  —  God  save  his  majesty ! 
Who  hateth  him,  and  honors  not  his  father, 
Henry  the  Fifth,  that  made  all  France  to  quake, 
Shake  he  his  weapon  at  us,  and  pass  by.1 

Is  not  this  a  forced  and  unnatural  expression  ?  Would  it  not 
have  been  sufficient  to  have  taken  the  affirmative  vote  on  the  ques- 
tion, or,  if  he  put  the  negative,  to  have  required  some  more  natural 
sign  ? 

And  again,  Iago  says  of  poor  Cassio,  after  he  has  made  him 

drunk: 

I  fear  the  trust  Othello  puts  in  him, 
On'  some  odd  time  of  his  infirmity, 
Will  shake  this  island.'2 

And  when  we  turn  to  the  last  syllable  of  Shakespeare's  name  we 
find  evidence  that  it  too  is  forced  into  the  text. 

In  1st  Henry  TV.*  facing  that  page  $$  which  we  have  found  so 
pregnant,  these  lines  stand  out  as  if  in  connection  with  the  Bacon 
and  the  Nicholas  Bacon  opposite  them: 

War.     Peace,  cousin,  say  no  more. 
And  now  /  will  unclasp  a  secret  book, 
And  to  your  quick  conceiving  discontents 
I'll  read  you  matter,  deep  and  dangerous, 
As  full  of  peril  and  adventurous  spirit 
As  to  o'er-walk  a  current,  roaring  loud 
On  the  unsteadfast  footing  of  a  Speare. 

1 2d  Henry  17.,  iv,  8.  * Othello,  ii,  3.  'Act  i,  scone  3,  on  page  5*. 


534 


THE    CIPHER    IN    THE   PLA  VS. 


As  a  spear  did  not  usually  exceed  ten  feet  in  length,  we  are 
forced  to  ask  ourselves,  What  kind  of  a  stream  could  that  have  been 
which  it  was  used  to  bridge  ?  One  could  more  readily  leap  it  by  the 
aid  of  the  spear,  than  cross  on  such  a  frail  and  bending  structure. 

Again,  after  Falstaff  has  been  exposed  by  Prince  Hal  and 
Poins,  in  his  prodigious  lying  about  the  battle  which  he  pretended 
to  have  fought,  to  retain  the  plunder  they  had  taken  from  the  trav- 
elers, his  knavish  followers,  Peto  and  Bardolph,  as  soon  as  his  back 
was  turned,  proceed  to  testify  against  him: 

Prin.     Tell  me  now  in  earnest  how  came  Falstaff's  sword  so  hacked  ? 

Peto.  Why  he  hacked  it  with  his  dagger;  and  said  he  would  swear  truth  out  of 
England  but  he  would  make  you  believe  it  was  done  in  fight,  and  persuaded  us  to 
do  the  like. 

Hard.  Yea,  and  to  tickle  our  noses  with  sfear-gTass,  to  make  them  bleed,  and 
then  to  beslobber  our  garments  with  it. 

This  is  ingenious;  but  would  not  blades  of  grass  have  done  as 
well  without  particularizing  the  species  of  grass  ? 

Again,    in  2d  Henry    VI.,  York  says,  speaking  to  the  King,  of 

himself  and  the  crown: 

That  gold  must  round  engirt  these  brows  of  mine; 
Whose  smile  and  power,  like  to  Achilles'  spear, 
Is  able  with  the  change  to  kill  and  cure.1 

This  comparison  of  a  man  to  a  spear,  and  a  medicinal  spear  at 
that,  is  not  natural. 

I  had  observed  that  the  word  beacon  in  that  day  was  pro- 
nounced the  same  as  bacon.  This  is  shown  in  an  anagram  quoted 
by  Judge  Holmes,  from  a  volume  of  poems  of  the  same  Sir  John 
Davies  to  whom  Bacon  wrote  the  letter  already  quoted,  in  which  he 
referred  to  himself  as  a  concealed  poet: 

To  the  Right  Honorable  Sir  Francis  Bacon,  Knight,  Lord  High  Chancellor  of 
England: 

Anagr*  [  Heacone 
)  Beacon 

Thy  virtuous  Name  and  Office  joyne  with  Fate, 

To  make  thee  the  bright  Beacon  of  the  state. 

In  fact,  it  is  well  known  that  the  English  of  Shakespeare's  day 

was   spoken    as  the  peasants  of  Ireland  now  speak   that    tongue. 

Elizabeth's  court  were  delighted  to  hear  that 

A  baste  without  discoorse  of  ray  son 
Would  have  morned  longer. 

*Act  v.  seme  ,. 


The  Irish  obtained  the  English 'tongue  just  as  the  aristocracy  of 
that  age  spoke  it,  and,  with  the  conservatism  of  a  province,  retained 
it  unchanged;  and  so  it  happens  that  the  despised  brogue  of  the 
sister  island  represents  to-day,  Hke  a  living  fossil,  the  classic  speech 
of  England's  greatest  era. 

The  spelling  of  the  Folio  of  1623  gives  us  the  pronunciation  of 
a  great  many  words.     I  note  a  few. 

Ugly  is  spelled  ougly ;l  hoard  is  spelled  hoord,  ~  retreat  is  spelled 
retrait;''  aboard  is  Spelled  aboard;1  murderer  is  spelled  murtherer  ;' 
second  is  spelled  sucond;6  earth  is  spelled  earte;1  grant  is  spelled 
graunt? 

As  a  rule  the  e  had  the  a  sound;  'thus  beacon  became  bacon;  and 
even  beckon  had  the  same  sound,  and  both  were  used  in  the  cipher 
as  the  equivalent  for  Bacon.     Hence  I  think  the  words  in  Hamlet  — 

It  beckons  you  to  go  away  with  it  9 — 

are  the  sequel  to  Francisco. 

And  again: 

lago  beckons  me.10 

In  Troilus  and  Cressida  we  have: 

The  wound  of  peace  is  surety, 
Surety  secure;  but  modest  doubt  is  called 
The  beacon  of  the  wise,  the  tent  that  searches 
To  the  bottom  of  the  worst." 

This  is  very  forced.  Modest  doubt  becomes  a  blazing  signal  fire, 
and  this  again  becomes  a  probe  to  search  a  wound!  And  this  in  a 
master  of  expression,  who  never  lacked  words  to  set  forth  his  real 
meaning. 

In  Lear,  Kent  speaks  of  the  sun  as 

The  beacon  to  this  under  globe. 

The  commentators  could  not  understand  that  the  part  of  the 
earth  on  which  the  sun  shone  could  be  "the  under  globe;"  and  so 
they  inserted  in  the  margin:  "looking  up  to  the  moon.'"  The  neces- 
sities of  the  cipher  constrained  the  sentence. 

In  a  great  many  instances  the  word  Bacon  seems  to  have  been 
made  by  combining  Bay  with  con,  or  can,  which  in  that  day  was  pro- 

1  2d  Henry  IV..\v.i.  2Ibid.,  iv,  i.  3  Ibid.,  iii,  2. 

4  Tempest,  i,  1.  5 Richard II. ,  v,  6,  •  1st Henry  IV. ,  v.    . 

7  Ibid.  8  Ibid.,  v,  3.  •  Hamlet,  i,  3.  ( 

™  Othello,  iv.  i.  M  Troilus  and  Cressida,  ii,  3. 


536 


THE    CIPHER    IN    THE   J' LA  VS. 


nounced  with  the  broad  sound  like  con,  as  it  is  even  yet  in  England 
and  parts  of  America. 

In  such  a  desperate  bay  of  death.1 

The  other  day  a  bay  courser.2 

To  ride  on  a  bay  trotting  horse.3 

I'd  give  bay  curtail.4 

He  seems  to  have  been  fond  of  the  bay  color  in  a  horse. 

Why,  it  hath  bay  windows.5 

The  bay-trees  all  are  withered.6 

Brutus,  bay  me  not.7 

And  then  we  have: 

Ba,  pueritia,  witti  horn  added.     £a.s 
Proof  will  make  me  cry  ba.9 

Ana  when  we  come  to  the  con,  it  is  still  more  forced. 
Thy  horse  will  sooner  con  an  oration.10 

The  cipher  pressed  him  hard  when  he  wrote  such  a  sentence  as 

this:  It  is  not  the  horse   will   deliver  an  oration,  or  the  horse  will 

study  an  oration,  but  the  horse  will  con  it. 

And  again: 

But  I  con  him  no  thanks  for  it." 

Yet,  thanks,  I  must  you  con. 12 

This  is  sheer  nonsense. 

Then  several  curious  facts  presented  themselves.     We  seem  to 

have  many  references  in  a  cipher  narrative  to  different  plays  and 

poems.    I  have  already  called  attention  to  that  instance  of  the  word 

Adonis, — 

Thy  promises  are  like  Adonis'1  gardens,13  — 

and  the  difficulty  the  commentators  had   to  discover  what  it  meant. 

In   the  same   play,    in  the  same  act,    scene   2,   I    found     the    word 

Venus: 

Bright  star  of  Venus,  fallen  down. 
This  gives  us  the  two  words  of  the  name  of  the  poem  of   Venus 
and  Adonis,  the  "first  heir  of  the  poet's  invention." 

1  Richard  III.,  iv,  2.  ''Julius  Ca-sar,  iv,  3. 

-  Timon  of 'Athens,  i,  2.  8 Love's  Labor  Lost,  v,  \. 

•  Lear,  iii,  4.  9  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  i,  1. 

4  AlPs  Well  that  Ends  Well,  ii,  3.  10  Troilus  and  Cressida,  U,  1. 

5  Twelfth  Night,  iv,  2.  "  All's  Well  that  Ends  Well,  iv,  3. 

*  Richard  11.,  ii,  4.  32  Timon  of  Athens,  iv.   |. 

™  1st  Henry  IV.,  i,  6. 


HOW   I  BECAME   CERT  A IX    THERE    WAS  A    CIPHER.        537 

In  Titus  Andronicus*  we  have  all  the  words  necessary  to  con- 
struct the  name  of  his  second  poem,  The  Rape  of  Lucrete. 

The  words  of  the  name  of  Marlowe's  play,  Dido,  Queen  of  Car- 
thage, all  appear  in  The  Merchant  of  Venice. 

The  name  of  Marlowe's  play  Doctor  Faustus  appears  in  The 
Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  Faustus  being  in  the  possessive  case, 
"Doctor  Faustuses.""' 

The  name  of  Marlowe's  great  play  Tamburlaine  appears  in  The 
Merry  Wives  of  Windsor  very  ingeniously  concealed.  The  Welsh- 
man says,  in  his  broken  English, 

The  tevil  and  his  tain. 
Again: 

What  wouldst  thou  have,  boor?1* 

And  it  is  to  be  observed  that  this  word  boor  occurs  nowhere  else 
in  the  Plays;  neither  does  tarn.  The  word  boors,  in  the  plural,  is 
found  once,  and  once  only,  in  The  Winter  s  Tale;*  but  even  that 
would  not  make  the  second  syllable  of   Tamburlaine. 

The  last  syllable  was  probably  formed  by  a  combination  of  lay 

and  /'//. 

When  the  court  lay  at  Windsor.6 

The  ins,  of  course,  are  numerous  in  the  play. 

Richard  Simpson,  in  his  valuable  work,  The  School  of  Shahspere,7 
has  an  interesting  discussion  upon  the  play  of  Histriotnastix,  which 
he  supposes  to  be  written  by  Marston.  In  it  the  author  introduces 
Troilus  and  Cressida,  and  Troilus  makes  a  burlesque  speech  in  which 
this  line  occurs: 

And  when  he  shakes  his  furious  speare. 

This  Mr.  Simpson  believes  to  be  an  "allusion  to  Shakespeare." 
And  strange  to  say,  while  Shakespeare  seems  to  be  alluded  to  in 
the  Histriotnastix  in  this  burlesque  Troilus  and  Cressida,  in  the 
real  Troilus  and  Cressida  the  Histriomastix  is  plainly  referred  to. 
While  Marston  mocks  Shakespeare  in  his  play,  the  real  Shake- 
speare probably  tells,  in  cipher,  something  significant  about  the 
Histriomastix  in  his  play;  for  it  is  conceded  that  there  was  a  battle 
of  wits  at  this  time,  participated  in  by  Jonson,  Marston  and 
others. 


Act  i\\  settles 

r  and  2. 

9  Merry  Wives,  iv,  5. 

»Ibid.,  i 

i,  1. 

Ibid.,  iv,  5. 

6  Act  v,  scene  2. 

7  Vol.  ii,  p.  j. 

"Ibid.,  i 

i,  .!, 

-538  THE    CIPHER    JX    THE    PLAYS. 

In  Troilus  and  Cressida  the  word  try  occurs  only  once: 

Let  me  go  and  try? 
The   first   part  of  this  word    Histriomastix  could  be  easily  con- 
structed of  his-try-o.     The  his  and  0  occur  repeatedly: 
0  when  degree  is  shaked.'- 
The  last  part  of  the  word  mastix  is  given  as  ma  stick. 

Speak,  Prince  of  Ithaca,  and  be't  of  less  expect 
That  matter  needless,  of  importless  burden, 
Divide  thy  lips,  than  we  are  confident, 
When  rank  Thersites  opes  his  /unstick  jaws, 
We  shall  hear  music,  wit  and  oracle. :{ 

In  the  first  place  "the  rank  Thersites"  has  no  place  here.  He 
is  not  in  the  scene.  The  debate  is  between  Ulysses  and  Agamem- 
non. Ulysses  asks  Agamemnon  to  "hear  what  Ulysses  speaks/* 
and  Agamemnon  replies  as  above.  But  what  is  "  mastick  "  ?  There 
is  no  such  word  in  the  language.  It  is  printed  in  the  Folio  with  a 
capital  initial,  "as  marking  something  emphatic,"  says  Knight.  In 
some  editions  the  word  had  been  changed  into  mastive,  simply 
because  the  commentators  did  not  know  what  it  meant.  But 
both  Simpson  and  Knight,  although  they  had  no  idea  of  a  cipher, 
thought  that  it  was  an  allusion  to  the  play  of  Histriomastix. 

The  Massacre  of  Paris,  another  of  Marlowe's  plays,  may  be 
alluded  to  in  the  1st  Henry  VI.  :  • 

The  general  wreck  and  massacre.* 
This  word   is  found  only  in  three  of   the   Plays,  and   in   two  of 
these  the   word  Paris   occurs.     In    1st  Henry  VI.  it  occurs   in    the 
same  scene  with  massacre. 

Orleans,  Paris,  Guysors,  Poictiers.5 
In  Richard  III.  we  have: 

Destruction,  blood  and  massacre} 
In  the  same  play  we  have: 

Crowned  in  Paris.1 

George   Peele's    play,    lite   Arraignment  of  Paris,   seems    to    be 

referred  to  in  Hamlet: 

Our  person  to  arraign  in  ear  and  ear." 

1  Troilus  and  Cressida,  iii,  2.  *  rst  Henry  /"/.,  i,  1,  "■  Ibid.,  ii.  3. 

9  Ibid.,  i,  1.  6  Ibid.,  ii.  8  Hamlet    !V, 

8  I  hid.,  j,  3.  f>  Richard  11 7„  ii,  4. 


HOW    /   BECAME    CERTAIN    THERE    WAS  A    CIPHER. 


539 


Will  he  tell  us  what  this  show  meant. 


First  what  Danskers  are  in  Pi 


(ins. 


This  is  the  only  time  the  word  Paris  is  used  in  Hamlet. 

Ben  Jonson's  play  of   Cynthia's  Revels  seems  to  be  referred  to  in 

Romeo    and  Juliet  and  in    Pericles.       It  is  remarkable   that   Cynthia 

appears  only  twice  in  the  Plays,  and  each  time  in  the  same  play  we 

find  the  word  Revels. 

The  pale  reflex  of  Cynthia  s  brow.;;' 

With  this  night's  revels.*    ■ 

This  is  the  only  occasion  revels  appears  in  Romeo  and  Juliet. 

In  Perieles  we  have: 

By  the  eye  of  Cynthia  hath.  ' 
And  again  : 

Which  looks  for  other  revets.* 

This  is  the  only  time  the  word  revels  appears  in  Perieles. 

Marlowe  wrote  the  poem  of  Hero  and  Leander.  In  the  Shake- 
speare Plays  Leander  occurs  in  but  three  plays.  The  Two  Gentlemen 
of  Verona.  Much  Ado  About  Nothing  and  As  You  Like  It,  and  in  each 
of  these  flays  the  name  of  Hero  occurs,  and  only  once  in  any  other 
play,  to-wit,  Romeo  and  Juliet !  This  is  certainly  remarkable,  that 
out  of  all  the  Plays  Leander  should  occur  in  but  three  and  Hero  in 
but  four;  and  in  three  out  of  four  it  matches  Leander : 

In  The  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona  we  have: 

Scale  another  Hero's  tower.7 
And  again: 

Young  Leander.9 
In  Much  Ado  we  have: 

It  is  proved,  my  lady  /Era.9 
And  again: 

Leander,  the  good  swimmer.1" 

In  As    You  dike  It  we   have: 

Though  Hero  had  turned  nun." 
And  again: 

Leander,  he  would  have  lived.18 

In    the    last    four   instances   the  words  occur  in   the  same  act  an  J 


teene. 


1  Hamlet,  iii.    .  "  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  ii,  i. 

2  Ibid.,  ii.  i.  *Ibid.,  i.  i. 

1  Romeo  and  Juliet,  iii,  5.  ■  Much  Ado. About  Nothing,  v,  2. 

4  Ibid.,  i.  4.  10Ibid. 

* Pericles,  ii.  4-  llAs  You  Like  It.  iv.  1. 

•Ibid.,  ii.    .  '2  Ibid. 


54° 


THE    CIPHER   IN    THE   FLA  VS. 


Marlowe  also   translated   the  Elegies  of  Ovid,  and  we   find   the 
words  translate,  Elegies,  Ovid,  all  in  As  You  Like  It : 
Make  thee  away,  translate  thy  life.1 
And  elegies  on  brambles.*2 
Honest  Ovid:'' 

And  in  Love's  Labor  Lost  we  have  again  translation  and  Ovidius. 

A  translation  of  hypocrisy.4 
Ovidius  Naso  was  the  man.5 

This  is  the  only  time  translation  and  Ovidius  occur  in  the  entire 
Shakespeare  Plays,  and,  strange  to  say,  we  find  them  in  the  same  play ! 

The  words  Edward  the  Second,  another  of  Marlowe's  plays,  appear 
in  The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor \  Henry  VLLL.,  Richard  LL.,  2d  Henry 
IV.,  1st  Henry  VI. ,  etc. 

It  thus  appears  that  we  find  embalmed  in  the  Shakespeare  Plays 
the  names  of  every  one  of  Marlowe's  plays  or  poems  except  The  Jew 
of  Malta,  and  even  in  this  instance  the  name  of  the  principal  char- 
acter of  the  play,  the  bloody  and  murderous  Jew,  Barabbas,  is  found 
in  The  Merchant  of  Venice;  and  the  words  Jew  and  malt  (combined 
by  a  hyphen  with  "malt-worms")  occur  in  1st  Henry  IV.  It  would 
need  but  an  a  to  complete  the  name.  And  both  the  Jew  and  the 
malt  are  found  in  the  same  act. 

The  full  name  of  Christopher  Marlowe  appears  in  The  Taming  of 
the  Shrew.     Thus: 

Christopher  Sly.6 
I  did  not  bid  you  mar  it.  "' 
A  low,  submissive  reverence/ 
In  none  of  the  other  plays  is  such  a  combination  found,  for  the 
word  Christopher  occurs  in  no  other  play. 

The  combination  Mar  and  low  appears  in  The  Tempest,  The  Two 
Gentlemen  of  Verona  and  The  Winter  s  Tale,  while  Mar  and  lo  will 
be  found  in  several  others. 

The  name  of  Bacon's  beautiful  home  at  St.  Albans  —  Gorhams- 
frury — appears  in  Romeo  and  Juliet,  thus: 

In  blood,  all  in  gore  blood.'-' 

A  man  to  bow  in  the  ha///s.U) 

And  badest  me  bury  love.11 

1  .  \s  You  Like  It,  v,  t.  5  Ibid.,  iv,  2.  "  Act  ill,  scene  2. 

"■'Ibid.,  iii,  j.  e  Taming  of  the  Shrew,  Induction.  "'Act  ii,  scene  4. 

•  Ibid.,  iii,  2.  7  Ibid.,  iv,  ;.  "  Act  ii,  scene  ;. 

*  Love**  Labor  Lost,  v,  2.  e  Ibid.,  Induction. 


HOW  I  BECAME    CERTAIN    THERE    HAS  A    CIPHER.        541 

In  Hamlet  we  have  the  name  of  Bacon's  dear  friend  Bettenham, 

pronounced  Battenham,  to  whom  he  erected  a  monument  at  Gray's 

Inn : 

To  batten  on  this  moor.1  -9 

Together  with  most  weak  hams.'- 

I  observed   also  the  name  Rawley  (the   name  of  his  chaplain)  in 

Henry  V.: 

Their  children  rawly  left3  — 

while   the  combination    Sir  Walter  Raleigh  thus  appears  in  Richard 

III.: 

Sir  Walter  Herbert.4 

The  air  is  Raw  and  cold."' 

A  book  of  prayers  on  their  pillow  /ay.'' 

And  again  in  Trailus  and  Cressida,  thus: 
Cold  palsies,  raw  eyes.1 
Drink  up  the  tees  and  dregs. s 

While    the   combination   raw  and   lay  is  found  in  The  Merry  Wives 
of  Windsor,  Love's  Labor  Lost  and  five  other  plays. 
The  name  of  Bacon's  uncle,  Burleigh,  is  found  in 

The  /w/r-boned  clown.'1 
Xow  the  huT\y~6urly 's  done.'" 
The  news  of  hurly-iurly  innovation." 

I  observed  another  curious  fact,  that  the  name  of  the  play  Meas- 
ure for  Measure  seemed  to  be  very  often  referred  to  in  the  dramas; 
and  in  many  cases  the  words  ran  in  couples.     Thus  the  word  meas- 
ure appears  in  the  Merry  Wives  of    Windsor  only  twice: 
To  measure  our  weapons.1-' 
To  guide  our  measure  round  about.13 

In  Twelfth  Night  it  likewise  appears  only  twice: 

In  a  good  tripping  measure  }x 
After  a  passy  measure. ,18 

In   Measure  for  Measure   itself  the  play  seems  to  be  referred  to.. 
in  the  cipher  narrative,  thus: 

No  sinister  measure.™ 
And  measure  still  for  measure. n 

1  Act  iii,  scene  4.  7  Act  v,  scene  1.  n  Act  v,  scene  5. 

2  Act  ii,  scene  2.  ■  Act  iv,  scene  1.  ' '  Act  v,  scene  1. 

3  Act  iv,  scene  1.  •  2d  Henry  J'/.,  iv,  10.  >■  Act  v,  scene  1. 

4  Act  v,  scene  3  — Act  iv,  scene  5.  10  Macbeth,  i,  1.  ,a  Act  iii.  scene  2- 
■  Act  v,  scene  3.  n  1st  Henry  //'.,  v,  1.  17  Act  v,  scene  1.. 
''  Act  iv,  scene  3.  12  Act  i,  scene  4. 


-42  THE    CIPHER   IN    THE    PI, A  VS. 

la    A    Winter's     Talc    the    word    also  -occurs    twice,  and    only 

twice: 

Measure  me.1 

The  measure  of  the  court.9 

In  The  Comedy  of  Errors  it  also  appears  twice  only: 
Not  measure  her  from  hip  to  hip.;{ 
Took  measure  of  my  body.4 

In  Macbeth  we  find  the  same  dualism: 

Anon  we'll  drink  a  measure.'' 
We  will  perform  in  measure.* 
In   Troilus  and  Cress/da  we  have  the  same  word  twice: 
By  measure  of  their  observant  toil.7 
Fair  denies  in  all  fair  measure* 
In  King  Lear  also  it  appears  in  this  double  form: 
If  you  will  measure  your  lubber's  length.'* 
And  every  measure  fail  me.10 
In  Othello  we  have  it  again  twice,  the  last  time  in  the  possessive 
case,  as  if  he  was  speaking  of  Measure  for  Measure's  success,  thus: 
Would  fain  have  a  ?neasure  to  the  health.11 
Nor  for  measures  of  lawn.12 
If  the  reader  will  examine  the  subject  he  will  find  that  the  word 
measure  runs   in  couples  all  through   the  other  plays.     It  is  either 
matched  with  itself  in  the  same  play,  as  in  As  You  Like  It,  where  it 
occurs  in  three  couples;   in  Love's  Labor  Lost,  where  there  are  also 
three  couples;  in  Richard II.%   where  there  are  two  couples;  in  jd 
Henry  VI,  where  there  are  also  two  couples,  and  in  Antony  and  Cleo- 
patra, where  there  are  also  two  couples;  or  it   is  found  in  the  end 
of  one  play,  matching  with  the   same  word  in  the  beginning  of  the 
next  play  in  the  Folio,  for  the  cipher  narrative  is  oftentimes  contin- 
uous from  play  to  play. 

The  name  of  the  plays  now  generally  attributed  to  Shakespeare, 
the  first  and  second  parts  of  The  Contention  of  the  Houses  of  York  and 

Lancaster,  is  found  in  the  ist  and  2d  Henry  IV.,  thus: 

1 

1  Act  ii,  scene  1.  »              6  Act  iii,  scene  4.  9  Act  i,  scene  4. 

8  Act  iv,  scene  3.  '  Act  v,  scene  7.  10  Act  iv,  scene  7. 

3  Act  iii,  scene  2.  '  Act  i,  scene  3.  J '  Act  ii,  scene  3. 

4  Act  iv,  scene    .  "  Act  iii,  scene  t.  l8  Act  iv,  scene  3. 


HOW   1   BECAME    CERTAIN    THERE    WAS  A    CIPHER 


543 


In  the  very  heat 
And  pride  of  their  contention} 

And  dialls  the  signs  of  leaping-// <;//.sv.v.-' 

As  oft  as  Lancaster  doth  speak.3 

His  uncle   York.* 

The  name  reappears,  abbreviated,  in  the  beginning  of   1st  Henry 

IV.: 

The  times  are  wild,  Contention  like  a  horse.'' 

Between  the  royal  field  of  Shrewsbury.6 

The  gentle  archbishop  of    York  is  up.7 
Under  the  conduct  of  young  Lancaster} 
And  the  entire  name,  as  it  appears  upon  the   title-page  of  the 
original  quarto,  is  given  in  3d Henry  IV.,  "The  Contention  of  the  two 
Famous  Houses  of  York  and  Lancaster."     Thus: 

No  quarrel,  but  a  slight  contention.'-' 

Would  buy  two  hours'  life.1" 

Were  he  as  fa/nous  and  as  bold." 

The  colors  of  our  striving  houses}'1 

m  Strengthening  mis-proud    York}9 

O  Lancaster,  I  fear  thy  overthrow." 

The  word  contention  is  an  unusual  one  and  appears  in  but  four 
other  plays,  viz.:  Henry  I'.,  Troilus  and  Cressida,  Cymbeline  and 
Othello,  and  in  each  case  I  think  it  has  reference,  in  cipher,  to  the 
play  of  The  Contention  of  York  and  Lancaster,  one  of  the  earliest  of 
the  author's  writings.     It  is  not  found  at  all  in  thirty  of  the  plays. 

And  how  strained  and  unnatural  is  the  use  of  this  word 
contention?     It  is  plainly  dragged  into  the  text.     As  thus: 

Contention  (like  a  horse 
Full  of  high  feeding)  madly  hath  broke  loose.18 

And  let  the  world  no  longer  be  a  stage 
To  feed  contention  in  a  lingering  act. 

The  genius  of  the  author  drags  a  thread  of  sense  through  these 
sentences,  but  it  is  exceedingly  attenuated  and  gossamery. 

The  name  of  Bacon's  early  philosophical  work,  The  Masculine 
Birth  of  Time,  appears  in  three  of  the  plays.     The  word  masculine 


1  Act  i,  scene  i. 
*  Act  i,  scene  2. 
;i  Act  iii,  scene  : 
1  Act  i,  scene  3. 
8  Act  i,  scene  1. 


r"  Act  i.  scene  1. 

7  Act  i,  scene  2. 

8  Act  i,  scene  2. 

9  Act  i,  scene  2. 
10  Act  ii,  scene  6. 


11  Act  ii,  scene  1. 

12  Act  ii,  scene  5. 

13  Act  ii,  scene  6. 

14  Act  ii,  scene  6. 

18  2d  Henry  IV.,  ii,  a. 


544 


THE    CIPHER   JX    THE   PL.  1  J  "S. 


is  an  unusual  word  in  poetry;  it  occurs  but  three  times  in  the  entire 
Folio,  and  each  time  the  words  birth  and  time  accompany  it, 
either  in  the  same  scene  or  close  at  hand.  For  instance,  in  Twelfth 
Nighty  in  act  v,  in  the  same  scene  (scene  i)  we  have  all  three  of  the 
words,  masculine,  birth,  time.  In  ist  Henry  VI.,  masculine  is  in  act 
ii,  scene  i,  while  birth  and  time  occur  in  act  ii,  scene  iv.  In 
Troilus  and  Cressida  they  appear  in  act  v,  scene  i,  and  act  iv,  scene  4. 

The  Advancement  of  Learning,  the  name  of  one  of  Bacon's  great 
Works,  is  found  in  The  Tempest,  2d  Henry  IV.  and  Hamlet.  The 
words  Scaling  Ladders  of  the  Intelligence  are  all  found  in  Coriolanus. 

With  these  and  many  other  similar  observations,  I  became  satis- 
fied that  there  was  a  cipher  narrative  interwoven  into  the  body  and 
texture  of  the  Plays.  Any  one  of  the  instances  I  have  given  would 
by  itself  have  proved  nothing,  but  the  multitude  of  such  curious, 
coincidences  was  cumulative  and  convincing. 

Granted  there  was  a  cipher,  how  was  I  to  lind  it? 


CHAPTER  III. 

A    VAIN  SEARCH  IN  THE  COMMON  EDITIONS 

He  apprehends  a  world  of  figures  here, 
But  not  the  form  of  what  he  should  attend. 

ist  Henry  IV. ,  /,j. 

IF  there  was  a  cipher  in  the  Plays,  written  by  Francis  Bacon,  why 
should  it  not  be  Bacon's  cipher,  to-wit:  a  cipher  of  words 
infolded  in  other  words,  "  the  writing  infolding  holding  a  quintuple 
proportion  to  the  writing  infolded  "  ? 

And  if  I  was  to  find  it  out,  why  not  begin  on  those  words, 
Francis,  Bacon,  Nicholas,  Bacon's,  son,  in  the  ist  Henry  IV.,  act  ii  ? 

I  did  so,  using  an  ordinary  edition  of  the  Plays.  For  days  and 
weeks  and  months  I  toiled  over  those  pages.  I  tried  in  every  pos- 
sible way  to  establish  some  arithmetical  relation  between  these 
significant  words.  It  was  all  in  vain.  I  tried  all  the  words  on 
page  53,  on  page  54,  on  page  55.  I  took  every  fifth  word,  every 
tenth  word,  every  twentieth  word,  every  fiftieth  word,  every  hun- 
dredth word.  But  still  the  result  was  incoherent  nonsense.  I 
counted  from  the  top  of  the  pages  down,  from  the  bottom  up, 
from  the  beginning  of  acts  and  scenes  and  from  the  ends  of  acts 
and  scenes,  across  the  pages,  and  hop,  skip  and  jump  in  every 
direction;  still,  it  produced  nothing  but  dire  nonsense. 

Since  it  was  announced  in  the  daily  press  of  the  United  States 
that  I  claimed  to  have  discovered  a  cipher  in  the  Shakespeare 
Plays,  there  have  been  some  who  have  declared  that  it  was  easy 
enough  to  make  any  kind  of  a  sentence  out  of  any  work.  I  grant 
that  if  no  respect  is  paid  to  arithmetical  rules  this  can  easily  be 
done.  If  the  decipherer  is  allowed  to  select  the  words  he  needs  at 
random,  wherever  he  finds  them,  he  can  make,  as  Bacon  says, 
"anything  out  of  anything;  "  he  could  prove  in  this  way  that  the 
Apostle  Paul  wrote  Cicero's  orations.  But  I  insist  that,  wherever 
any  arithmetical  proportion  is  preserved  between  the  words 
selected,   it    is   impossible   to   find   five   words  that   will  cohere  in 

545 


546  THE    CIPHER   IN    THE    PLA  VS. 

sense,  grammar  or  rhetoric;  in  fact,  it  is  very  rarely  that  three  can 
be  found  to  agree  together  in  proper  order. 

To  prove  this,  let  me  take  this  very  page  53  of  1st  Henry  //'..  on 
which  Nicholas  Bacon  is  found,  and  try  the  tenth,  twentieth, 
fiftieth  and  hundredth  words: 

The  tenth  words  are: 

To, —  it, —  bids, —  a, —  can, —  ana7, — found, —  how, —  looks, —  on, —  /, — 
ripe, —  /o(\ —  once, —  bearc, —  7c>e,—  thrive, —  short, —  Heigh,  etc. 

The  twentieth  words  are: 

It,  —  a,  —  and,  —  how,  —  on,  —  ripe, —  once, —  we, —  short, — hanged, — 
Tom, —  of, — give, —  since, —  in, —  in, —  a, —  away,  etc. 

The  fiftieth  words  are: 

Can, —  on, —  beare, —  hanged,  —  as,  —  in,  — -your,  —  never, —  /, — go, — 
picking, —  of, —  //, —  me, —  mad, — pray,  etc. 

The  hundredth  words  are: 

O  n, —  hanged, —  ///, —  never, —  He, —  wild, —  //, —  then,  etc. 

The  liveliest  imagination  and  the  vastest  ingenuity  can  make 
nothing  of  such  sentences  as  these,  twist  them  how  you  will.  The 
presence  of  order,  and  the  coherence  of  things  in  the  visible  uni- 
verse, prove  the  Creator.  The  existence  of  a  regular,  rhetorical, 
grammatical,  reasonable  sentence,  occurring  at  stated  and  unvary- 
ing intervals  in  the  texture  of  a  work,  proves  conclusively  that 
some  mind  so  prearranged  it.  The  man  who  would  believe 
otherwise  has  just  cause  of  complaint  against  the  God  who  so  mis- 
erably equipped  him  for  the  duties  of  life.  He  would  be  ready  to 
believe,  as  Bacon  himself  has  said,  and  as  I  have  quoted  elsewhere, 
that  you  could  write  the  separate  letters  of  the  alphabet  on  a  vast 
number  of  slips  of  paper,  and  then,  by  mixing  and  jumbling  them 
together,  they  would  accidentally  assume  the  shape  of  Homer's 
Iliad! 

A  consecutive  thought  demonstrates  a  brain  behind  it. 

If  this  prove  false, 
The  pillared  firmament  is  rottenness, 
And  earth's  base  built  on  stubble. 

After  many  weary  months  of  this  self-imposed  toil,  trying  every 
kind  and  combination  of  numbers  that  I  could  think  of,  I  gave  it 
up  in  despair.  T  did  not  for  one  instant  doubt  that  there  was  a 
cipher  in  the  Plays.     I  simply  could  not  find  it. 


A     VAIN   SEARCH   IN    THE    COMMON  EDITIONS.  547 

I  wrote  my  books  Atlantis  and  Ragnarok.  After  these  were 
off  my  hands,  my  mind  kept  recurring  to  the  problem  of  the  cipher. 
At  length  this  thought  came  to  me: 

The  common  editions  of  the  Plays  have  been  doctored,  altered, 
corrected  by  the  commentators.  What  evidence  have  I  that  the 
words  on  these  pages  are  in  anything  like  their  original  order? 
The  change  of  a  word,  of  a  hyphen,  would  throw  out  the  whole 
count. 

I  must  get  a  copy  of  the  play  as  it  was  originally  pub- 
lished. I  knew  there  were  facsimile  copies  of  the  great  Folio  of 
1623.  I  must  procure  one.  At  first  I  bought  a  copy,  octavo  form, 
reduced,  published  by  Chatto  &  Windus.  But  I  found  the  type 
was  too  small  for  the  kind  of  work  I  proposed.  I  at  length,  July 
1,  1882,  procured  a  facsimile  copy,  folio  size,  made  by  photo-litho- 
graphic process,  and,  therefore,  an  exact  reproduction  of  type, 
pages,  punctuation  and  everything  else.  It  is  one  of  those  "exe- 
cuted under  the  superintendence  of  H.  Staunton,"  and  published  in 
1S66  by  Day  &  Son,  London. 


CHAPTER    IV. 
THE    GREA  T  FOLIO   EDITION   OF   1623, 

Look,  Lucius,  here's  the  bonk  I  sought  for. 

Julius  Casar,  ivtj. 

IN  1623  Shakspcre  had  been  dead  seven  years;  Elizabeth  had 
long  before  gone  to  her  account;  James  was  king;  the  Plays 
had  ceased  to  appear  more  than  twelve  years  before.  In  that  time 
Bacon  had  mounted  to  the  highest  station  in  the  kingdom.  But  a 
great  tempest  was  arising  —  a  tempest  that  was  to  sweep  England, 
Ireland  and  Scotland,  and  bring  mighty  men  to  the  surface;  and 
its  first  wild  gusts  had  hurled  the  great  Lord  Chancellor  in  shame 
and  dishonor  from  his  chair. 

In  1623  Bacon,  amid  the  wreck  of  his  fortune,  was  settling  up 
his  accounts  with  his  own  age  and  getting  ready  for  posterity. 
He  said,  in  a  letter  to  Tobie  Matthew: 

It  is  true  my  labors  are  most  set  to  have  those  works,  which  I  formerly  pub- 
lished, as  that  of  Advancement  of  Learnings  that  of  Henry  V '  1 'I.,  that  of  the  Essays, 
being  retractate,  and  made  more  perfect,  well  translated  into  Latin  by  the  help 
of  some  good  pens,  which  forsake  me  not.  For  these  modern  languages  will,  at 
one  time  or  another,  play  the  bankrupt  with  books;  and  since  I  have  lost  much 
time  with  this  age,  I  would  be  glad,  as  God  shall  give  me  leave,  to  recover  it 
with  posterity. 

After  speaking,  in  a  letter  to  the  Bishop  of  Winchester,  of  the 
examples  afforded  him  by  Demosthenes,  Cicero  and  Seneca,  in  the 
times  of  their  banishment,  he  proceeds: 

These  examples  confirmed  me  much  in  a  resolution,  whereunto  I  was  other- 
wise inclined,  to  spend  my  time  wholly  in  writing,  and  to  put  forth  that  poor 
talent,  or  half  talent,  or  what  it  is,  that  God  has  given  me,  not,  as  heretofore,  to 
particular  exchanges,  but  to  banks  or  mounts  of  perpetuity,  which  will  not  break. 

The  De  Augmentis  was  published  at  the  same  time,  in  the  same 
year,  as  the  Folio,  and  in  it,  as  I  have  shown,  is  contained  the 
chapter  on  ciphers,  and  a  description  of  that  best  of  all  ciphers  — 
omnia  per  omnia,  where  one  writing  is  infolded  in  another.  Thus 
the  cipher  narrative  and  the  key  to   it  went  out  together  in  the 

same  year. 

r  ;• 


THE    GREA  7'   FOLIO  EDITION  OF  1623.  549 

The  Novum  Organum  was  published,  incomplete,  in  the  autumn 
of  1620;  and  he  gave  as  a  reason  for  sending  it  forth  unfinished 
that  "  he  numbered  his  days  and  would  have  it  saved." 

In  the  same  way  he  desired  to  save  Macbeth,  Julius  Ctesar,  Henry 
17//.,  Cymbcliuc,  The  Winter's  Tafe,  etc.,  from  the  oblivion  that 
would  fall  upon  them  unless  he  published  them;  for  the  man  in 
whose  name  they  were  to  be  given  out  had  taken  no  steps  to  secure 
their  rescue  from  the  waters  of  Lethe. 

And  he  speaks  of  them,  as  I  take  it,  enigmatically  in  the  fol- 
lowing: 

As  for  my  Essays,  and  some  other  particulars  of  that  nature,  I  count  them  but  as 
the  recreation  of  my  other  studies,  and  in  that  sort  I  propose  to  continue  them,  though 
I  am  not  ignorant  that  those  kind  of  writings  would,  with  less  pains  and  embrace- 
ment,  perhaps  yield  more  luster  and  reputation  to  my  name  than  those  other  which 
I  have  in  hand.  But  I  count  the  use  that  a  man  should  seek  of  the  publishing  of 
his  own  writings,  before  his  death,  to  be  but  an  untimely  anticipation  of  that  which 
is  proper  to  follow  a  man,  not  to  go  along  with  him.1 

We  have  seen  him  describing  poetry  as  a  recreation,  as  some- 
thing that  "slipped"  from  one  like  gum  from  the  tree;  and  we 
have  seen  him,  in  his  letters  to  Tobie  Matthew,  referring  to  certain 
"  works  of  his  recreation,"  which  no  one  was  to  be  allowed  to 
copy,  and  to  unnamed  "works  of  the  alphabet."  And  now  he  says 
that  he  proposes  to  publish  these  works,  and  "continue  them" 
down  to  posterity.  And  he  believes  that  these  works  would  yield 
more  luster  and  reputation  to  his  name  than  those  which  he  has  in 
hand,  to-wit,  his  philosophical  and  prose  works.  Surely  the  Essays 
and  the  acknowledged  fragments  he  left  behind  would  not  yield 
more  "  luster  and  reputation"  than  the  Novum  Organum  and  the 
De  Augmentis.  He  must  refer,  then,  to  some  great  works.  And 
how  purposely  obscure  is  that  last  sentence! 

I  count  the  use  that  a  man  should  seek  of  the  publishing  of  his  own  writings 
before  his  death  to  be  but  an  untimely  anticipation  of  that  which  is  proper  to  fol- 
low a  man,  not  to  go  along  with  him. 

He  is  taking  the  utmost  pains  to  publish  his  writings  before  his 
death,  "remembering  his  days,  and  that  they  must  be  saved,"  and 
yet  he  tells  us  that  this  is  an  untimely  anticipation  of  what  must 
follow  him.  That  is,  if  the  works  are  not  published  they  will  be 
lost;  and   it    is    better   they  should    be   lost;   and   then    the  glory  of 

1  Letter  to  the  Bishop  of  Winchester. 


550  THE    CIPHER   IN    THE   PLAYS. 

them  will  follow  the  author's  death!  Bacon  is  never  obscure 
unless  he  intends  to  be  so.  And  in  this  I  think  he  means  as  fol- 
lows: 

...  As  for  my  Essays  and  the  Shakespeare  Plays,  I  will  continue  them  —  pre- 
serve them  for  posterity.  I  am  aware  that  those  plays  would  give  more  luster  and 
reputation  to  my  name,  if  I  acknowledged  them,  than  my  philosophical  writings; 
but  I  think  there  is  a  certain  glory  which  should  follow  a  man,  by  rising  up  long 
after  his  death,  rather  than  accompany  him  by  being  published  in  his  own  name 
before  his  death. 

If  he  does  not  hint  at  this,  what  does  he  mean  ?  Surely  there  is 
no  great  distinction  between  a  man  publishing  his  writings  a  year 
before  his  death,  and  having  his  executors  publish  them  a  year  after 
his  death;  and  why  should  the  one  be  an  "  untimely  anticipation  of 
the  other"  ?  And  just  about  this  period  Bacon  writes  to  Sir  Tobie 
that  "it  is  time  to  put  the  alphabet  in  a  frame  ;  "  and  we  will  see 
that  the  cipher  depends  on  the  paging  of  the  great  Folio,  and  the 
paging  is  as  a  frame  to  the  text. 

And  side  by  side  with  the  Novum  Organum  and  the  De  Augmen- 
tis,  mighty  pillars  of  his  glory,  appears,  at  the  same  time,  this  noble 
Folio,  which,  as  Collier  says,  "  does  credit  to  the  age,  even  as  a  speci- 
men of  typography."1 

And  at  the  same  time  Lord  Bacon  sends  some  "  great  and  noble 
token  "  to  Sir  Tobie  Matthew,  and  Sir  Tobie  does  not  dare  to  name 
the  work  in  his  letter  of  thanks,  but,  in  the  obscure  way  common  to 
the  correspondence  of  these  men,  says:  "  The  most  prodigious  wit 
that  ever  I  knew,  of  my  nation  and  of  this  side  of  the  sea,  is  of  your 
lordship's  name,  though  he  be  known  by  another."  That  is  to  say, 
Sir  Tobie,  writing  probably  from  Madrid,  says:  "Your  lordship  is 
the  first  of  wits  —  you  are  the  greatest  wit  I  have  ever  known, 
either  in  England,  i  my  nation,'  or  Europe,  '  on  this  side  of  the  sea,' 
though  you  have  disguised  your  greatness  under  an  assumed 
name." 

And  "  a  great  and  noble  token,"  indeed,  is  this  Folio.  The  world 
has  never  seen,  will  never  see  such  another.  It  is  more  lustrous 
than  those  other  immortal  books,  the  Novum  Organum  and  the 
De  Augmentis,  and  its  columnar  light  will  shine  through  all  the 
ages.  It  is  another  Homer  —  more  vast,  more  civilized,  more 
varied,   more  complicated;    multiplied   in   all   forms  and   powers  a 

1  English  Dramatic  Poetry,  vol.  iii,  p.  313. 


THE   GREAT  FOLIO  EDITION   OF  1623.  551 

thousand-fold.     And   no  other  name  than  Homer  is  worthy  to  be 

mentioned  beside  it. 

Collier  says  of  the  Folio: 

As  a  specimen  of  typography  it  is  on  the  whole  remarkably  accurate;  and  so 
desirous  were  the  editors  and  printers  of  correctness  that  they  introduced  changes 
for  the  better  even  while  the  sheets  were  in  progress  through  the  press.1 

Even  to-day  it  must  be  a  subject  of  admiration.  Its  ponderous 
size,  its  clear,  large  type,  its  careful  punctuation,  its  substantial 
paper,  its  thousand  pages,  all  testify  that  in  its  day  it  was  a  work 
of  great  cost  and  labor. 

I  had  read  somewhere  that  it  was  very  irregularly  paged,  and 
when  I  procured  my  facsimile  copy  I  turned  first  to  this  point. 

I  found  the  volume  was  divided,  as  the  index  showed,  into  three 
divisions,  Comedies,  Histories  and  Tragedies;  and  that  the  paging 
followed  these  divisions,  commencing  at  page  1  in  each  instance. 
This  was  not  unreasonable  or  extraordinary.  In  some  cases  there 
are  errors  of  the  printer,  plainly  discernible  as  such.  For  instance, 
page  153  of  the  Comedies  is  printed  151,  but  the  next  page  is  marked 
with  the  correct  number,  154;  page  59  of  the  Comedies  is  printed 
page  51;  page  89  of  the  Histories  is  printed  91;  90  is  printed  92,  etc. 
But  as  a  whole  the  Comedies  are  printed  very  regularly.  In  each 
case  the  first  page  of  a  play  follows  precisely  the  number  of  the 
last  page  of  the  preceding  play.  Between  Twelfth  Night  and  The 
Winter' 's  Talc  there  is  a  blank  page,  but  even  this  is  taken  into 
account,  although  it  is  not  numbered.  The  last  page  of  Twelfth 
Night  is  275,  then  comes  the  blank  page,  which  should  be  276,  and 
the  first  page  of  The  Winter  s  Tale  is  277.  I  call  attention  to  this 
particularly,  because  it  goes  to  prove  that  the  great  changes  in  the 
numbering  of  pages  of  some  of  the  Plays,  in  the  Histories,  are  not 
likely  to  have  been  the  result  of  negligence. 

The  Histories  begin  with  King  John,  on  page  1,  and  the 
pages  proceed  in  regular  order  to  page  37,  in  the  play  of  Richard  II., 
which  is  misprinted  39.  Richard  II.  ends  on  page  45;  the  next  play, 
1st  Henry  IV.,  begins  on  page  46;  then  pages  47  and  48  are  missing, 
and  the  next  page  is  49;  and  after  this  the  paging  proceeds  in  due 
order,  with  the  exception  of  the  apparent  typographical  errors  on 
pages  89,  91,  etc.,  already  referred  to,  to  the  end  of  the  2d  Henry  IF., 

1  English  Dramatic  Pcetry%  vol.  iii,  p.  313. 


552  THE    CIPHER  IN    THE    PLAYS. 

which  terminates  on  page  ioo.  Then  there  is  an  Epilogue^  which 
occupies  an  unnumbered  page,  which  would  be,  if  numbered,  101; 
then  another  unnumbered  page  is  devoted  to  the  names  of  the 
characters  in  the  play;  this  should  be  page  102.  The  next  page  is 
the  opening  of  the  play  of  Henry  V.f  but,  instead  of  being  page  103, 
it  is  numbered  69  ! 

If,  after  this  number,  69,  the  pages  had  proceeded  again,  104, 105, 
106,  etc.,  in  regular  order,  yve  might  suppose  that  the  69  was  a  typo- 
graphical error.  But  no;  the  paging  runs  70,  71,  72,  73,  in  perfect 
order,  to  95,  the  last  page  of  the  play,  and  the  next  play,  1st  Henry 
IV.,  begins  on  page  96;  and  so  the  paging  continues,  in  due  order, 
with  one  or  two  slight  mistakes,  which  are  immediately  corrected, 
to  the  end  of  Henry  VIII.,  on  page  232.    ■ 

Here  again  we  have  a  surprise  : 

The  next  page,  unnumbered,  is  the  prologue  to  Troilus  and  Cres- 
sida.  It  should  be  page  233;  the  next,  on  which  the  play  opens, 
is  also  unnumbered,  but  should  be  page  234;  the  next  page  is 
numbered,  but  instead  of  page  235  it  is  page  79  !  The  next  is 
80,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  pages  of  Troilus  and  Cressida  are  left 
unnumbered 7 

Now,  when  it  is  remembered  that  some  of  the  typographical 
errors  first  referred  to  (such  as  calling  153,  151,  but  making  the  rest 
of  the  paging  before  and  after  it  correct)  are  in  some  of  the  copies 
of  the  Folio  printed  with  the  proper  page  numbers,  showing,  as  Mr. 
Collier  says,  that  the  printers  were  so  desirous  of  accuracy  that 
they  stopped  the  press  to  make  necessary  corrections,  it  is  inexpli- 
cable that  they  should  permit  such  a  break  to  remain  as  that 
between  2d  Henry  IV.  and  Henry  V.,  where  the  count  fell  off  thirty- 
three  pages.  But  it  may  be  said  the  mistake  occurred  without  their 
noticing  it.  If  pages  wrere  numbered  as  we  number  manuscript 
copy,  this  might  be  possible,  for,  making  a  mistake  in  the  true  num- 
ber in  one  instance,  we  may  naturally  enough  continue  the  mistake 
in  the  subsequent  pages.  But  how  the  same  printers  who  stopped 
the  press  to  correct  minor  errors  could  have  allowed  this  great 
error  to  stand,  I  cannot  comprehend. 

But  this  is  not  all.  How  could  they  possibly  fail  to  observe  the 
fact  that  a  great  number  of  pages  in  Troilus  and  Cressida  //ad  no 
numbers  at  all? 


THE    GREAT  FOLIO   EDITION    OF  1623.  553 

It  is  said  that  Troilus  and  Cressida  was  inserted  as  an  after- 
thought, and  this  is  confirmed  by  the  fact  that  it  does  not  appear 
in  the  Table  of  Contents,  and  therefore  it  was  not  paged.  But  it 
is  paged  so  far  as  two  pages  are  concerned,  79  and  80.  If  it  had 
been  inserted  all  unpaged,  or  all  paged  to  correspond  with  Henry 
VIII. ,  we  could  understand  it.  But  where  did  those  numbers  79 
and  80  come  from  ?  There  is  no  place  in  the  volume  where  there 
is  any  break  at  page  78;  we  cannot  therefore  suppose  that  it  was 
shifted  from  its  proper  place,  and  carried  some  of  its  paging  with  it. 

But  I  found  still  another  instance  where  the  first  page  of  a  play 
does  not  follow  the  number  of  the  preceding  play.  In  the  Trage- 
dies, Timon  of  Athens  ends  with  page  98;  then  follows  a  list  of  the 
characters  in  the  play,  which  occupies  a  page;  this,  if  numbered, 
would  be  page  99.  Then  comes  a  blank  page,  which  we  will  call 
too;  then  Julius  Cwsar  opens  with  page  109  !  It  is  correctly  paged 
to  the  end  of  the  play.     Why  this  break  of  eight  pages  ? 

The  paging  is  also  broken  in  upon  to  make  Timon  of  Athens 
begin  with  page  80.  The  preceding  play  is  Romeo  and  Juliet ;  it 
begins  on  page  53,  and  the  pages  are  regularly  numbered  until  we 
reach  the  last  page,  which,  instead  of  being  77,  is  79.  Then  Timon 
opens  on  page  80,  and  the  paging  runs  along  to  81  and  82,  and 
then  repeats  itself:  81,  82.  If  we  will  correct  79  to  77,  we  will  find 
that  the  second  81  and  82  are  exactly  right.  But  why  was  the  cor- 
rection not  made  on  the  first  page  instead  of  the  fourth  ? 

It  seemed  to  me  that  these  repeated  instances  of  Henry  /'., 
Troilus  and  Cressida,  Julius  Cwsar  and  Timon  of  Athens  proved  con- 
clusively that  there  was  some  secret  depending  upon  the  paging  of 
the  Folio,  and  that  these  plays  had  been  written  upon  the  basis  of 
a  cipher  which  did  not  correspond  with  the  natural  paging  of  the 
Folio;  and  that  this  paging  had  to  be  forcibly  departed  from  in  this 
way,  and  continued,  per  order,  even  when  the  printers  were  cor- 
recting minor  errors. 

I  was  the  more  confirmed  in  this  by  a  study  of  the  "signa- 
tures "  or  "  tokens  "  of  the  printers. 

The  signatures,  as  shown  by  the  token  numbers  at  the  bottom 
of  the   pages,    run   in   groups  of    twelve   pages,   thus:    a,    a  blank; 
a2,  a  blank;    aj   (sometimes    af)}    and    then    six     blanks,     making    % 
twelve  pages  or  six  leaves  in  all.      Now,  where  2d  Henry  //'.  joins 


554  THE   CIPHER   IN    THE   PLAYS. 

on  to  Henry  V.  the  signatures  ran:  gg}  a  blank;  gg2}  a  blank;  ggj,  a 
blank  ;  ggj,  a  blank,  and  then  eight  pages  blanks,  or  four  more  than 
the  regular  number;  then  the  first  page  of  Henry  V.  is  marked  h,  then 
a  blank,  then  I12,  then  a  blank,  then  hj,  then  six  blanks,  and  then 
i,  etc.  It,  therefore,  appears  that  the  printers  had  to  piece  out  Henry 
IV.  by  the  insertion  of  four  pages  additional;  and  certainly  all  this 
doctoring  could  not  have  been  accomplished  without  the  printers 
observing  that  the  last  page  of  2d  Henry  IV.  was  paged  ioo,  and  the 
first  page  of  Henry  V.  numbered  69.  And  as  the  signature  of  Henry  V. 
is  //,  following  gg}  when  properly  it  should  have  been  h/i,  it  would 
seem  as  if  the  Henry  V.  was  paged  and  tokened  separately.  This 
could  only  have  been  done  under  specific  directions;  and  this  would 
look  as  if  the  Plays  were  printed  in  separate  parcels. 

It  also  appears  that  the  Troilus  and  Crcssida  must  have  been 
printed  separately.  All  the  tokens  of  the  other  plays  are  alphabeti- 
cal, as  a>  b,  c,  etc.,  aa,  bb,  cc,  etc.  But  in  the  Troilus  and  Cressida 
the  signatures  are  all  composed  of  the  printers'  sign  for  a  para- 
graph, «[,  mixed  with  g,  thus:  g,  f 2,  gj,  f f,  Jg2,  ^gj,  and  the 
last  page  of  the  play  is  marked  TTITj  tnen  a  blank  leaf,  and  then 
the  Tragedies  open  with  aa.  But  as  the  twelve  pages  of  the  signa- 
ture x,  which  composed  the  last  part  of  Henry  VIII.,  would  have 
properly  extended  over  into  two  pages  of  Troilus  and  Cressida,  it  is 
evident  that  there  must  have  been  more  doctoring  here.  A  printer 
will  see  at  once  that  Troilus  and  Cressida  must  have  been  set  up  by 
itself,  and  marked  by  different  tokens,  so  as  not  to  conflict  with  the 
rest  of  the  work,  which  therefore  was  not  finished;  and  conse- 
quently that  it  would  have  been  most  natural  for  the  printer  to 
have  paged  it  regularly  from  page  1  to  the  end,  or  made  the  paging 
correspond  with  the  last  page  of  Henry  VIII,  or  not  paged  it  at  all. 
There  is  no  reason  for  paging  two  leaves  79  and  80,  and  leaving 
the  rest  blank.  And  there  is  no  reason  why,  when  the  pressmen 
stopped  the  press  to  correct  the  accidental  errors  in  the  paging  in 
other  instances,  they  should  have  left  these  errors  standing.  It 
seemed  to  me  beyond  a  question  that  these  inconsistencies  in  the 
paging  were  made  to  order. 

Roberts,  the  actor,  asserted  that  Henry  Condell  was  a  printer 
by  trade;1  and  it  is  very  possible  that  the  Folio  cf   1623  may  have 

1  Collier's  Eng,  Dram.  Poetry^  iii. 


THE    GREAT  FOLIO    EDITION   OF  1623.  555 

been  set  up  under  his  immediate  supervision,  and  hence  these 
irregularities  perpetuated  by  his  orders. 

Being  satisfied  that  there  was  a  cipher  in  the  Plays,  and  that  it 
probably  had  some  connection  with  the  paging  of  the  Folio,  I 
turned  to  page  53  of  the  Histories,  where  the  line  occurs: 

I  have  a  gammon  of  Bacon  and  two  razes  of  ginger.1 

I  commenced  and  counted  from  the  top  of  the  column  down- 
ward, word  by  word,  counting  only  the  spoken  words,  until  I 
reached  the  word  Bacon,  and  I  found  it  was  the  371st  word. 

I  then  divided  that  number,  371,  by  fifty-three,  the  number  oi 
the  page,  and  the  quotient  was  seven!  That  is,  the  number  of  the 
page  multiplied  by  seven   produces  the  number  of  the  word  Bacon. 

Thus: 

53 
_7 
37i 

This  I  regarded  as  extraordinary.  There  are  938  words  on  the 
page,  and  there  was,  therefore,  only  one  chance  out  of  938  that  any 
particular  word  on  the  page  would  match  the  number  of  the  page. 

But  where  did  that  seven  come  from  which,  multiplying  53, 
produced  371  =  Bacon}  I  found  there  were  seven  italic  words 
on  the  first  column  of  page  53,  to-wit:  (1)  Mortimer,  (2)  Glen- 
dower ',  (3)  Mortimer,  (4)  Douglas,  (5)  Charles,  (6)  IVaine,  (7)  Robin. 
If  the  reader  will  turn  to  the  facsimile,  given  herewith,  he  may 
verify  these  statements. 

There  are  459  words  on  this  column,  and  there  was,  therefore, 
only  one  chance  out  of  459  that  the  number  of  italic  words  would 
agree  with  the  quotient  obtained  by  dividing  371  by  53. 
For  it  will  be  seen  that  if  Charles  Waine  had  been  united  by  a 
hyphen,  or  if  waine,  being  the  name  of  a  thing,  a  wagon,  had  been 
printed  in  Roman  letters,  the  count  would  not  have  agreed. 
Again,  if  the  word  Heigh-ho  (the  190th  word)  had  not  been 
hyphenated,  or  if  Chamber-lye  had  been  printed  as  two  words, 
the  word  Bacon  would  not  have  been  the  371st  word.  Or  if 
the  nineteenth  word,  infaith,  had  been  printed  as  two  words, 
the  count  would  have  been  thrown  out.  If  our  selves  (the 
sixty-fourth   and    sixty-fifth  words)  had    been    run    together  as  one 


s] 


-s(j  THE    CIPHER   JX    THE   PLA  VS. 

word,  as  they  often  are,  the  word  Bacon  would  have  been  the  370th 
word,  and  would  not  have  matched  with  the  page.  Where  sc 
many  minute  points  had  to  be  considered,  a  change  of  any  one  of 
which  would  have  thrown  the  count  out,  I  regarded  it  as  very 
remarkable  that  the  significant  word  Bacon  should  be  precisely 
seven  times  the  number  of  the  page. 

Still,  standing  alone,  this  might  have  happened  accidentally. 

I  remembered,  then,  that  other  significant  word,  Saint  Albans, 
In  act  iv,  scene  2,  page  67,  column  1. 

And  the  shirt,  to  say  the  truth,  stolen  from  my  host  of  S.  Albones. 

I  counted  the  words  on  that  column,  and  the  word  S.  Albones 
was  the  402d  word.  I  again  divided  this  total  by  the  number  of 
the  page,  67,  and  the  quotient  was  precisely  6. 

67 
6 
402  =  "  S,  Albones." 

I  counted  up  the  italic  words  on  this  column,  and  I  found  there 
were  just  six,  to- wit:  (1)  Bardolph,  (2)  Pete,  (3)  Lazarus,  (4)  Jack, 
(5)  Hal,  (6)  John. 

This  was  certainly  extraordinary. 

There  were  on  that  page  890  words.  There  was,  therefore,  but 
one  chance  out  of  890  that  the  significant  word  S.  Albones  would 
precisely  match  the  page.  But  there  was  only  one  chance  in 
many  thousands  that  the  two  significant  words  Bacon  and 
S.  Albones  would  both  agree  precisely  with  the  pages  they  were  on; 
and  not  one  chance  in  a  hundred  thousand  that,  in  eac_h  case,  the 
number  of  italics  on  the  first  column  of  the  page  would,  when  mul- 
tiplied by  the  page,  produce  in  each  case  numbers  equivalent  to 
the  rare  and  significant  words  Bacon  and  S.  Albones. 

On  the  first  column  of  page  67  there  are  a  great  many  words 
united  by  hyphens  and  counting  as  one  word  each,  to- wit:  Sut- 
ton-cop-hill,  souced-gurnet,  mis-used,  house-holders,  a  struckfoolc  (fowl), 
wild-duck,  dis-cardcd,  trade-fallen,  dis-honorable,  old-faced,  swine-keeping, 
skare-crows.  Here  are  thirteen  hyphens.  If  there  had  been  eleven, 
or  twelve,  or  fourteen,  the  count  would  not  have  matched.  Some 
of  these  combinations  are  natural  enough,  as  swine -keeping,  skare- 
crows,  etc.,  but  some  of  the  others  are  very  forced.  Why  print 
dishonorable,   misused  and    discarded  as  two  words  each  ?     Why  not 


THE    GREAT  EOLIO   EDITION   OF  1623. 


00/ 


Sution-cop  hill?  Why  link  together  all  three  of  these  words  ?  Does 
it  not  look  like  an  ingenious  cramming  of  words  together  so  as  to 
make  the  word  S.  Albones  the  402d  word  ? 

And  as  there  was  but  one  chance  in  890  that  the  significant 
word  S.  Albones  would  be  the  multiple  of  the  page,  so,  as  a 
change  of  any  one  of  these  thirteen  hyphens  would  have  thrown 
out  the  count,  there  is  but  one  chance  out  of  thirteen  times  890,  or 
one  out  of  eleven  thousand  five  hundred  and  seventy,  that  this  could 
be  the  result  of  accident! 

I  returned  to  page  53.  I  counted  from  the  top  of  the  first  col- 
umn to  the  bottom,  and  there  were  459  words;  then  from  the  top 
of  the  second  column  downward,  and  the  first  Nicholas  was 
the  189th  word;  total,  648  words.  I  found  that  648  was  the  precise 
result  of  multiplying  54,  the  next  page,  by  12: 


459 

54 

12 

648 

io8 

54 

648  =  ' 

1  Nicholas.' 

Now,  if  the  reader  will  turn  to  the  facsimile  he  will  observe- 
that  there  are  exactly  t7velve  words  in  italics  on  the  first  column  of 
page  54 ! 

As  seven  times  page  53  yielded  the  371st  word,  Bacon}  so  I 
found  that  six  times  page  53  made  318;  and  that  if  I  commenced 
to  count  from  the  top  of  the  second  subdivision  of  column  one  of 
page  55,  that  from  there  to  the  bottom  of  the  column  there  are 
255  words,  which,  deducted  from  318,  leaves  62;  and  from  the 
beginning  of  scene  iv,  2d  column,  page  55,  downward,  the  62d 
word  is  the  word  Francis. 

Now,  if  you  turn  to  page  54  and  begin  to  count  at  the  top  of 
the  subdivision  of  the  scene,  on  the  first  column,  caused  by  "  Enter 
Gads-hill"  counting  in  the  first  word,  you  will  find  there  are  to  the 
top  of  the  column  396  words;  if,  then,  you  count  down  to  the  word 
Bacons,  you  will  find  it  the  198th  word, —  total,  594;  and  594  is 
precisely  eleven  times  54: 

396  54 

K)8  11 

594  54 

?4  .  * 

594  ="  Bacons." 


55<S  THE    CIPHER   IN    THE   PLAYS. 

And  the  facsimile  will  show  that  there  are  precisely  eleven 
words  in  italics  from  the  top  of  the  first  column  down  to  "  Enter 
Gads-hill." 

And  if  we  commence  to  count  from  the  end  of  scene  2,  col- 
umn 2,  page  54,  backward  and  up  the  first  column  of  the  same, 
the  477th  word  is  the  word  son,  and  477  is  precisely  nine  times  53. 

And  so  I  had: 

53  X    6=  318=  Francis      — 2nd  column,  page  55. 

53  X    7  =  371  =  Bacon  — 1st    column,  page  53. 

54  X  12  =  648  =  Nicholas  —  2nd  column,  page  53. 
54  X  11  =  594=  Bacon's  — 2nd  column,  page  54. 
53  X    9  =  477  =  Son  — 1st    column,  page  54. 

All  these  things  tended  to  make  me  more  and  more  certain  that 
there  was  a  cipher  in  the  Plays,  and  that  it  depended  upon  the 
paging  of  the  Folio. 

I  had  observed,  on  page  67,  how  adroitly  thirteen  words  were 
hyphenated  to  make  S.  Albones  the  exact  multiple  of  the  page. 
I  began  to  study  the  hyphenation  of  words,  and  the  way  in  which 
bracket  sentences  were  formed  in  the  body  of  the  text,  as  I  judged, 
to  enable  the  author  to  make  his  cipher-count  match.  That  this 
was  the  purpose  I  found  many  proofs.  It  is  well  understood  that 
a  parenthesis  in  brackets  is  a  subordinate  sentence,  explanatory  of 
the  main  sentence,  but  not  essential  to  it.  That  is  to  say,  the  main 
sentence  will  read  and  make  sense  just  as  well  without  it  as  with 
it.     If  I  say: 

At  this  time  (the  weather  being  pleasant),  John  came  to  see  me, 
I    have  formed   a  correct  sentence,  which    can    be    read    with    or 
without  the  parenthesis.     But  if  I  write: 

At  this  time,  the  weather  (being  pleasant),  John  came  to  see  me, 
I   have  formed    a   sentence   which  without  the  words  in  brackets 
makes  nonsense. 

If  the  reader  will  turn  to  the  exact  reprint  of  act  iv,  scene  1  of 

The  Merry    Wives  of  Windsor,   he  will    find    the  following  curious 

instances  of  bracketing  wTords: 

What  is  (Faire),   William  ? 

What  is  {Lapis),   William  ? 

What  is  a  stone  (  William)  ■ 

What  is  the  Focative  case  (  William)? 

Never  name  her  (childe). 

Leave  your  prables  Voman).     Etc. 


THE   GREAT  EOLIO  EDITION   OF  1623.  559 

In  the  first  two  instances  the  sentence,  without  the  words  in 
brackets,  has  no  meaning.  In  the  other,  there  is  no  reason  in  "the 
world  why  the  name,  or  designation  of  the  person  addressed, 
should  be  embraced  in  brackets. 

Again,  on  the  first  column  of  the  same  page,  Falstaff  says: 

Adieu!  you  shall  have  her  (Master  Broome);  Master  Broome,  you  shall  cuck- 
old Ford. 

Now,  if  there  was  any  typographical  reason  for  putting  one  of 
these  Master  Broomes  in  brackets,  why  was  not  the  other  simi- 
larly treated  ? 

Multitudinous  instances  of  the  same  kind  can  be  found  in  the 
Folio. 

If  the  use  of  brackets  was  uniform,  we  might  consider  it  a  habit 
of  the  writer,  or  a  vice  of  the  printers  of  that  era;  but  such  is  not 
the  case. 

It  is  well  known  that  the  2d  Henry  IV.  is  but  a  continuation  of 
the  1st  Henry  IV.  The  latter  ends  with  the  death  of  Hotspur  on 
the  field  of  Shrewsbury;  the  other  opens  with  Hotspur's  father 
receiving  the  news  of  his  death.  The  characters  in  the  two  plays 
are  the  same;  the  plot  is  the  same;  the  two  are  practically  one. 
Yet  we  find  in  the  1st  Henry  IV.  the  brackets  used  very  sparingly, 
while  in  the  2d  Henry  IV.  the  pages  are  literally  peppered  with 
them.  There  are  nine  pages  in  the  1st  Henry  IV.  that  do  not  con- 
tain a  bracket  word,  to-wit,  pages  54,  57,  61,  65,  66,  67,  69,  70,  72; 
while  there  is  not  one  page  in  the  2d  Henry  IV.  which  does  not 
contain  words  in  brackets.  In  the  last  ten  pages  of  the  1st  Henry 
IV.  there  are  but  seven  words  in  brackets,  while  in  the  first  ten 
pages  of  2d  Henry  IV.  there  are  three  hundred  and  fifty-nine! 

Take  the  following  sentence,  in  the  speech  of  the  King,  on  page 
85  of  2d  Henry  IV.,  and  observe  the  ridiculous  extent  to  which 
brackets  are  used,  where  there  was  really  no  necessity  for  them: 

But  which  of  you  was  by, 
(You  cousin  Nevil,  as  I  may  remember), 
When  Richard,  with  his  eye  brim-full  of  Teares, 
(Then  checked  and  rated  by  Northumberland) 
Did  speak  these  words  (now  prov'd  a  prophecy): 
Northumberland  thou  Ladder,  by  the  which 
My  cousin  Bullingbrooke  ascends  my  Throne: 
(Though  then,  Heaven  knows,  I  had  no  such  intent, 
But  that  necessitv  so  bowed  the  State 


560  THE    CIPHER  IN   THE  PLA  VS. 

That  I  and  Greatnesse  were  compelled  to  kisse:) 
The  Time  shall  come  (thus  did  hee  follow  it), 
The  Time  will  come  that  foul  Sinne  gathering  head 
Shall  breake  into  Corruption. 

Here  we  have  a  sentence,  containing  ninety-three  words,  of 
which  forty-six  are  in  brackets,  and  forty-seven  not  in  brackets ! 
And  scarcely  one  of  these  bracketings  is  necessary. 

Now  when  you  remember  that  there  are  nine  pages  in  the  ist 
Hairy  IV.  without  a  bracket  word,  and  ten  consecutive  pages  with 
but  seven,  is  it  natural  or  reasonable  to  find  here,  in  a  continuation 
of  the  same  play,  forty-six  bracket  words  out  of  a  total  of  ninety- 
three  ?     Must  there  not'  have  been  some  reason  for  it  ? 

Compare  these  totals: 

Total  bracket  words.         Total  hyphenated  words. 

ist  Henry  IV. ill  224 

2d  Henry  IV 898  307 

Why  should  there  be  more  than  eight  times  as  many  bracket 
words  in  the  second  part  of  what  is  practically  one  play  as  there  is 
in  the  first  part  ? 

Now  all  these  evidences  were,  as  I  have  said  before,  cumulative; 
they  all  pointed  in  the  same  direction.  If  I  find  in  the  sand  the 
tracks  of  many  feet,  directed  to  all  points  of  the  compass,  I  cannot 
predicate  what  direction  the  multitude  took,  or  meant  to  take. 
But  if  I  come  across  numerous  tracks  all  pointing  in  the  same 
direction,  I  can  reasonably  conclude  that  those  who  owned  those 
feet  moved  toward  the  point  so  indicated;  and  if  I  find  the  tracks 
of  a  vast  multitude,  with  every  foot  pointed  to  the  north,  and  the 
ground  trampled  and  cut  by  artillery  wheels,  and  the  herbage 
crushed,  and  the  limbs  of  the  very  trees  torn  down,  I  should  be  a 
fool  indeed  if  I  doubted  my  own  senses,  and  failed  to  conclude  that 
an  army  had  passed  there  and  was  marching  northward. 

And  so  this  accumulation  of  testimonies  forced  me,  in  despite 
of  all  doubts  and  hesitations,  to  the  fixed  and  positive  belief  that 
the  text  of  some  of  the  Shakespeare  Plays,  perhaps  all  of  them, 
contained  cipher-work. 

To  be  sure,  it  took  me  some  time  to  reason  out  how  the  book 
coulpl  have  been  printed  so  as  to  make  the  paging  match  with  the 
cipher  story;  and  the  conclusion  I  reached  was  this:  That  Bacon, 
when    he    resolved    to   tell,  in   this   secret   manner,  the  history  of 


THE   GREAT  EOLIO  EDITION  OF  1623.  561 

his  life  and  his  era,  and  had  selected  his  own  short  acting  plays,  in 
their  first  brief  form,  for  the  web  into  which  he  would  weave  his 
story  (for  we  find  The  Merry  Wives,  Henry  V.,  Romeo  and  Juliet,  Ham- 
let  and  other  plays  still  existing  in  that  original  form,  without  the 
significant  cipher  words),  determined  that  some  day  he  would 
publish  his  cipher-plays  in  folio  volume;  and  the  cipher  was  con- 
structed altogether  with  that  end  in  view.  To  insert  the  cipher  he 
had  to  double  the  size  of  the  original  plays;  and  this  is  the  reason 
we  have  them  "  enlarged  to  as  much  again,"  as  is  stated  in  the  pre- 
face to  some  of  the  quarto  editions. 

Now  then,  Richard  II.  having  ended  on  page  45  (and  probably 
Richard  II.  and  King  John  constitute  jointly  a  cipher  narrative, 
united,  just  as  we  will  see  hereafter  that  the  1st  and  2d  Henry  IV. 
are  united),  he  then  made  his  calculation  that  the  1st  Henry  IV. 
would  occupy  twenty-eight  pages  and  this  would  make  the  first 
page  of  2d  Henry  IV.  page  74.  Upon  this  basis  he  worked;  for  it 
is  my  impression  that  those  coincidences  I  have  just  shown,  of 
Francis  —  Bacon  —  Nicholas  —  Bacon's  —  son,  are  either  parts  of  a 
cipher  different  from  that  which  I  have  worked  out,  or  that  they 
have  no  relation  to  the  cipher  proper,  but  were  put  there  to  lead 
some  subsequent  investigator  along  to  the  conviction  that  there 
was  a  cipher  in  the  Plays.  And  I  should  conclude  that  Bacon 
made  a  mistake  in  his  estimate,  and  that  the  1st  Henry  IV.,  when 
finished,  contained  but  twenty-six  pages.  Hence  he  was  driven 
to  the  expedient  of  dropping  two  pages,  or  one  leaf,  out  of  the 
count;  and,  hence,  in  the  Folio,  page  49  follows  page  46. 

But,  having  settled  upon  page  74,  he  begins  his  work.  lie 
writes  his  text  on  the  basis  of  the  equivalent  in  words  of  what  he 
thinks  each  column  of  the  Folio,  when  printed,  will  contain,  using 
either  large  sheets  or  two  sheets  bearing  the  same  number.  For 
instance,  the  first  column  of  page  74  contains  294  words.  These 
could  be  readily  written  on  one  sheet  of  paper;  and  the  same  is 
true  of  the  second  column,  which  contains  270  words.  When  he 
comes  to  page  75,  the  first  column  of  which  contains  468  words 
and  the  second  541,  if  he  had  not  single  sheets  large  enough  for 
these  he  used  two  or  more,  giving  them  the  same  paging,  as,  for 
instance,  751  or  75  s,  etc.  The  number  of  words  on  a  column  was 
largely  dependent  on  the  necessities  of  the  cipher;    hence,  we  will 


562  THE    CIPHER   IN    THE  PLA  VS. 

find  three  hundred  and  odd  words  on  one  column,  and  six  hundred 
and  odd  on  another.  Let  the  reader  turn  to  our  facsimiles,  and 
compare  the  second  column  of  page  76  with  the  second  column  of 
page  80.  Both  are  in  prose,  and  each  contains  one  break  in  the 
narrative,  caused  by  the  entrance  of  characters.  Yet  the  first  has 
615  words,  while  the  other  contains  553  words.  And,  to  get  the 
615  words  into  the  second  column  of  page  76,  the  type  had  to  be 
crowded  together  very  closely,  and  we  have  the  words,  "  Doth  not 
the  King  lack  subjects?"  printed  (as  the  reader  will  see,  by  look- 
ing near  the  bottom  of  the  column)  thus: 

Doth  not  the  K.  lack  subjects? 
On  the  second  column  of  page  64  of  1st  Henry  IV.,  all  in  prose, 
and  containing  also  one  break,  there  are  but  472  words;  while  on 
the  first  column  of  page  62  of  the  same  play,  all  in  prose,  with 
three  interruptions,  there  are  but  375  words.  There  could  as  well 
have  been  500  words  printed  on  that  column  as  375.  But  we  will 
see,  as  we  proceed,  that  the  necessity  the  cryptologist  was  under 
to  use  the  same  significant  words  more  than  once  (counting  from 
the  bottom  of  the  column  up,  as  well  as  from  the  top  of  the  col- 
umn down)  determined  the  number  of  the  words  on  the  column; 
even  though  he  had  to  print  King  as  simply  K.y  to  get  them  all  in, 
in  the  one  case;  or  to  put  in  such  phrases  as  the  following,  heavily 
leaded,  in  the  other  case,  as  on  page  64: 

Enter  the  Prince  marchings  and  Ealstaffe  meets 

him  playing  on  his  Trunchion 

like  a  Fife. 

Compare  this  with  the  first  column  of  page  79,  where  a  similar 
stage  direction  has  not  even  a  separate  line  given  it,  but  is  crowded 
in  at  the  end  of  a  sentence,  thus: 

Page.    Away  you  Scullion,  you  Ram  pall  ion,  you  Fustil- 
lirian:    He  tucke  your  Catastrophe.     Enter  Ch.  Justice. 

Here  the  writer  did  not  allow  even  room  enough  to  print  the 
word  Chief  in  full. 

Now,  having  the  Plays  written  on  sheets,  and  so  paged  as  to 
correspond  with  a  prospective  Folio,  Bacon  was  in  this  dilemma: 
If  he  did  not  print  the  Plays  during  Shakspere's  life-time,  with  the 
cipher  in  them,  and  Shakspere's  name  on  the  title-page,  men  would 


THE    GREAT  EOLIO   EDITION  OF  1623.  563 

•say  in  the  future,  as  they  have  said  recently,  that  the  Plays  were 
really  Shakspere's,  and  that  he  (Bacon)  had  stolen  them  and  inter- 
jected a  cipher  claiming  them.  And  so  he  published  some  of  them 
in  quarto.  But  as  the  paging  of  the  quarto  would  begin  with  page 
1,  while  the  cipher  was  founded  on  page  74,  or  page  69  (as  in 
Henry  V.),  or  page  79  (as  in  Troilus  and  Cressida),  it  was  absolutely 
impossible  to  decipher  the  inner  story.  But,  to  make  assurance 
doubly  sure,  Bacon  cut  out  of  the  quarto  whole  sentences  that 
were  in  the  Folio  sheets,  and  set  into  the  text  of  the  quarto  sen- 
tences and  whole  scenes  that  were  not  in  the  Folio;  so  that  the 
most  astute  decipherer  could  have  made  nothing  out  of  it,  how- 
ever cunningly  he  might  have  worked.  And  this  is  the  explana- 
tion of  the  fact  that  while  the  editors  of  the  Folio  of  1623  assure 
the  public  that  it  is  printed  from  "  the  true  originall  copies,"  and 
that  all  previous  quarto  editions  were  "  stolne  and  surreptitious 
copies,  maimed  and  deformed  by  the  frauds  and  stealthes  of  injuri- 
ous impostors  that  expos'd  them;"  and  that  the  Folio  copies  were 
"perfect  of  their  limbs  and  absolute  in  their  numbers,  as  he  (Shake- 
speare) conceived  them,"  nevertheless,  the  publisher  of  Shake- 
speare to-day  has  to  go  to  these  same  very  much  denounced  quartos 
for  many  of  the  finest  passages  which  go  by  the  name  of  the  great 
poet. 

And  here  is  another  curious  fact:  Bacon  was  not  content  to 
publish  the  Plays  during  the  life  of  Elizabeth  and  his  keen-eyed 
cousin,  Cecil,  with  a  different  paging;  but  where  the  word  Bacon 
occurred,  in  the  quartos,  it  is  printed  with  a  small  b,  so  as  not 
to  arouse  suspicion,  instead  of  with  a  capital  £,  as  in  the  Folio  ! 
And  most  of  those  curious  bracketings  and  hyphenations  which  so 
mar  the  text  of  the  great  Folio,  like  "smooth-comforts-false"  etc.,  are 
not  to  be  found  in  the  quartos. 

One  can  fancy  Francis  Bacon  sitting  at  the  play  —  in  the 
background  —  with  his  hat  over  his  eyes  —  watching  Elizabeth 
and  Cecil,  seated,  as  was  the  custom,  on  the  stage,  enjoying 
and  laughing  over  some  merry  comedy,  little  dreaming  that  the 
internal  fabric  of  the  play  told,  in  immortal  words,  all  the  dark- 
est passages  of  their  own  dark  lives  —  embalmed  in  the  midst  of 
wit  and  rollicking  laughter,  for  the  entertainment  of  all  future 
ages.     And  so  the  long-suffering  and  much  abused  genius  enjoyed 


564  THE    CIPHER   IN    THE  PLAYS. 

his    revenge,    even    under    the    very    nose    of    power;     so    he    rose 

superior  to 

The  law's  delay, 
The  insolence  of  office,  and  the  spurns 
Which  patient  merit  of  the  unworthy  takes. 

And  when  the  time  came  to  "put  the  alphabet  in  a  frame"  all 
he  had  to  do  was  to  have  Condell  and  Heminge  contract  with  the 
printers  to  print  the  Folio  in  columns,  precisely  as  ordered,  Bacon 
himself  secretly  correcting  the  proofs.  Or  Bacon  may  have  bought 
the  type  and  had  it  printed  at  Gray's  Inn,  or  St.  Albans,  or  at  the 
house  of  Condell  or  Heminge.  If  printers  were  told  to  follow  copy 
precisely,  and  put  exactly  as  many  words  on  a  column  as  there 
were  on  a  sheet  of  the  original  manuscript,  they  would,  of  course, 
do  so;  and  only  in  this  way  can  the  extraordinary  features  of  the 
Folio  of  1623  be  accounted  for.  And  if  the  printers  needed  a  reason, 
to  allay  suspicion,  it  could  be  given  in  the  pretended  reverence  of 
the  actor-editors  for  the  work  of  "  their  worthy  friend  and  fellow, 
Shakespeare;"  for  it  follows,  of  course,  that  Heminge  and  Condell, 
or  one,  at  least,  of  them,  was  in  the  secret  of  the  real  authorship. 

And  this  also  explains  why  one-half  the  Plays  were  not  pub- 
lished until  1623,  and  why  for  nearly  twenty  years  so  few  were  put 
forth.  The  author  could  never  know  how  far  suspicion  might  be 
aroused  by  the  curiously  garbled  state  of  the  text.  But  in  1623 
the  generation  that  had  witnessed  the  production  of  the  Plays  was 
mostly  dead;  Burleigh  and  Cecil  and  the  Queen  were  all  gone;  and 
Bacon  himself  was  nearing  the  last  mile-stone  of  his  wonderful 
career.  There  was  but  little  risk  of  discovery  in  the  few  years  that 
remained  to  him  between  1623  and  the  grave. 

The  great  Folio  was  the  culmination  of  Bacon's  life-work  as  re- 
garded one  portion  of  his  mighty  intellect;  even  as  the  De  Augmcn- 
tis  and  the  Novum  O  rganum  were  the  culmination  of  his  life-work 
as  to  the  other  side  —  his  philosophy.  And  side  by  side,  at  the 
same  time,  he  erected  these  great  pillars,  the  one  as  worthy,  as 
enduring,  as  world-sustaining  as  the  other. 


CHAPTER  V. 

LOST  IN  THE   WILDERNESS. 

Polonius.    What  do  you  read,  my  lord  ? 
Hamlet.    Words,  words,  words. 

Hamlet,  it,  2. 

HAVING  satisfied  myself,  in  this  way,  that,  beyond  question, 
there  was  a  cipher  narrative  in  the  Shakespeare  Plays,  I 
•commenced  the  task  of  deciphering  it.  It  has  been  an  incalcula- 
ble labor,  reaching  through  many  weary  years. 

I  had  but  one  clue:   that  the  cipher  words  were  to  some  extent   y 
the  multiples  of  the  pages  on  which  they  occur.     But  the  problem 
was,  In    what    order    do    they    follow   each    other  ?     What    is    the 
sequence  of  arrangement  ? 

My  first  conception  of  the  cipher  narrative  was  that  of  a  brief 
statement  of  the  fact  that  Francis  Bacon  was  the  real  author  of  the 
Plays.  The  words  constituting  this  sentence  might,  I  thought,  be 
widely  scattered,  and  but  two  or  three  to  a  play.  On  page  84  I 
found  the  word   William. 

I  dare  say  my  cousin  William  is  become  a  good  Scholler.1 

In  the  subdivision  above  this,  in  the  same  column,  being  the  end 
of  act  iii*  scene  2,  there  were  three   hyphenated  words,  and  thirty-     /      f 
five   words   in   brackets.     If  you  deduct  3  from  86  it  leaves  83,  and 
on  page  83  we  find: 

Feele,  Masters,  how  I  shake. 2 

If  you  deduct  35  from  87,  the  next  column,  it  leaves  52,  and  on 
page  52  we  have  : 

The  uncertain  footing  of  a  Speare. 

Here,  I  thought,  I  have  a  clue:  —  William  Shakespeare.  But, 
unfortunately,  the  rule  would  carry  me  no  farther. 

Then  I  was  perplexed  as  to  the  true  mode  of  counting.  Was  I 
to  analyze  words  into  their  meaning  and  count  them  accordingly? 
"Was  whafs,  as  in    "what's  the  matter,"  one   word  or  two    words, 

1  2d  Henry  IV.,  iii,  2.  *  2d  Henry  IV. ,  ii,  4.  < 

565 


/ 


566  THE   CIPHER  IN   THE  PLA  VS. 

"what  is"?  Was  o'tti  clock,  one  word,  two  words  or  three  words? 
Was  tli  other  to  be  counted  as  two  words,  as  "the  other,"  or  as  one 
word,  "t'other"  ?  Were  the  figures  ioo  to  be  counted  as  one  word, 
or  as  "one  hundred,"  two  words? 

As  I  was  working  in  the  dark,  it  was  a  long  time  before  I 
arrived  at  Bacon's  purpose,  and  then  I  found  that  he  adopted  the 
natural  rule,  that  the  typographical  consideration  governed,  and  a 
word  was  a  group  of  letters,  separated  by  spaces  from  the  rest  of 
the  text,  whether  it  meant  one,  or  two,  or  a  dozen  objects.  The 
only  exception  seems  to  be  where  the  word  is  merely  slurred  to 
preserve  the  rhythm  of  the  blank  verse,  as  in: 

Had  three  times  slain  th'  appearance  of  the  king.1 

Here  the  tti  is  counted  as  a  separate  word.  At  different  stages  I 
was  led,  by  coincidences,  to  adopt  one  theory  and  then  the  other,  and 
I  recounted  and  numbered  the  words  from  time  to  time,  until  the 
text  was  almost  obliterated  with  the  repeated  markings.  I  give 
herewith  one  page,  page  79,  of  2d  Henry  IV.?  which  will  show  the 
defaced  condition  of  my  facsimile,  and  at  the  same  time  give  some 
idea  of  the  difficulty  of  the  work. 

Many  times  I  struck  upon  clues  which  held  out  for  two  or 
three  points  and  then  failed  me.  I  was  often  reminded  of  our 
Western  story  of  the  lost  traveler,  whose  highway  changed  into 
a  wagon-road,  his  wagon-road  disappeared  in  a  bridle-path,  his 
bridle-path  merged  into  a  cow-path,  and  his  cow-path  at  last  de- 
generated into  a  squirrel  track,  which  ran  up  a  tree  !  So  my  hopes 
came  to  naught,  many  a  time,  against  the  hard  face  of  inflexible 
arithmetic. 

I  invented  hundreds  of  ciphers  in  trying  to  solve  this  one. 
Many  times  I  was  in  despair.  Once  I  gave  up  the  whole  task  for 
two  days.  But  I  said  to  myself:  There  is  certainly  a  cipher  here; 
and  what  the  ingenuity  of  man  has  made,  the  ingenuity  of  man 
ought  to  be  able  to  unravel. 

My  own  preconceptions  often  misled  me.  Believing  that  each 
cipher  word  belonged  to  the  page  on  which  it  was  found,  I  did  not 
look  beyond  the  page. 

At  last,  in  my  experimentations,  I  came  across  the  word  vol- 
ume. 

1 2d  Henry  II'.,  ii,  i;  2d  col.,  p.  75,  Folio.  a  Act  ii,  scene  1. 


LOST  IN    THE    WILDERNESS.  567 

Yea,  this  man's  brow,  like  to  a  Title-leafe, 
Fore-tels  the  nature  of  a  Tragicke  Volume.* 

I  said  to  myself,  if  Bacon  tells  the  story  of  the  authorship  of 
the  Plays,  he  would  be  very  likely  to  refer  to  this  volume,  or  a  volume. 
I  counted  the  words.  Volume  was  the  208th  word  on  the  first 
column  counting  from  the  top.  I  could  not  make  208  in  any  way 
the  multiple  of  the  page,  75.  At  a  venture  I  added  the  total 
number  of  words  on  the  preceding  column,  248,  to  it,  making 
456.  This,  also,  would  not  fit  to  page  74  or  75.  Again  I  experi- 
mented. I  added  the  total  on  the  first  column  of  page  74,  284 
words.     The  sum  then  stood: 

On  the  first  column  of  page  74 284 

On  the  second  column  of  page  74 248 

On  the  first  column  of  page  75 208 

Total 740=  "  volume.  ' 

I  divided  740  by  seventy-four,  the  number  of  the  page  on  which 

the  count  commenced,  and  I  had  exactly  ten  ! 

74X10=740. 

And   there   were   ten    words    in    brackets    on    the   first    column    of 

page  74! 

Here  was  a    revelation.     I   noticed   the  significant   word    mask 

in  the  same  context  with  volume: 

Northumberland.     Yea,  this  man's  brow,  like  to  a  Title-leafe, 

Fore-tels  the  Nature  of  a  Tragicke  Volume: 

So  lookes  the  Strond  when  the  Imperious  Flood 

Hath  left  a  witnest  Usurpation. 

Say,  Morton,  didst  thou  come  from  Shrewsbury? 

Morton.     I  ran  from  Shrewsbury  (my  Noble  Lord), 
Where  hateful  death  put  on  his  ugliest  Maske 
To  fright  our  party. 

Note  the  artificial  character  of  the  language,  "  a  witnessed 
usurpation  " — why  7i'lt//essed ?  Again:  Why  would  death  put  on  a 
mask?  Is  not  the  bare  death's-head  terrible  enough?  A  mask 
would  subdue  its  horrors. 

I  labored  over  mask.  I  said  to  myself,  Shakespeare  was  Bacon's 
mask.  I  could  not  match  it  with  74  or  75.  At  length,  after 
much  experimentation,  this  question  occurred  to  me:  Why 
might    not    the    cipher  run   ///   the   columns   as   well   as   down?     I 

1  2d  Henry  IV.,  i,  t. 


568 


THE    CIPHER   IN   THE   PLA  VS. 


shrank  from  the  proposition,  as  I  did  from  every  suggestion  which 

increased  the  complexity  of    the  work;    but  at   length   I  went  to 

experimenting. 

I    first    discovered   a  curious  fact,  that  while  the   tenth  word 

from    the   top   of   a   column   was,  of  course,  the   tenth  word,  you 

could    not   obtain   the  tenth  word   from  the  bottom  of  a  column 

by   deducting  ten   from   the   total  of  words  on   that   column.     If 

the   reader   will    turn   to   the  facsimile,   given    herewith,   on    page 

75,    he    will    see    that    there   are  447    words    on    the   first   column. 

If    now    he    deducts    ten    from   447,  the   result   is   437,  to-wit,  the 

word    doing;    but    this    is    really    not    the    tenth    word    from    the 

bottom,  for   if  he   starts   to   count   each   word    (skipping  the  two 

words   in   brackets),  he   will   find   that   the  tenth  word  is  me,  the 

next    subsequent    word    to    doing.      Thus:     (1)    gainsaid,     (2)    be, 

(3)    to,    (4)    great,    (5)    too,    (6)    are,    (7)   you,    (8)    wrong,    (9)    such, 

(10)    me.      The    reader    will    therefore    find,    in    accordance    with 

this   rule,  that  wherever  I   count  up  a  column  in  these  pages,  I 

deduct  the  number  from  the  total  of  the  column  and  add  one, 

thus: 

447 
10 

437+1  =  438 

If  now  we  apply  this  rule,  and  add  together  the  words  on  the 

two  columns  of  page  74,  viz.,  284-1-248  =  532,  and  deduct  532  from 

740,  we  have  left  208.     We  have  seen  that  the  208th  word  from  the 

top  was   the  word  volume.     Now  let  us  count  208  words  up  the 

same  column: 

447 
208 
239+ 1  =  240 

The  240th  word  is  mask!  If  the  reader  doubts  my  accuracy,  let 
him  count  up  the  column  for  himself. 

This   might  be  a  coincidence,  but  repeated   experimentations 

(proved   that  it  was   not,  and   that  the  cipher  goes  up  as  well  as 
down  the  columns. 

Now,  if  we  regard  the  first  word  of  the  first  column  of  the  first 
page  as  the  starting-point  of  these  words,  we  have  the  words  vol- 
ume and  mask  radiating  out  from  that  first  word  and  going 
forward,  the  one  down,  the  other  up  the  column.     Now  let  us  start 


LOST  IN    THE    WILDERNESS.  569 

from  this  same   first  word,  and  count  backward  until  we  reach  the 

740th  word: 

On  second  column  of  page  73  there  are 237  words 

On  first  column  of  page  73  there  are 169     " 

Total  on  page 406     ' ' 

If  we  deduct  406  from  740  the  remainder  is  334.  The  334th 
word  on  the  next  column  (second  of  page  72)  is  therefore.  If  we 
count  up  the  column  we  have: 

Total  words  on  column 588 

Deduct.  , 334 

254+1  =  255 
The  255th  word  is  image. 

Now  let  us  commence  again  at  the  top  of  the  first  column  of 

page  74,  and   count  down   that  column,  and   backward,  until   we 

reach  the  740th  word.     We  have: 

First  column  of  page  74 284  words 

Second  column  of  page  73 237      " 

First  column  of  page  73 169 

690      " 

If  we  deduct  this  690  from  740  the  remainder  is  50.  The  fiftieth 
word  down  the  next  column  is  but.  Let  us  count  the  fiftieth  word 
up  the  column,  thus: 

Total 588 

Deduct 50 

538+1  =  539 
The  539th  word  is  own. 

If  we  commence  at  the  top  of  the  first  column  of  page  75  we 

have  : 

10x74  =••• 740 

On  first  column,  page  75 447 

Remainder   . .   293 

The  293d  word  is  his.  Up  the  column  it  is  the  2i5~i6th  word, 
greatest.  We  found  that  the  words  mask  and  volume  were  the  208th 
words  on  that  column.  The  208th  word  on  the  first  column  of 
page  74  is  wrath. 

After  a  long  time,  by  a  great  deal  of  experimentation,  I  discov- 
ered that  the  count  runs  not  only  from  the  beginnings  and  ends  of 
acts,  scenes  and  columns,  but  also  from  the  beginnings  and  ends 
of  such  subdivisions  of  scenes  as  are  caused  by  the  stage  direc- 
tions, such  as  "Enter  Morton,"  "  Enter  Falstaff,"  "A  retreat  is, 
sounded,"  "  Exit  Worcester  and  Vernon,"  "  Falstaff  riseth  up,"  etc. 


57o  THE   CIPHER  IN    THE  PLAYS. 

If  now  we  count  the  first  subdivision  of  the  first  column  of  page 
75,  we  will  find  it  contains  193  words.  If  we  start  at  the  last  word 
of  the  193  and  count  upward  and  down  the  next  column,  we  will 
lack  thirty-nine  of  740,  thus: 

In  subdivision  first  column,  page  75 193  words. 

Second  column,  page  75 508      " 

70T      " 
Remainder 39      ' ' 

740      " 

The  thirty-ninth  word  from  the  top  of  the  second  column  of 
page  75  is  the  word  a.  Now  let  us  count  thirty-nine  up  the  next 
column  (first  column  of  page  76),  thus: 

498 

39 
459  +  1  =  460 
The  460th  word  is  said. 

We  have  seen  that  after  counting  the  whole  of  page  74  (532), 
we  needed  208  to  make  up  740,  and  that  the  208th  words  yielded 
volume,  mask  and  wrath.  If  we  take  that  remainder,  208, 
and  commence  to  count  forward  from  the  beginning  of  scene  4, 
page  73,  column  1,  we  will  find  that  the  208th  word  is  shown,  the 
129th  word  on  the  2d  column  of  page  73.  Again,  if  we  com- 
mence at  the  same  starting-point  —  the  beginning  of  scene  4  —  and 
count  up,  we  find  ninety  words,  which,  deducted  from  208,  leaves 
118;  if  now  we  count  down  the  next  column  (2  of  72),  we  find  that 
the  118th  word  is  a,  while,  if  we  count  up,  from  the  top  of  the 
second  subdivision  in  the  column  (171st  word),  the  11 8th  word  is 
(53-)- 1  z=  54)  the  word  hide;  while  if  we  count  down  from  the  same 
point,  the  beginning  of  scene  4,  page  73,  there  are  79  words;  these 
being  deducted  from  208,  it  leaves  129:  and  the  129th  word, 
counted  down  from  the  same  171st  word,  makes  300,  the  word 
prove;  and  up  from  the  bottom  of  the  next  subdivision,  346,  it 
makes  (217-f-i  =  218)  the  word  counterfeit,  which  was  used  in 
that  age  for  picture.  Thus  Bassanio  says,  on  opening  the  casket,, 
and  finding  therein  Portia's  miniature: 

What  find  I  here? 
Fair  Portia's  counterfeit?     What  demi-god 
Hath  come  so  near  creation?1 

1  Merchant  of  Venice,  iii,  2. 


LOST  IN    THE    WILDERNESS. 


571 


If  we  again  take  that  remainder,  208,  and  begin  to  count  from 
the  top  of  the  fourth  scene,  1st  column  of  page  73,  then  we  have 
208  —  90=  1 18,  as  before;  and  this,  carried  up  the  next  column,  yields 
588  —  118  =  470-)- 1=471,  Percy. 

If  we  now  arrange  these  words  together  in  some  kind  of 
order,  we  have  Percy  —  said — in — greatest — wrath — prove  —  image 
st.oum  —  upon  —  his  —  volume  —  but  —  a  —  counterfeit  —  mask  —  hide 
my — own. 

But  near  the  word  volume,  as  I  have  shown,  is  the  word  title-leaf 
and  near  the  but  is  the  word  face  (57th  word,  2d  column  of  page 
72),  so  that  we  can  imagine  a  sentence  reading  something  like  this: 
Percy  said  he  was  in  a  state  (134  —  2,  75)  of  the  greatest  wrath,  and 
would  prove  that  the  counterfeit  image  shown  upon  the  title-leaf  of  his 
volume  is  but  a  mash  to  hide  my  own  face.    ^ 

I  said  to  myself:  Although  this  interpretation  may  not  be  cor- 
rect, it  is  certainly  surprising  that  such  a  concatenation  of  signifi- 
cant words  should  all  be_produced  by  finding  the  740th  word 
frorn__pojnts  of  departure  clearly  related  and  coherent;  for  in  every 
case Jth£.xau-n L  is  from  the  beginning  or  end  of  page  74. 

Then  I  observed  that  if  we  multiplied  74  by  12  instead 
of  10,  the  result  was  888;  and  if  we  commenced  to  count  from 
the  top  of  the  first  column  of  page  72,  the  result  was  494, 
total  on  first  column  of  page  72;  this,  deducted  from  888,  leaves  394, 
which  is  the  very  significant  word  plays.  Then  I  said  to  myself, 
Volume  of  plays.     Do  the  multipliers  of  74  alternate? 

This  led  to  making  a  series  of  tables  of  all  the  words  produced 
by  multiplying  74,  75  and  76,  the  three  pages  embraced  in  scene  1 
of  act  i  of  2d  Henry  IV,  and  a  comparison  of  these  revealed  the 
following  startling  facts,  which  forever  put  an  end  to  any  doubts 
that  might  still  linger  in  my  mind  as  to  the  existence  of  a  cipher 
in  the  Plays. 

If  we  multiply  the  last  page  in  the  scene,  page  76,  by  11,  the 
number  of  bracket  words  on  the  first  column  of  page  74  (count- 
ing the  hyphenated  word  post-horse  as  two  words),  the  result 
is,  76X  11  =  836. 

Now,  if  we  commence  at  the  beginning  of  column  1,  page  74, 
and  count  forward  to  the  836th  word,  excluding  bracket  words  and 
counting  hyphenated  words  as  one  word,  we  have: 


/ 


572  THE   CIPHER   IN   THE   PLAYS. 

On  page  74 532 

In  first  column  page  75 304 

Total 836 

The  304th  word  in  the  first  column  of  page  75  is  the  word 
found. 

If  now  we  start  from  the  top  of  the  next  page,  page  75,  and 
again  count  to  the  836th  word,  in  the  same  way,  excluding  the 
bracket  words  and  counting  the  hyphenated  words  as  single  words; 
we  have  the  following: 

On  first  column  page  75 447 

On  second  column  page  75 389 

Total 836 

The  389th  word  is  out. 

Here  we  have  the  combination  "  found  out  " — by  the  same  count 
from  the  beginning  of  two  consecutive  pages.  This  is  remarkable;  but 
it  might  be  accidental.  But  here  comes  the  astonishing  feature  of 
the  discovery,  which  could  not  be  accidental: 

If  you  multiply  75,  the  number  of  the  second  page  of  the  scene, 
by  12,  the  number  of  words  in  italics  on  the  first  column  of  page 
74,  the  result  is  900. 

We  found  that  the  304th  word,  found,  on  the  first  column  of 
page  75,  was  the  836th  word  from  the  beginning  of  page  74,  exclud- 
ing the  bracket  words  and  counting  the  hyphenated  words  as 
single  words.  How  would  it  be  if  we  counted  in  the  bracket  words 
and  counted  the  hyphenated  words  as  separate  words?    Let  us  see: 

The  word  found  is  the 836th  word. 

Bracket  words,  first  column,  page  74 10 

Bracket  words,  second  column,  page  74 22 

Bracket  words,  first  column,  page  75,  preceding  found 13 —  45  words. 

Hyphenated  words,  additional,  first  column,  page  74 8 

Hyphenated  words,  additional,  second  column,  page  74  . .  .     2 
Hyphenated  words,  first  column,  page  75,  preceding  found.     9 —  19  words. 

900 

That  is  to  say  "found"  is  the  836th  word  (11X76  =  836)  from 
the  beginning  of  page  74,  exclusive  of  the  bracket  words  and  the 
hyphenated  words  counted  as  single  words;  and  it  is  the  900th 
word  (12X75=900)  counting  in  the  bracketed  words  and  the 
hyphenated  words  as  separate  words  ! 


LOST  IN    THE    WILDERNESS.  $jy 

Again:  we  found  that  the  389th  word,  on  the  second  column  of 

page  75,  was  also  the  836th  word. 

The  word  out 836  words. 

Bracket  words,  on  first  column,  page  75 21 

Bracket  words,  on  second  column,  page  75,  preceding  out. .  30 —  51  words.. 

Hyphenated  words,  first  column,  page  75 9 

Hyphenated  words,  second  column,  page  75,  preceding  out.  4 —  13  words. 

y  900 

And  again  we  find  that  the  word  "out"  is  the  836th  word 
(11X76  =  836)  from  the  beginning  of  page  75,  less  the  bracketed 
words,  and  counting  the  hyphenated  words  as  one  word  each;  and 
it  is  the  900th  word  (12X75  =  900),  counting  in  the  bracketed  words 
and  the  hyphenated  words  double  ! 

In  other  words: 

The  sum  total  of  bracket  words  and  hyphens,  between  the  top 
of  the  first  column  of  page  74  and  the  word  "  found,"  is  64,  and 
this  is  precisely  the  difference  between  836  and  900! 

And  the  sum  total  of  bracket  words  and  hyphens  between  the 
top  of  the  first  column  of  page  75  and  the  word  "  out  "  is  again 
64;  and  this  is  precisely  the  difference  between  836  and  900  ! 

How  is  this  result  obtained  ?     By  the  most  careful  and  delicate 

adjustment  of  the  words,  like  the  elements  of  a  profound  puzzle. 

The  difference    between  836  =  found  out,   and  900  =  found  out,  is,  I 

say,  the  precise  number  of  the  bracketed  and  hyphenated  words  in 

each    case.     If   these   had  varied  one  word  in   the  four    columns,  it 

would  have  thrown  the  count  out !     And  it  is  easy  to  see  how  the 

text  was  forced  to  get  in  the  precise  number  of  these  words.     At 

the  bottom  of  the  first  column  of  page  74  we  have: 

From  Rumours  tongues, 
They  bring  smooth-Comforts-false  worse  than  True- wrongs. 

Who  ever  heard  of  "smooth-comforts-false"  being  run  together 

into  one  word  ?     Only   the    necessities   of    the    cipher   could   have 

justified  such  a  violation  of  sense.     And  what  a  pounding  together 

of  meaning  was   required    to   make    "true-wrongs"!      Again,   we 

have, —  as  the  181st  word, —  first  column,  page  75  : 

That  had  stolne 
The  horse  he  rode-on. 

"Rode  on  "  are  as  clearly  two  words  as  "the  horse." 
Again  we  have,  244th  word,  first  column,  page  74: 


574 


THE    CIPHER   IN    THE   PIA  VS. 


This  worm-eaten-Hole  of  ragged  stone. 

"Worm-eaten"  might  be  hyphenated,  but  surely  not  "worm- 
eaten-hole." 

The  bracketings  are  totally  unnecessary  in  every  case.  We  have, 
second  column,  page  74: 

I  spake  with  one  (my  Lord)  that  came  from  thence. 

What  human  necessity  was  there  to  place  "  my  lord  "  in  brackets  ? 

Again  (column  1,  page  75): 

I  ran  from  Shrewsbury  (my  noble  Lord). 

Again  (column  2,  page  75): 

From  whence  (with  life)  he  never  more  sprang  up. 

And  yet  if  a  single  one  of  these  extraordinary  bracketings  and 
hyphenations  had  failed,  the  count  would  have  broken  down.  And 
that  this  whole  thing  is  forced  and  unnatural  is  shown  by  the 
further  fact  that  we  have  here  one  hundred  and  twenty-eight  bracket 
and  hyphenated  words  on  the  two  pages,  74  and  75,  preceding 
these  words  found  out;  while  on  the  preceding  pages,  72  and  73, 
there  are  but  three  bracket  words  and  four  hyphenated  words  ! 

In  short,  there  is  not  one  chance  in  many  hundred  millions  that 
this  coordination  of  836  and  900,  upon  the  same  words,  could  have 
occurred  by  accident. 

What  does  it  prove  ? 

That  the  plays  —  or  this  play  at  least  —  is  a  most  carefully  con- 
structed piece  of  mosaic  work,  most  cunningly  dovetailed  together, 
with  marvelous  precision  and  microscopic  accuracy.  That  there  is 
not  one  cipher,  but  many  ciphers  in  it.  That  it  is  a  miracle  of 
industry  and  ingenuity.  And  that  these  are  the  works  to  which 
Bacon  alluded  when  he  said: 

For  there  is  some  danger,  lest  the  understanding  should  be  astonished  and 
chained  down,  and  as  it  were  bewitched,  by  such  works  of  art  as  appear  to  be  the 
very  summit  and  pinnacle  of  human  industry,  so  as  not  to  become  familiar  with 
them;  but  rather  to  suppose  that  nothing  of  the  kind  can  he  accomplished,  unless 
the  same  means  be  employed,  with  perhaps  a  little  more  diligence  and  accurate 
preparation.1 

1  Novum  Organum.  book  ii. 


CHAPTER    VI. 
THE  CIPHER  FOUND. 


If  circumstances  lead  me,  I  will  find 

Where  truth  is  hid,  though  it  were  hid  indeed 

Within  the  center. 

Hamlet,  ii.  2. 


WHILE  such  evidences  as  the   foregoing   satisfied  me  of  the 
existence  of  a  cipher,  I  was  still   but  at   the  .beginning  of 
my  task. 

What  words  followed  found  out?  Found  out  what?  Who  found 
out?  WTas  I  to  look  on  the  next  column,  the  next  page,  the  next 
scene,  or  the  next  play  ? 

The  creator  of  the  cipher  was  master  of  his  work,  and  could 
throw  the  sequent  words  where  he  pleased.  He  might  match  a 
play  in  the  Histories  with  one  in  the  Comedies,  and  thus  the 
words  would  be  separated  by  hundreds  of  pages.  Nothing  was 
impossible  to  the  ingenuity  manifested  in  that  checker-work  of 
found  out.  All  I  knew  was  that  the  cipher  words  held  an  arith- 
metical relation  to  the  numbers  of  the  pages  on  which,  or  near 
which,  they  occurred,  but  beyond  that  all  was  conjecture.  I  was 
as  if  one  had  taken  me  into  a  vast  forest,  and  told  me  that,  on  cer- 
tain leaves  of  certain  trees,  was  written  a  narrative  of  incalculable 
importance  to  mankind;  and  had  given  me  a  clew  to  know  the  , 
especial  trees  on  which  the  words  were  to  be  found.  If  I  had 
climbed  into  and  searched  the  branches  of  these  trees,  and  col- 
lected, with  infinite  care,  the  words  upon  them,  I  was  still  at  my 
wits'  end.  How  was  I  to  arrange  them  ?  As  I  did  not  know 
a  single  sentence  of  the  story,  nor  the  rule  by  which  it  was  con- 
structed, I  might  have  the  very  words  I  needed  before  me  and 
would  not  recognize  them. 

It  seems  to  me  that  the  labors  of  Champollion  le  Jeune  and 
Thomas  Young,  in  working  out  the  Egyptian  hieroglyphics  from 
the  tri-lingual  inscription  on  the  Rosetta  stone,  were  simple  com- 
pared with  the  task  I  had   undertaken.     They  had   before   them  a     ♦ 

575 


576 


THE    CIPHER   IN    THE   PLA  VS. 


stone  with  an  inscription  in  three  alphabets  —  the  hieroglyphic, 
the  demotic  and  the  Greek;  and  the  Greek  version  stated  that  the 
three  inscriptions  signified  the  same  thing.  The  problem  was  to 
translate  the  unknown  by  the  known.  It  was  observed  that  a  cer- 
tain oval  ring,  inclosing  a  group  of  hieroglyphic  phonetic  signs, 
stood  in  a  corresponding  place  with  the  name  of  Ptolemy  in  the 
Greek;  and  the  same  group  was  found,  often  repeated,  over  sitting 
figures  of  the  temple  of  Karnak.  The  conclusion  was  inevitable, 
therefore,  that  that  group  signified  Ptolemy.  Furthermore,  the 
word  king  occurred  twenty-nine  times  in  the  Greek  version  of  the 
Rosetta  inscription,  and  a  group  holding  corresponding  positions 
was  repeated  twenty-nine  times  in  the  demotic.  Another  stone 
gave  the  phonetic  elements  which  constituted  the  Word  Cleopatra. 
Champollion  and  Young  thus  had  acquired  the  knowledge  of 
numerous  alphabetical  signs,  with  the  sounds  belonging  to  them, 
and  the  rest  of  the  work  of  translation  was  easy,  for  the  Egyptian 
language  still  survived  in  a  modified  form  in  the  mouths  of  the 
Coptic  peasants. 

But  in  my  case  I  knew  neither  the  rule  nor  the  story.  I  tried 
to  obtain  a  clue  by  putting  together  the  words  which  constituted 
the  name  of  the  old  play,  The  Contention  between  York  and  Lancas- 
ter, as  found  in  the  end  of  1st  Henry  IV.  and  the  beginning  of 
2d  Henry  IV.;  but,  unfortunately,  Contention  occurs  twice  (73d  word, 
second  column,  page  74,  2d  Henry  IV.,  act  i,  scene  2,  and  the  496th 
word,  second  column,  page  75),  while  York  and  Lancaster  are 
repeated  many  times. 

Even  when  I  had  progressed  so  far,  by  countless  experimenta- 
tions, as  to  guess  at  something  of  the  story  that  was  being  told,  I 
could  not  be  certain  that  I  had  the  real  sense  of  it.  For  instance, 
let  the  reader  write  out  a  sentence  like  this: 

And  then  the  infuriated  man  struck  wildly  at  the  dog, -and  the  mad  animal 
sprang  upon  him  and  seized  him  by  the  throat. 

Then  let  him  cut  the  paper  to  pieces,  so  that  each  slip  contains 
a  word,  jumble  them  together,  and  ask  a  friend,  who  has  never  seen 
the  original  sentence,  to  reconstruct  it.  He  can  clearly  perceive 
that  it  is  a  description  of  a  contest  between  a  man  and  a  dog,  but 
beyond  this  he  can  be  sure  of  nothing.  Was  the  dog  mad  or  the 
man  ?     Which  was  infuriated?     Did  the  dog  spring  on  the  man,  or 


THE   CIPHER  FOUND, 


577 


the  man  on  the  dog?  Which  was  seized  by  the  throat?  Did  the 
man  strike  wildly  at  the  dog,  or  the  dog  spring  wildly  at  the  man? 

Every  word  in  the  sentence  is  a  new  element  of  perplexity.  In 
fact,  if  you  had  handed  your  friend  three  slips  of  paper,  containing 
the  three  words,  struck,  Tom,  John,  it  would  have  been  impossible 
for  him  to  decide,  without  some  rule  of  arrangement,  whether  Tom 
struck  John  or  John  struck  Tom;  and  the  great  question,  like  that 
of  the  blow  inflicted  on  Mr.  William  Patterson,  would  remain  for- 
ever unsettled. 

My  problem  was  to  find  out,  by  means  of  a  cipher  rule  of 
which  I  knew  little,  a  cipher  story  of  which  I  knew  less.  A  more 
brain-racking  problem  was  never  submitted  to  the  intellect  of  man. 
It  was  translating  into  the  vernacular  an  inscription  written  in  an 
unknown  language,  with  an  unknown  alphabet,  without  a  single 
clue,  however  slight,  to  the  meaning  of  either.  I  do  not  wonder 
that  Bacon  said  that  there  are  some  ciphers  which  exclude  the 
decipherer.  He  certainly  thought  he  had  constructed  one  in  these 
Plays. 

I.     The  Heart  of  the  Mystery. 

The  central  point  upon  which  the  cipher  turns  is  the  dividing 
line  between  the  two  plays,  the  first  part  of  Henry  IV.,  and  the  second 
part  of  Henry  IV.;  and  the  essentials  of  the  rule  are  found  on  the 
last  page  of  the  former  play  and  the  first  page  of  the  latter  play. 

Observe  how  cunning  this  is. 

Here  was  a  puzzle  the  solution  of  which  depended  upon  putting 
together  the  two  ends  of  two  plays.  Neither  alone  would  give  the 
rule  or  solve  the  problem. 

And   Bacon  published  Part  i   of  Henry  IV.  in  1598  and  Part  2  / 

in  1600.  Why  ?  Because  he  was  not  sure  that  the  artificial  character 
of  the  text  might  not  arouse  suspicion  in  that  age  of  ciphers,  and  he 
desired  to  test  it.  He  submitted,  it  with  curious  interest  to  the  . 
public.  But  if  it  had  aroused  suspicion;  if  "Francis"  "bacon" 
(printed  with  a  small  b),  "  Nicholas  "  "  bacons  "  (also  with  a  small 
^"),"son,"  "St.  Albans,"  etc.,  etc.,  had  caught  the  suspicious  eyes 
of  any  of  Cecil's  superserviceable  followers,  then  he  would  have 
held  back  the  second  part,  and  it  would  have  been  simply  impos-  , 
sible  for  any  person  to  have  worked  out  the  cipher  story;  because 


578  THE   CIPHER   IN   THE   PLA  VS. 

it  turned   upon   pages   73  and   74   of  an   intended   folio,   while  the 
quarto  copy  of  the  play  began  with  page  1. 

The  original  sheets  of  the  author's  manuscript,  arranged  in 
pages,  as  we  have  them  in  the  great  Folio  of  1623,  which  paging 
alone  could  have  revealed  the  treasonable  story,  were  doubtless 
inclosed  in  some  box  or  coffer,  and  carefully  buried  at  St.  Albans  or 
Gray's  Inn;  for  in  that  age  of  absolute  power  no  man's  private 
papers  or  desks  were  safe  from  a  visitation  of  the  myrmidons  of 
the  law.  We  will  see  that  when  Nash,  the  actor,  was  arrested  for 
writing  a  seditious  play,  the  Council  ordered  his  papers  to  be  at 
once  examined. 

Delia  Bacon  said: 

We  know  that  this  was  an  age  in  which  not  the  books  of  the  learned  only  were 
subjected  to  "the  press  and  torture  which  expulsed  from  them  all  those  particulars 
that  point  to  action  " —  action,  at  least,  in  which  the  common  weal  of  men  is  most 
concerned;  that  it  was  a  time  when  the  private  manuscript  was  subjected  to  that 
same  censorship  and  question,  and  corrected  with  those  same  instruments  and 
engines  which  made  them  a  regular  part  of  the  machinery  of  the  press;  when  the 
most  secret  cabinet  of  the  statesman  and  the  man  of  letters  must  be  kept  in  order 
for  that  revision;  when  his  most  confidential  correspondence,  his  private  note-book 
and  diary,  must  be  composed  under  these  restrictions;  when  in  the  church  not  the 
pulpit  only,  but  the  secrets  of  the  study,  were  explored  for  proofs  of  opposition  to 
the  power  then  predominant;  when  the  private  desk  and  drawers  of  the  poor, 
obscure  country  clergyman  were  ransacked,  and  his  half-formed  studies  of  ser- 
mons, his  rude  sketches  and  hypothetical  notes  of  sermons  yet  to  be  —  put  down 
for  private  purposes,  perhaps,  and  never  intended  to  be  preached  —  were  produced 
by  government  as  an  excuse  for  subjecting  him  to  indignities  and  cruelties  to 
which  those  practiced  upon  the  Earl  of  Kent  and  the  Earl  of  Gloster  in  the  play 
[of  Lear']  formed  no  parallel.1 

And  in  1600,  after  the  first  part  of  the  play  of  Henry  IV.  had 
stood  the  test  of  two  years  of  criticism,  and  the  watchful  eyes  and 
ears  of  Francis  Bacon  could  see  or  hear  no  sign  or  sound  to  indicate 
that  his  secret  was  suspected,  he  ventured  to  put  forth  the  second 
part  of  the  play.  But  this,  like  the  other,  began  with  page  1,  and 
detection  was  almost  impossible. 

And  for  twenty  years  scarcely  any  of  the  Plays  known  by 
the  name  of  Shakespeare  were  put  forth,  because  to  the  keen  eyes 
of  the  author  they  were  peppered  all  over  with  suspicious  words 
and  twistings  of  the  text,  which  might  arouse  suspicion  and  betray 
the  fact  that  they  were  cipher-work.  And  when  at  last  all  the 
Plays  were  published   in  the  great  Folio,  in  1623,  arranged  in  their 

1  The  Philosophy  of  the  Plays  of  Shakespeare  Unfolded,  p.  568. 


THE    CIPHER   FOUND.  579 

due  order,  there  was,  as  I  have  heretofore  said,  little  risk  of  dis- 
covery. And  in  this  Folio  all  the  Plays  were  matched  together,  as 
I  infer,  just  as  these  two  parts  of  Henry  IV.  are;  that  is,  the  cipher 
of  each  group  of  two  plays  depended  upon  the  last  page  of  one  and 
the  first  page  of  the  other.  Thus  there  was  but  little  risk  in  put- 
ting out  Othello  alone,  or  Troilus  and  Cressida  by  itself,  not  only 
because  the  paging  of  the  quarto  was  not  the  same  as  that  of  the 
Folio,  but  because  these  plays  were  not  accompanied  by  their 
cipher-mates,  so  to  speak.  They  were  like  those  curious  writings 
we  have  read  of  in  romances,  where  the  paper  was  cut  in  half  and 
each  half  secreted  by  itself,  the  writing  not  to  be  read  and  the 
secret  revealed  until  they  were  put  together. 

II.     The  Diagram   on   which  the  Cipher  Depends. 

If  the  reader  will  study  the  facsimiles  of  pages  73  and  74  of  the 
Folio  of  1623,  herewith  given,  he  will  find  that  the  following 
diagram  gives  the  skeleton,  or  construction,  of  the  pages  and 
columns,  without  the  words.  And  as  the  entire  cipher-story  in  the 
two  plays,  the  first  and  second  parts  of  Henry  IV.,  radiates  out  from 
this  diagram  and  extends  right  and  left  to  the  beginning  of  the  First 
Part  and  the  last  word  of  the  Second  Part,  it  will  be  well  for  the 
reader  to  consider  it  closely. 

The  figures  in  the  middle  of  the  parts  of  the  diagram  give  the 
number  of  words  in  each  subdivision.  The  figures  on  the  margin 
give  the  number  of  words  from  one  point  of  departure  to 
another.  The  abbreviation  "  hy,"  in  this  diagram,  means  hyphen- 
ated:  it  indicates  that  there  are  double  words  in  the  text,  like 
ill-spirited,  which  are  to  be  counted  as  one  word  or  as  two 
words,  according  to  the  requirements  of  the  cipher  rule.  The  sign 
"  (3)"  signifies  that,  in  addition  to  the  regular  number  of  words  in 
the  text,  there  are  three  additional  words  in  brackets  :  like  "(as 
we  heare),"  in  the  second  column  of  page  73. 

Throughout  the  cipher  story,  the  abbreviations  h  and  b  will  be 
used  to  save  printing  in  full  "  hyphenated  words  "  and  "  words  in 
brackets/'   respectively. 


580 


THE    CIPHER  IN    THE  TLA  VS. 


f  i 


+J 


4,   ^ 


Page  73. 

End  of  J  st  Henry  IV. 
1st  Column.  2nd  Column, 


Page  74. 
Beginning  of  2nd  Henry  IV. 


A 

27 

A 

28 

A 
03 

A 
209  (3) 

Scsena  Quarta. 

79    1  hy. 

V 

[The  End  of  the  Play.] 
Total  on  Page:  406  (3)    1  hy. 

The  Second  Part  of 
Henry  the  Fourth. 

1st  Column.         2nd  Column. 

Actus  Primus.     Scaena  Prima. 

Induction. 

Serena  Secunda. 

284 

(10)  7  hy. 

(1  hy) 

M 

V 

168 
(21)  1  hy. 

A 

30  (1)  1  hy. 

4»H 

ss  ! 

h 

«! 

1       1    A. 

1      1      ' 

A 

;  j$ 

k 

't** 

; 

Here  we  observe  that  the  first  column  of  page  73  is  broken  into 
three  parts:  first  by  the  words  "A  retreat  is  sounded"  and  secondly 
by  the  words  u  Sccena  Quarta."  The  first  subdivision  contains  27 
words,  the  second  6$  words,  the  last  79  words.  Now  if  we  count 
from  the  top  of  the  column  to  the  end  of  the  first  subdivision,  we 
have  27  words;  but  if  we  count  to  and  include  the  first  word  of  the 
next  subdivision,  there  are  28  words.  If  we  count  from  the  top  of 
the  column  to  the  bottom  we  have  169  words;  but  if  we  count  from 
the  top  of  the  second  subdivision  to  the  bottom  of  the  column,  we 
have,  exclusive  of  the  first  word,  141  words;  and  from  the  end  of 
the  first  subdivision,  and  including  the  first  word  of  the  second  sub- 
division, we  have  142  words. 

Again:  if  we  count  from  the  top  of  the  column  to  the  break 
caused  by  the  words  "  Sccena  Quarta"  we  have  90  words;  and  to 
the  top  of  the  second  subdivision,  and  including  the  first  word  of 
the  .same,  we  have  91  words.  And  if  we  count  from  the  end  of  the 
first  subdivision  to  the  words  "Sccena  Quarta"  we  have  63  words; 
or,  from  the  top  of  the  second  subdivision,  excluding  the  first  word, 
we  have,  to  the  end  of  the  scene,  62  words. 

Again:  if  we  count  from  the  end  of  the  second  subdivision,  the 
90th  word,  to  the  bottom  of  the  column,  we  have  79  words;  but 
from  the  91st  word  down  we  have  but   78  words.     But  there  is  a 


THE    CIPHER   FOUND.  58i 

hyphenated  word  in  that  subdivision,  to-wit,  the  word  ill-spirited, 
the  97th  word  in  the  column;  if  this  is  counted  in,  that  is,  if  it  is 
counted  as  two  words  instead  of  one,  then  the  79  words  become  80 
words,  and  the  78  words  become  79  words. 

I  would  here  explain  that  in  the  cipher  the  words  spoken  by  the 
characters  are  alone  counted :  the  "stage  directions,"  and  the  names 
of  the  characters  speaking,  are  excluded  from  the  count;  so  also 
are  the  numbers  of  the  acts  and  scenes. 

Here,  then,  we  have  in  the  first  column  of  page  73  these  numbers: 

Words  in  first  subdivision 27 

Words  in  second  subdivision 63 

Words  in  third  subdivision 79 

Words  in  the  column 169 

Words  from  27th  word  to  bottom  of  column 142 

Words  from  27th  word  to  the  end  of  second  subdivision 63 

Words  from  28th  word  to  the  end  of  column 141 

Words  from  28th  word  to  the  end  of  second  subdivision 62 

Words  from  the  top  of  column  to  the  end  of  second  subdivision 90 

Words  from  the  top  of  column  to  the  beginning  of  third  subdivision 91 

Words  from  the  beginning  of  third  subdivision  to  end  of  column 79 

Words  from  the  beginning  of  third  subdivision,  plus  one  hyphen 80 

.  Now,  all  these  numbers,  in  their  due  and  regular  order,  become 
modifiers  of  the  root-numbers  whereby  the  cipher  story  is  worked 
out. 

But  there  is  another  set  of  modifying  numbers  in  the  second 
column  of  page  73. 

There  are  two  subdivisions  of  this  column,  caused  by  the  break 
in  the  narrative  where  the  words  of  the  stage-direction  occur: 
Exit  Worcester  and  Vernon. 

The  first  subdivision  contains  28  words,  the  second  209  words; 

the  column   contains   237  words,  besides  three  words  in  brackets, 

"  (as  we  heare),"  on  the  seventh  line  from  the  bottom.     If  these  are 

counted  in,  then  the  column   contains   240  words,  and  the  second 

subdivision  contains  212  words.     This  column,  then,  gives  us  these 

modifying  numbers : 

Words  in  first  subdivision 28 

Words  in  second  subdivision 209 

Words  in  second  subdivision,  plus  the  bracket  words   212 

Words  in  column ; 237 

Words  in  column,  plus  the  words  in  brackets 240 

Words  from  end  of  first  subdivision  to  end  of  column 209 

Words  from  beginning  of  second  subdivision  to  end  of  column 208 

Words  from  beginning  of  second  subdivision,  plus  bracket  words 211 


582  THE    CIPHER   IN    THE   PLA  VS. 

But  it  will  be  found  hereafter  that  the  modifying  numbers 
found  on  page  73  are  not  used  in  the  cipher  narrative  until  the 
same  has  been  first  modified  by  the  numbers  obtained,  in  the  same 
way,  on  page  74.  That  is,  page  74  is  used  before  page  73.  We 
therefore  turn  to  that  page. 

The  first  column  of  page  74  contains  no  breaks  or  subdivisions. 
There  are  284  words  in  the  text,  besides  10  words  in  brackets,  7 
hyphenated  words,  and  1  hyphenated  word  inside  a  bracket  —  the 
word  post-horse,  on  the  fourth  line.  This  gives  us,  therefore,  the 
following  numbers: 

Total  words  in  column 284 

Total  words  in  column,  plus  words  in  brackets 294 

Total  words  in  column,  plus  hyphenated  words 291 

Total  words  in  column,  plus  hyphenated  and  bracket  words 301 

Total  words  in  column,  plus  all    the    hyphenated   and   bracket  words    in    the 

column 302 

We  pass  now  to  the  second  column.  Here,  as  in  the  first  col- 
umn of  page  73,  we  have  three  subdivisions;  and  these  two  col- 
umns—  the  first  of  73  and  the  second  of  74  —  constitute  the 
magical  frame  on  which  the  cipher  principally  turns,  and  it  is 
from  the  marvelous  interplay  of  the  numbers  found  therein  that 
the  cipher  narrative  is  wrought  out. 

The  first  subdivision  of  the  second  column  of  page  74  con- 
tains 50  words;  the  second,  168;  the  third,  30;  and  the  reader  will 
observe  hereafter  how  those  figures,  50  and  30,  play  backward 
and  forward  through  the  cipher  story;  and  he  will  see  how  the 
whole  story  of  Shakspere's  life,  as  well  as  Marlowe's,  radiates  out 
from  that  central  subdivision,  containing  168  words,  or  167,  exclu- 
sive of  the  first  word. 

The  second  column  of  page  74  gives  us,  then,  these  figures: 

Number  of  words  in  first  subdivision 50 

Number  of  words  in  second  subdivision 168 

Number  of  words  in  third  subdivision ' » 30 

Number  of  words  from  top  of  column  to  beginning  of  second  subdivision   ....      51 

Number  of  words  from  beginning  of  second  subdivision  to  end  of  same 167 

Number  of  words  from  beginning  of  column  to  end  of  second  subdivision. . . .   218 
Number  of  words  from  beginning  of  column  to  beginning  of  third  subdivision .  .   219 

Number  of  words  from  beginning  of  column  to  end  of  column 248 

Number  of  words  from  beginning  of  third  subdivision  to  end  of  column ,      29 

Number  of  words  from  end  of  second  subdivision  to  end  of  column 30 

Number  of  words  from  end  of  first  subdivision  to  end  of  column 198 

Number  of  words  from  end  of  column  to  beginning  of  second  subdivision. .  .  .    197 


THE    CIPHER   EOUND.  583 

But  there  are  in  this  column  22  words  in  brackets  and  2 
hyphenated  words.  These  are  in  the  second  and  third  subdivis- 
ions, and  modify  them  accordingly.  That  is  to  say,  there  are  21 
words  in  brackets  in  the  second  subdivision  and  1  in  the  third;  and 
there  is  1  hyphenated  word  in  the  second  subdivision  and  1  in  the 
third.     Hence  we  have  these  additional  numbers: 

Number  of  words  in  second  subdivision 168 

Number  of  words  in  second  subdivision,  plus  21  bracket  words 189 

Number  of  words  in  second  subdivision,  plus  1  hyphenated  word 169 

Number  of  words  in  second  subdivision,  plus  22  bracket  and  hyphenated  words  190 

Number  of  words  in  third  subdivision 30 

Number  of  words  in  third  subdivision,  plus  1  bracket  word 31 

Number  of  words  in  third  subdivision,  plus  2  bracket  and  hyphenated  words.  .  32 

The  multipliers  which  produce  the  root-numbers  are  found  in 
the  first  column  of  page  74.  They  are:  10  (the  number  of  bracket 
words);  7  (the  number  of  hyphenated  words);  n  (the  number 
of  bracket  words,  plus  the  one  hyphenated  word,  post-horse, 
included  in  the  bracket);  and  18  (the  total  of  bracketed  and 
hyphenated  words  in  the  column). 

We  have  here,  then,  the  machinery  of  Bacon's  great  cipher;  and, 
as  we  proceed  with  the  explanation  of  its  workings,  the  wonder  of 
the  reader  will  more  and  more  increase,  that  any  human  brain 
could  be  capable  of  compassing  the  construction  of  such  a  mighty 
and  subtle  work. 

The  cipher  story  I  shall  work  out  in  the  following  pages  is  but 
a  small  part  of  the  entire  narrative  in  these  two  plays.  I  break,  as 
it  were,  into  the  midst  of  the  tale,  like  one  who  overhears  the  mid- 
dle of  a  conversation  between  two  men:  he  has  not  got  it  all,  but 
from  what  he  gleans  he  can  surmise  something  of  what  must  have 
preceded  and  of  what  will  probably  follow  it. 

The  root-numbers  out  of  which  the  story  grows  are  as  follows: 

505<  506,  513,  516,  523.  +> .? 

These  are  the  keys  that  unlock  this  part  of  the  cipher  story, 
in  the  two  plays,  1st  and  2d  Henry  IV.  They  do  not  unlock  it  all; 
nor  would  they  apply  to  any  other  plays.  They  are  the  product  of 
multiplying  certain  figures  in  the  first  column  of  page  74  by  cer- 
tain other  figures.  The  explanation  of  the  way  in  which  they  are 
obtained  I  reserve  for  the  present,  intending  in  the  future  to  work 


5^4 


THE   CIPHER   IN    THE  PLA  VS. 


out  the  remainder  of  the  narrative  in  these  two  plays,  which  I  here 
leave  unfinished.  It  may,  of  course,  be  possible  that  some  keen  mind 
may  be  able  to  discover  how  those  numbers  are  obtained  and  antici- 
pate me  in  the  work.  I  have  to  take  the  risk  of  that.  My  publishers 
concur  with  me  in  the  belief  that  the  copyright  laws  of  the  United 
States  will  not  give  me  any  exclusive  right  to  the  publication  of 
that  part  of  the  cipher  narrative  in  the  plays  which  is  not  worked 
out  by  myself.  I  shall  therefore  have  worked  for  years  for  the 
benefit  of  others,  unless  in  this  way  I  am  able  to  protect  myself. 
"  The  laborer  is  worthy  of  his  hire,"  and  if  such  a  discovery  as  this 
could  have  been  anticipated  by  the  framers  of  our  copyright  laws, 
they  would  certainly  have  provided  for  it.  For  if  a  man  is  entitled 
to  gather  all  the  benefits  which  flow  from  a  new  application  of 
electricity,  as  in  the  telegraph  or  the  telephone,  to  the  amount  of 
millions  of  dollars,  certainly  there  should  be  some  protection  for 
one  who  by  years  of  diligent  labor  has  lighted  a  new  light  in  litera- 
ture and  opened  a  new  gate  in  history. 

Neither  do  I  think  any  reasonable  man  will  object  to  my  reserv- 
ing this  part  of  the  cipher.  My  friend  Judge  Shellabarger,  of 
Washington,  said  in  an  address,  in  1885,  before  a  literary  society  of 
that  city: 

If  any  man  proves  to  me  that  in  any  writing  the  tenth  word  is  our,  the  twen- 
tieth word  Father,  the  thirtieth  word  who,  the  fortieth  word  art,  the  fiftieth  word  in, 
the  sixtieth  word  heaven,  and  so  on  through  the  whole  of  the  Lord's  Prayer,  we 
must  confess,  however  astonished  we  may  be,  that  such  a  result  could  not  have 
occurred  by  accident;  but  that  these  words  must  have  been  ingeniously  woven  into 
the  text  by  some  one,  at  those  regular  and  stated  intervals. 

And  if  this  be  true  when  the  cipher  word  is  every  tenth  word, 
would  it  not  be  equally  true  if  the  Lord's  Prayer  occurred  in  the 
text  at  intervals  represented  by  the  following  figures? 


10th  word. 

1 8th  word. 

27th  word. 

10th  word. 

1 8th  word. 

27th  word. 

Our 

Father, 

who 

art 

in 

heaven, 

10th  word. 

18th  word. 

27th  word. 

10th  word. 

1 8th  word. 

27th  word. 

hallowed 

be 

thy 

name: 

thy 

kingdom 

10th  word. 

1 8th  word. 

27th  word. 

10th  word. 

1 8th  word. 

27th  word. 

come; 

thy 

will 

be 

done 

on 

10th  word. 

1 8th  word. 

27th  word. 

10th  word. 

1 8th  word. 

27th  word. 

earth 

as 

it 

is 

in 

heaven. 

THE   CIPHER  FOUND.  585 

That  is  to  say,  if  the  cipher  narrative  moves  through  the  text 
not  10,  10,  10,  etc.,  but  10,  18,  27;   10,  18,  27;   10,  18,  27,  etc. 

And  if  this  be  true  of  a  short  writing,  like  the  Lord's  Prayer, 
does  it  not  amount  to  an  absolute  demonstration  if  this  series  of 
numbers,  or  any  other  series  of  numbers,  extends  through  many 
pages  of  narrative,  from  the  beginning  of  one  play  to  the  end  of 
another? 

Instead  of  the  cipher  story  in  these  Plays  being,  as  some  have 
supposed,. a  mere  hop-skip-and-jump  collocation  of  words,  it  will  be 
found  to  be  as  purely  arithmetical,  and  as  precisely  regular,  as 
either  of  the  examples  given  above. 


4<f 


The  Firil:  Part  of  Henry  tke  Fourth, 

with  the  Life  and  Death  of  HENRY 


SirnamedHOT.SPVRRE. 


<ttf Bus  Trimw*   Scocna  Trima. 


ggtif&lKiftg.LoYdfekti  ofLtocaperjzgrle 

Ki»gs 
;0  fhaien  as  we  a  re;  fo  wan  with  car e\ 
iFjndc  we  a  time  for  frighted  Peace  to  panr* 
Vnd  breath  i7;ortwmdcdaccentsof new  broils 
jjTo  be  comracne'd  if*  Strond*  a^rarre  remote : 
No  ffiDRtbe th  t !  fty en  1 1  a  n  cc  c-f  th  i  s  Soi  fej 
Shall  daube  her  iippes  with  her  ownc  cnildrerrs  biaod  i 
No  mo  re  fhajl  trenching  Warre  channell  her  fields, 
N&rbruife  her  FJowrets  witrtthe  Armed  hoofes 
Of  hofl^e  faces.  Thofeoppofcd  eye*, 
Which  like  rhc  Meteors  of  a  troubled  Heauerij 
Ml  of  one  Nature,  of  one  Subftancc  bred, 
P  d  lately  meete  intheinteftinelhacke*, 
And  furious  cloze  of  ciuill  Butchery, 
Shall  now  m  rnutuall  weU-bcfcernmg  rankes 
March  all  one  way,  and  be  no  more  oppo*  u 
Agamft  Acquaintance, Kindrcd.and  Allies.. 
The  edge  o£.  Warre,  like  an  ilUfheathed  knife, 
No  more  /Hall  cut  his  Matter.  Therefore  Friends, 
As  farreas  to  theSepulchcc  of  Cnrift, 
Whofe  Souldier  now  vndcr  whofe  blcffeiCrorTe 
We  arc  imprefted  and  irtgagdro  fight* 
Forthwith  a  power  of  Eoglifh  fhall  we  leuie* 
Whofe  ar  mes  were  moulded  in  their  Mothers  wornbe, 
To  chacerliefc  Pagans  in  thofe  holy  Fields, 
Ouer  wliofe  Acres  walk'd  thofe  blcflcd  fecte 
Which  fouueene  hundred  yearcs  ago  were  natl'd 
Forouraduantagc  on  thebittci  CrniTe. 
Bttcthis  ourpur pofe  is  a  tweluemonth  ohf, 
And  bootlefTe  'tis  to  tcllyou  we  will  go ; 
Therefore  we  mcetenctnow.  Then  letmehearc 
Of  you  my  gentle  Coufin  Weftmerhnd 
Whatycfternightour  Councell  did  decree. 
ia  forwarding  this  deere  expedience* 
/    Weft*  My  Liege  jTlii.hjfte  was  hot  ioqucftion, 
And  many  limits  of  the  Charge  fet  downe 
Bfltycfternighti  when  all  athwart  there  came 
APoftfromWalesjloaiienwithheauyNcwes; 
Whofe  woi  ft  was,  That  the  Noble  CMmmtr^ 
wading  the  mfcnofHerefordfhirc  to  fight 
Agiinft  the  irregular  and  wildc  Clendower^ 
Was  by  ih$ rude  bands  ofthat  Welftunan  takers 
ftfliaillQufawci  ofhis  people  butchered ; 


Vpon  whofe  dead  corpes  there  was  fuckjjiifuie$ 

SuchbeaftlyjiliameltiVerransforfMfjonv 
By  thofe  WcHhwomen  done,  as  may  not  be 
(Without  much  flume)  re  told  or  fpoken  of. 

King _  It fecmes  then,  that thetidings  of thiibroif^ 
Brake  crTourbufindTc  for  the  H«Iy  land* 

Wefa  This  roatcht  with  other  Me,my  gracious  Ldj& 
Farre  more  vneucrt  and  vnwelcome  Ncwct ' 
Camefrom  the  North.  aiulthusJcdid  report  8 
On  Holy-roode  day, the  gallant  Hoiffmne  chut* 
Young  harry  Percy*  and braue  zslrchtbald, 
That  euer.vaiiant  and  approoued  Scot, 
At  Holmtden  mer,  where  they  did  fpend 
A  fad  and  bloody  boure ; 
As  by  difebarge  of  their  Artillcrle, 
Anafliapeofhkcly-hoodihejicweswastolds 
For  he  that  brought  them,  in  the  very  heate 
And  pride  of  their  contention,  did  take  horfe> 
Vucet  taine  of  the  iflue  any  way. 

Kt*g  Hcerc  is  a  deere  and  true  induftrious  fnen  J^ 
Sh  Walter  2?//*»r,new  lighted  from  his  Horfd 
StrainM  with  the  variation  of  each  l'oy!e4 
Betwixt  that  Holmtden  ^x\A  this  Seat  of  ours : 
And  he  hath  brought  ys  fmooth  and  svelcomes  newes; 
The  Earlc  oiDowglas  is  difcoiiifitedj 
Ten  thoufand  bold  Scots,  two  and  twenty  Knight! 
Balk'd  in  their  owneblood  did  S\t  Walter  (te 
On  Holntedons  PJaines,  Of Prifoners,  Hotftmr$  tooic 
Mordakq  Earle  of  Fife,  and  eldeft  fonne 
Jo  beaten  ^Dow^Us  and  tbe  Earle  ofj4(foBM 
QtMttrrjt  esfngtuflnA  Merit  e  it  h. 
And  is  nouhisan  honourable  fpoy[c> 
A  gallant  prire  ?  Ha  Coiin,is  it  not?Infaith  hi** 

Weft.  AConqueftforaPrincetoboaftof. 

Ki»i,  Yea,  there  thou  mak'ft  me  fad,  &  mak*ft  fllfi  fift 
lncnuy,thatmy  Lord  Not thumberland 
Should  be  the  Father  of  fo  Weft  a  Sonne : 
ASonne,whois  the  Theame  of  Honors  tongue; 
Among'it  a  Groue,  the  very  ftraigbtefl  PJan^ 
Who  is  fwect  Fortunes  Minion,and  her  Pride: 
Whil'ft  I  by  looking  on  the  praife  of  him. 
See  Ryot  and  Difhonor  ftaine  the  brow 
Ofmyyong  iiforry.  O  that  it  could  be  prou'd,       * 
That  fomeNight-tripping-Faiery,  had  exchanged 
In  Cradle»dothe $,  our  Children  where  they  lay, 
And  ealfd  mine  Percy -,  his  Plmtttm  i 


5° 


The  Firfl  ^Pari  o/IQng  Henry  the  Fourth. 


Telnet.  Good  morrow  fweet  Hal.  What faics  Mon- 
fieur  Remorfe 1  ?  Whar  fayes  Sir  Iohn  Sacke  and  Sugar  : 
lackef?  How  agrees  the  Dwell  and  thec  about  thy  Soule, 
that  ihou  foldeft  him  on  Good-Friday  laft,  for  a  Cup  of* 
Madera,and  a  cold  Capons  leggc? 

Prin.  Sir  Iohn  ftands  to  his  word,  thediuel  (hall  haue 
his  bargaine,ror  he  was  neucryer  a  Breaker  oFProuerbs: 
He  xpiHgitte  the  ditteKbis  due. 

poht.Then  art  thou  damn'd  For  keeping  thy  word  with 
the  diuell. 

Brin.  Elfc  he  bad  damn'd  for  cozeningthe  diuell. 

Foy.  But  my  lads.,  my  Lada/to  morrow  morning,l>y 
fours  a  clocke  early  at  Gads  hill,  there  are  Pilgrimes  go- 
ing to  Canterbury  with  rich  Offerings,  and  Traders  ri- 
ding to  London  with  fat  Purfes.  I  haue  vizards  for  you 
all ;  you  haue  horfes  for  your  felucs  :  Gads-hill  lyes  to 
night  in  Rochcfter,  I  haue  befpoke  Supper  to  morrow  in 
Eaficheapcj  we  may  doe  it  as  fecurc  as  fleepc:  if  you  will 
go,IwillftufTe  your  Purfes  full  of  Cfownes :  if  you  will 
pot,  tarry  at  home  and  be  hang'd. 

TaL  Heare  ye  Ycdward,if  I  tarry  at  home  and  go  not, 
lie  hang  you  for  going, 

foy.  You  will  chops. 

'Fal.  Hal,  wilt  thou  make  one? 

Pnn.  Who,Irob?IaTheefc?NotI. 
F^/.ITherc's  neither  hoaefty,  marihood,norgocd  fel- 
low fhrp  in  tbee.  nor  thou  eam*(t  not  of  theblood-royall, 
if  thou  dal*ft  not  (land  foi  ren  (hillings. 

Writ**  Well  then.once  in  my  dayes  lie  be  a  mad-cap. 

W*(*  Why;that*s  well faid. 

Pritt.  Well;  come  what  will,  He  tarry  at  home. 

Fal.  lie  be  a  Traitor  then, when  thou  art  King. • 

£>r/».;T  care  not. 

¥ojn.  Sir  fob*,!  prytheeleaue  the  Prince  8f  me  alone, 
I  will  lay  him  downc  fuch  reafons  for  this  aduemure,that 
he  fliall  go. 

Fal.  Well,  maift  thou  haue  the  Spirit  of-perfwafion ; 
and  he  the  eares  of  profiting,  ithat  what  thou  fpeakeft , 
may  moue ;  and  what  he  heares  may  be  beleeucd.that  the 
true  Piince,roay(for  recreation  fakc)proue  a  falfe  thecfe  j 
for  the  pooreabufes  ofihetime,wanr  countenance.  Far- 
well.you  (hall  findc  meinEaftcheape. 
1  Prin.  Farwellthelattei  Soring..  FarewellAlholIown 
Summer. 

Poj.  Now,  my  g©ed  fweet  Hony  Lord,  ride  with  vs 
to  raorrow.Tl  haue  a  left  to  execute,  that  I  cannot  rr.an- 
nage  alone.  Falftaffe;  Harvey.  Rt>J[iit,md'q*dt-hiRt  fhall 
robbethofe  men  that  wcehpue  aheady  way-laydc,  your 
fclfc  andl,  wil  not  be  thererand  when  ihey  haue  the  boo- 
ty, if  you  and  I  do  not  iobthcm^  cut  rhis  head  from  tny 
fhoulders. 

/V/w.But  how  fhal  w*  part  with  rhem  in  fecting  forth? 

Poyn.  Why,we  wil  fet  forth  before  or  after  them. and 
appoint  them  a  place  of  n  ceting,  wherin  it  is  at  our  plea- 
fure  to  faile  \  and  then  will  they  aduenturc  ,vppon  the  ex- 
ploit rhemfelucs,  which  they  fhall  haue  no  fooner  atchie- 
ued,  but  wce'l  fet  vpon  them. 

Prin.  Jjbiittis  like  that  they  will  know  vs  by  our 
horfes.by  ourh3bits,and  by  euery  other  appointment  to 
beoui  felues.  , 

Toy.  Tut  our  hotfes  they  fhall  not  fee,  He  tyc  them  in 
the  wood,  our  vizards  wee  will  change  aftei  wee  leaue 
them  :  and  firrah,  1  haue  Cafes  of  Buckram  for  the  nonce, 
to  imrnaske  our  noted  outward  garments. 

Prin.  But!  doubt  they  will  be  too  hat  d  for  vs. 
fein,  Well,for  two  of  them,   I  know  them  to  bee  as 


true  bred  Cowards  as  euer  turn'd  backc.and  for  the  third 
if  he  fight  longer  then  he  feesreafon,Ileibrfwear  Armes, 
The vertue of  chisleft  will  be, the  incomprehenfible lyes 
that  tbisfat  Rogue  will  tell  vs,when  we  meeieatSUf  pcri 
how  thirty  at  leaf*  he  fought  with,  what  Wardes,  vvbai 
blowes,  what  extremities  he  cndured;and  in  thercproofe 
of  this,  lyes  the  ieft. 

Trin.  Well,  He  goe  with  thee,  prouide  vs  all  thing, 
neceffary,  and  meete  roe  tomorrow  night  m  EaftcheapL 
there  He  fup.  Farewell.  n> 

Poyn.  Farewelhmy  Lord.  ExitPmr* 

Prin.  I  know  you  all,  and  will  a-while  yphold 
The  vnyoak'd  humor  of  your  idleneflc : 
Yechecrein  will  I  imitate  the  Sunne, 
Who  doth  permit  the  bafe  contagious  cloudes 
To  fmothet  vp  his  Beauty  from  the  world, 
That  when  he  pleafe  agame  to  be  himfcife, 
Being  wantcd,hemay  be  more  wondred  ar, 
By  breaking  through  the  foule  and  vgly  mifts 
Of  vapours,  that  did  feeme  to  liranglchim. 
If  all  the  ycarc  were  playing  holidaics, 
To  fport,  would  be  as  tedious  as  to  worke  j 
J  But  when  they  lcldome  come,  they  wiflu-for  come, 
{  And  nothing  pleafeth  but  rare  accidents. 
So  when  this  loofe  behauiour  I  throw  off, 
And  pay  the  debt  1  neuer  proroiied ;' 
By  how  much  better  then  my  word  I  am. 
By  fo  much  fliall  1  falfifie  mens  hopes, 
And  like  bright  Mettail  on  a  Allien  ground ; 
My  reformation  glittering  o're  my  fault, 
Shall  fhew  more  goodly,  and  attract mor*  eyes^ 
Then  that  which  hath  no  foyle  to  fet  it  off. 
lie  fo  offend,  to  make  offence  a  skill, 
Redeeming  time^when  men  thinke  lead  I  will. 

Sccena  Tertia. 


Enter  the  IGngyNorthfimkr/andjrorceJ}er^Hotjparrea 
Sir Walter  72  lu*t,  and  others. 

King*  My  blood  hath  beene  coo  cold  and  temperate^ 
Vnapt  to  ftirre  at  the fc  indignities, 
And  you  haue  found  me ;  for  accordingly, 
You  tread  vpon  my  patience  :  But  be  fure, 
I  will  from  henceforth  rather  be  my  Selfe, 
Mighty,  and  to  befear'd,  then  my  condition 
Which  hath  beene  fmooth  as  Oyfc^fofc  as  yortgDowne, 
And  therefore  loft  thatTitle  efrefpedt, 
Which  the  proud  foule  ne're  payes,but  to  the  proud, 

Wor.  Our  houfe  (my  Soueraigne  Licge)little dsfcruei 
The  fcourge  of  greatneffe  to  be  vfed  on  it, 
And  that  fame  greatneffe  too,  which  our  ownehandi 
Haue  holpe  to  make  fo  portly. 

Nor.  My  Lord. 

King.  Wor cefter  get  thec  gone :  for  I  do  fee 
Danger  and  difobedience  in  thine  eye. 
O  fir, your  prefenceis  too  bold  and  peremptory* 
And  Maieftie  might  neuct  yet  endure 
The  moody  Frontier  of  a  feruant  brow, 
You  haue  good  Ieauetolcaue  vs.  When  we  need 
Your  vfe  and  counfell,we  fhall  lend  for  you. 
You  were  about  to  fpeake. 

North,  Yea,  my  good  Lord. 

1  &  Thofe 


J* 


TheFirft  TartofKjngHemy  tbeFourth. 


Hot.  JBut&rft  Ipray  you  j  did  King  Riehardtthen 
Prodaime  my  brother  Aiortimtf, 
Heyrexo  the  Crowned   , 
'  "iW.  HedidjOiyfeifedidhcareir. 

//<?/.  Nay  then  1  cannot  blame  his  CoufinKIng, 
That  wifh  d  him  on  tbeDarren  Mountaines  ftaru'd. 
But  fhall  tt  be,  that  you-that  let  the  Crowne  _ 
Vpon  the  head  of  this  forge  t-full  man, 
And  foch'rs  fakc,wore  the^detefted  blot 
Of  murtherous  lubornatioiT?  Shall  it  be, 
That  you  a  world  of  carles  vndergoe, 
Being  the  Agents,  or  bafe  fecb'nd  mcanes, 
The  Cords,  tbe  Ladder,  or  the  Hangman  rather  ? 
O  pardon,  if  that  I  defcend  ib  low, 
To  ftiew  the  Line,  and  the  Predicament 
Wherein  you  range  vnder  this  fubtill  King. 
Shall  it  for  Qiame^be  fpoken  in  thefc  dayes, 
Or  fill  vp  Chronicles  in  time-to  come, 
That  men  of  your  Nobility  and  Power, 
Did  gage  them  both  in  an  vniuft  behalfe     v 
(As  Both  ofyoiijGod  pardon  it,  haue  done) 
To  put  -down?  RtcbarJt  that  fweetloucly  Rofe, 
And  plant  this  Thome,  this  Canker  "2>«#/»£&w%? 
And  fhall  it  in  more  fhame  be  further  fpoken, 
That  you  arefool'd,  difcardcd.and  fhookeoft 
By  him,  for  whom  thefe  Thames  ye  vnderwent  ? 
No :  yet  time  femes,  wherein  you  may  redeeme 
Your  baaim'd  Honors,  and  rcftore  your  felues 
Into  the  good  Thoughts  of  the  world  againe. 
Reuenge  the  geering  and  difdain'd  contempt 
Of  this  proud  King,  who  ftudies  day  and  night 
To  anfwer  all  the  Debt  he  owes  vnto  you, 
Euen  with  the  bloody  Payment  ofyoui  deaths : 
Therefore  I  fay < 

Wat-.  Peace  Coufin .  fay  no  more. 
And  now  1  will  vncfaspe  2  Secret  booke, 
And  to  your  quicke  conceyuing  Difcontcnts, 
He  reads  you  Matter,  deepe  and  dangerous. 
As  full  ofperill  andaduenturoui  Spine, 
As  to  o*re-\valke  a  Current,  roaring  loud 
On  the  vnftedfaft  footing  of  a  Spcare. 

Hot.  It  he  fall  in,  good  night,  or 'hnke  or  fwimme: 
Send  danger  from  the  Ealt  vnto  the  Welt, 
So  Honor  crofle  it  from  the  North  to  South, 
And  let  them  grapple  :  The  blood  more  ltirres 
Torowzea  Lyon,then  to  ftart  a  Hare. 

Nor   Imagination  offome  great  exploit, 
Drhies  him  beyond  the  bounds  of  Patience. 

Hot.  Byheiuen,  me  thinkes  it  were  an  eafie  leap, 
To  plucke  bright  Honor  from  the  pale-fac  d  Moone, 
Or  diue  into  the  bottome  oi  ihe  deepe, 
Where"Fadome-line  could  neuer  touch-the  ground, 
And  plucke  vp  drowned  Honor  by  the  Lockes : 
So  hexhat'doth  redeerneber  thence,  might  wcare 
Without  Co-riuall,  alfher  Dignities: 
But  out  vpon  this  halfe-'inc  d  Eellowfhip. 

IFcr.  Kc'apprehetids  a  World  of  Figures  here, 
But  not  the  forme  oi  whathefhould  attend  : 
Good  Coufin  gule  me  audience  for  a-while, 
And  lift  to  me. 

Hoi.  T  cry  you  mercy. 

V/ly.  Thole  fame  Noble  Stottes 
That  are  your  Ptifoners, 

.. Hoi.  illc  keepe  them  all. 
By  heauen,  ne  fhall  pot  haue  a  Scot  of  them:'  \ 
Noiif  a  Scot  would  hue  his  Soule,hc  fhallnot.' ' 


Ilckccpe  them,  by  this  Hand. 

War.  You  (tart  away, 
And  lend  no  eare  vnto  my  purpofes. 
Thofe  Prifoners  you  fhall  keepe. 

Hot.  Nay,  I  will  j  that's  flat: 
He  faid,  he  would  not  ranfome  Morumer; 
Forbad  my  tongue  to  fpeakeot',*/orr?wrr. 
But  I  will  findc  him  when  he  lyes  afleepe, 
And  in  his  eare,  lie  holla  Mortimer. 
Nay,  He  haue  a  Starlirfg  fhall  be  taught  to  fpcake 
Nothing  but  Morttmer> and  giueit  him, 
To  keepe  his  anger  ftili  in  motion. 

Wnr.  HeareyouCoufia:aword. 

Hot,  All  ftudies  heere  I  folemnly  defie, 
Saue  how  to  gall  and  pinch  this  Buftitigkrooke, 
And  that  fame  Sword  and  Buckler  Prince  of  Wales. 
But  that  I  thinkchis  Father  loues  him  not, 
And  would  be  gbd  he  met  with  fome  mif  chance* 
I  would  hauepoyfon'd  him  with  a  pot  of  Ale, 

War.  Farewell  Kinfinan :  He  talketo  you 
When  you  arebetter  tempctd  to  attends 

Nor.\  Why  what  a  Wafpe-tongu'd  &  impatient  foole 
Art  thou,  to  breakeinto  this  Womans  mood, 
Tying  thine  care  to  no  tongue  but  thine  owneT 

Hot. Why  look  you,  I  am  whipt  &  fcourg'd  witbrods, 
Netted,  and  ftung  with  Pifmires,whcn  I  heare 
Of  this  vile  Politician  BuRingbreoke. 
VaRjchArds  time :  What  de'ye  call  the  place  ?• 
A  plague  vpon't,  it  is  in  Glouftcrihire  : 
'Twas,  where  the  madcap  Duke  bis  Vnde  kept, 
HisVndeYorke,Viherelfirflbow'dmykncc 
Vnto  this  King  of  Smiles,  this  BtiRingfocske: 
When  you  and  he  came  backe  fcom'  RaaenfpurgH. 

Nor,  AtBarkleyCaftle, 

Hot.  You  fay  true  r 
Why  wh3t  a  caudie  dcale  of  curteHe, 
This-fawning  Grey  hound  then  did  proffer  me, 
Looke  when  his  infant  Fortune  came  to  age, 
And  gentle  Harry  "Percy,  and  kinde  Ccufiu  : 
O,  the  Diuell  take  fuch  Couzcners,God  forgiucme, 
Good  Vnde  tell  your  tale,  for  1  haue  done. 

Wor.  N3y,  if  you  haue  not,  too't  againe, 
WeeTftay  your  leyfure. 

Hot.  I  haue  done  infooth. 

TVor.  Then  once  more  toyour  Scottifh  Prifoners. 
Deliuer  them  vp  w'thout  their  ranfome  ftraight, 
And  make  the  Dowglas  fonne  your  onely  meane 
For  powr.es  in  Scotland :  which  for  diuers  reifons 
Which  I  Qiall  fend  you  written,be  aflur'd 
Will  eafily  be  granted  you,  my  Lord. 
Your  Sonne  in  Scotland  being  thus  imp  1  y'd» 
Shall  fecrctly  into  the  bofome  creepe 
Of  that  fame  noble  Prelate^  well  bclou'dj 
TheArchbifhop. 

Hot.  OfYorke,is'tnot? 

Wor.  True,  who  besres  hard  „ 
His  Brothers  death  at  Briftovr,  the  Lord  Scrooge, 
I  fpeakenot  this  in  eftimation,  . 
As  what  I  thinke  might  be,  but  what  1  know 
Is  ruminated,plotted-and  fet  downe, 
And  onely  ftayes  but  to  behold  the  face 
Of  that  occafion  that  /hall  bring  it  on. 

Hot.  Jimcllit: 
Vpon  my  life,  ;t  will  do  wond*rous  well. 

Nor.  Before  the  game's  a-foot,  thou  ftilllef  ft  flip. 

Hot.  Why,it  cannot  choofe  but  be  aNoblc  plot, 

And 


And  then  fbcpowcr  ofScotland;and  ofV  orkc 


n 


TCoioync  with  Mortimer*  Hi. 

Wen  And  fo  they  fhall. 

IteU  Infaiih  it  is  exceedingly  well  aym'd.r 

VTir*  And  'tis  no  little  rcafon  bidi  vs  fpeed, 
lofaue  our  heads,  by  raifingofaHead : 
Fb^  beare  oisr  fcluer*$.#uc»f »  we  canr 
TJbfjKiftg  wiiltflwayce  thinke  himinoar  debt£ 
Xrtd  ihinkc,we  thinke  ourfclucs  vuGtisficd, 
Tillhehath  found  a  tirocMapay  »s  home. 
Artdftf^OJJkdyjiioW  be  doth  beginne 
To  iflai»tffl»ngera~to  his  lookcs  of  lout, 

KtU  He  docsjie  does;  weel  be  rcucng?<j;On  him. 

W<mt  Coj$r),fafeWelU    No  further  go  in  this> 
Then  I  by  tetters  fnall  foxtSk  your  courfe 
Wrientlmelstipe,  which  will  be  fodainlyi 
JltftealetoG/rtw/anxrr  and  ioe,  Moriimerx 
VVticre  you,and  Dowglas  ,i\na  our  powjes  sroncc, 
RaXwill  fafhion  it,  (hall  happily  mecte, 
TTobeare  out  fortunes  in  out  owne  ftrong  armes, 
WhiCfi  now  wChold  ataiuch  vneertatnty^ 

ffhn  Farewell  good  Brother,  we  ftiaiIthfiue,Ttruft. 

Jfof*  Vncle.adieu :  O  Jet  thehoures  be  fhort, 
Tillfieldsjand  blowes,and  grones,applaud  our  (fan.JUS0 


MlusSccundus,  Scena^Prima, 


Enter  a  Carrier  with  a  hanterne  in  his  handf 

%  .Car.  Heigh-ho,an'tbenot  fouteby  the  day,IIe  be 
hang'd.  Charles  waine  is  ouer  the  new  Chimney,  and  yec 
oUthorfenotpackt,  WhatOftler? 

Oft,  Anon.anon. 

XJCar.  I  prethee  Tom,  beate  Cuts  Saddle,  put  a  few 
Hockcs  in  the  point;  the  poore  lade  is  wrung  in  the  wi- 
)&crsjputofallceiTc. 

Enter  another  Carrier* 

4.Car.  tpeafe  andBeanes  arenas  dankehcte  as  a  Dog, 
and  this  is  the  next  way  to  giue  poore  lades  thf  Bortes : 
This  houfc  is  turned  vpfide  downe  fince  T^phia  the  Qftler 
dyed; 

3+Car,  Poore  fellow  neuer  ioy'd  fince  the  price  of  oats 
WfC/H  was  the  death  of  him. 

4.  Car,  I  thinke  this  is  the  mofl  villanous  houfc  In  al 
Condon  rode  for  Fleas:  I  am  Rung  like  a  Tench; 

i,£V.  Like  a  Tench?  There  is  ne're  a  King  in  Chri- 
ftendome,  could  be  better  bit,then  I  hauebeene  fince  the 
hrftCoclcc. 

a.Car.  Why,  you  will  allow  vs  ne're  a]  lourden,  and 
then  we  leake  in  your  Chimney :  and  yout  Chamber -lye 
breeds  Fleas  like  a  Loach. 

I  ,Car,  What  Oftle^comc  away,and  be  hangd:come 
away. 

*.Car>  1  haue  a  Gammon  of  Bacon,  tand  two  razes  of 
Ginger,tobc  deliuered  as  farre  as  Charing-croffe. 

XtCar.  TheTurkiesinmy  Pannier  are  i^aite  ftarued. 
WrracOftler?  A  plague  on  thee,haft  thou  nctseran  eye  in 
thy  head  PCan'ft  not  heare  ?  And  t'were  not  as  good  a 
deed  as  drinke,  to  break  thepate  oftiieej  am  a  very  Vil- 
hine.  Come  and  bchang'd,haft  no  faith  in  the?  ? 
Enter  Gadt-htlt< 

(jad.  Good-morrow  Carriers.  Whatsacloctcf 

Cat*  I  thinke  icbe  two  a  clocke. 

CaL  I  prethee  lend  me  thy  Lanthoriie  to  fee  my  Gel- 


ding in  the  ft  able. 

I  .Car,  Nay  (oft  J  pray  ye, I  know  a  crick  worth  two 
of  that. 

Cad.  I  prethee  lend  me  thine. 

t.Car.  I,whcn,  canft  tell  f  Lend mee thy  Lanthorne 
(quoth.a)  marry  lie  fee  thee  hangd  fitft* 

Cad.  Sirra  Carrier ;  What  time  do  you  mean  to  come 
to  London? 

tlCar,  Time  enough  to  goc  to  bed  with  a  Candle,  1 
warrant  thee.  Come  neighbour  CHugges.  wee'JLcallvp 
the  Gentlemen,  they  wilWong  with  company/for  they 
hauc  great  charge.  JExvmt 

Enter  Chamhertaint. 

Gad.  Whatho,ChamberIaine? 

Cham.  At  hand  quoth  Pick-put  fe. 

Gad.  That's  cuen  as  faire,as  at  hand  quoth  the  Chanv 
berlaine :  For  thou  varieft  no  more  from  pickhtg'of  Por- 
fes,  then  g'ming  direction,  doth  from  labouring .  Thou 
lay  ft  the  plot,  how. 

Cham.  Good  morrow  Maftet  Gads-  Hill,  it  holds  cur- 
rant that  I  told  you  yefternight.  There's  a  Franklin  in  the 
wildc  of  Kent,  hath  brought  three  hundred  Markes  with 
him  inGolJ:I  heard  nimtell  it  to  one  of  his  company  Iaft 
night  at  Supper;  a  kindeof  Auditor,  one  that  hath  abun- 
dance of  char  ge  too  (God  knowes  what)  they  are  vp  air 
ready,  and  call  for  Eggcs  and  Butter.  They  will  away 
prefently, 

Gad,  Sirra,  if  they  meete  not  with  S  .Nicholas  Clarks, 
He  giue  thee  this  necke. 

iham*  No,  He  none  of  it :  I  pry  thee  keep  that  for  the 
Hangman, for  I  know  thouwoifhipftS.Nicholas  as  tr«* 
ly  as  a  man  of  falfhood  may. 

Gad.  What  talkeft  thou  to  me  of  the  Hangman?  If  I 
hang,  lie  make  a  fat  payrc  of  Gallowes.  JFor,  if  I.hang* 
old  Sir  John  hangs  with  mee,  and  thou  know'ft  bee's  no 
Starueling*  Tut,  there  arc  other  Troians  that  ^  drearn'rl 
not  of,  the  which  (for  fport  fake)  are  content  to  doc  the 
Profeffion  lbme  grace ;  that  would  (if  matters  fhould  bee 
look'd  into)  for  their  owne  Credit  fake,  make  all  Whole. 
1  am  ioyned  with  no  Foot-laiid-Rakers,  no  Long-ftaffe 
fix-penny  ltrikers,noneofthefcmad  Muftachio-purplc- 
hu'd-Maltvvormcs,  but  with  Nobility,  and  Tranquiliiic; 
Bourgomaftcrs,  and  great  Oneycrs,  luch  as  can  holdc  in, 
fuch  as  will  ftrikc  fooner  then  fpeake ;  and  fpeake  fbonei 
then  drinke.  and  drin^c  fooner  then  pray :  and  yet  1  fy«?j 
for  they  pray  continually  vnto  their  Sainnhc  Common- 
wealth ;  or  rather,  not  to  pray  to  her,  but  prey  on  hertfor 
they  ride  vp  &  downe  on  hcr,and  make  hir  their  Boots. 

Cham.  What,thc  Commonwealth  their  Bootes*  Witt 
(he  hold  out  water  in  foulc  way  ? 

Gad.  She  wil^fhe  will;  luftice hath  liquor'd  her.  We 
(teak  as  in  a  Caftlccockfurc-:  we  haue  the  rcceit  of  Fern- 
fccde,we  walke  inuifiblc. 

Cham,  Nay ,  I  thmlic  ratber^au  are  more  beholding 
to  the  Night,  then  tothcFernfeed,foryour  walking  in- 
uifible. 

Cad.  Giue  roe  thy  hand. 
Thou  fhalt  haue  a  fhare  in  our  purpofe, 
As  I  am  a  rrue  man. 

Cham,  Nay,ratherletmeehauelt,asyoii«eafalfe 
Theefc. 

Gad,  Goetoo :   Homo  is  a  common  name  to  all  men, 

Bid  the  Oftler  bring  tfie  Gelding  out  of  the  ftable.  Fare- 

well^yc  criuddy  Knaue,  Exeunt, 

e  2  Seen  a 


54 


TheFirjl'Part  ofK^ng  Henry  the  Fmrtk 


SctfnaSeemda, 


Sifit  'PjtneeiPojws/md  Peto. 

Points.  Come  flielter,fhelter,  I  haue  remoued  Fdlfiafs 
florfe,andfi<iftelfslvke  a  gum  d  Vduet. 

frm*  Standttofe. 

E*ierf*ljteffe., 
'Yak  ToineSyPoineSyznA  be  kang'd  Power. 

Prin.  Peace  ye  fat-kidney  *d  Rafcall,  what  a  brawling 
doflthoulcccpe. 

Fal.  What  femes.  Hal}, 

Prit>m  He  is  walk'd  vj*  to  the  top  of  the  hill,llc  go  feek 
him.  . 

F^.  lam  aecurft  to  rob  mthatTheefe  company:  that 
Rafcall  hath  remoued  my  Hdrfe.and  tied  htm  I  know  not 
where.'  If  I  trautllbut  foure  foot  by  the  fquire  further"* 
footeaI  ftiall  breake  my  winde.  Well,  I  doubt  not  but 
to  dye  a  fatre  death  for  all  this,  if  I  fcape  hanging  for  kil- 
ling that  Rogue,  I  haue  forfwotne  his  company  hourely 
any  time  this  two  and  twenty  yeare,©7  yet  rambewitcht 
with theRogues  company.  Jf the  Rafcall haue norghien 
trie  medicines  to  makeme  lottehim^lebchaog  d;it  could 
fiotbetlfe  si  hauc  dr'unkc  Medicines.  Poms,  Halt  a 
Efagueypon  you  \>Qth.\Bardolphi'Petg :  lie  ftarue  ere  I 
rob  a  foote  further.' And 'twere  not  as  good  a  decdeasto 
drfrike,  to  turneTrue-Tnafo,and  to  leaue  theft  Rogues,  I 
aratbeverieflt  Varlet  that  euer  chewed  with  a  Tooth. 
Eight  yards  of  vneuen  ground,  is  thrtefcore  &  ten  miles 
afoot  with  me :  and  tbe  ftony-hearred  Viflaines  kr.owe  it 
will  enough.  A  plague  ypon'^when  Theeues  cannot  be 
twe  one  to  another.  ThejWhtftle. 

Whew  :a  plague  light  yponyoH&U.Giue my  Horfe you 
Rogues  :giue  me  my  Horfc.and'be  hang'd; 

;JV*».7peaceyefarguttes,'  lye  downe, Jay  thine  car* 
clofe  to  the  ground,  and  lift  if  thou  can  hcarc  the  aead  of 
Trauclkrs. 

T*F.  Haue  you  aay  leauers  to  lift  roe  vp  agajn^belng 
downe?  He  not  bearemine  owne  flefli  fo  far  afoot  again, 
for  all  the  coine  in  thy  Fathers  Exchequer.  What  a  plague 
meaneyeto  colt  me  thus  ? 

Ptix.Thou  ly'fhthou  art  not  colted,thou  art  vncoIteiL 

Fal. -I  prethee  good  Prince  H<?/,hcip  me  t  o  my  horfc, 
good  Kings  Tonne. 

Triri.  OutyouRogue^fhalllbeyourOfller? 

Fal.  Go  hang  chy  felfe  in  thine bwneheire-apparanta* 
Garters :  If  I  be  tanc,  He  peach  for  this:  andl  haue  not 
Ballsds  made  on  all,  and  fung  to  filthy  tunes, let  a  Cup  of 
Sackebemy  poyXon :  when  a  left  is  fo  forward.  Si  2  foots 
foOjIhaseit.  * 

MtntGadfJiil? 

Gad.  Standi 

Fall  $0 1  do^agairift  myvi'iih 
foh.s  Q 'tis  our  Setter, Tknow  his  voyce  : 
£ardolft,yih&t  ne  wes  ? 

3?*i,  Cafe  ye^afeye  ;*>rr  withyour  Vizards^,  there"* 
roonyiifrlfeRWsxomniing^owne  the hill,  'tis]  going 
tojthSKingsBxchequcr-, 
JKtf^u^eyoirtoguey*^ 
75^;Thier^!ffaugh  t^makev* a!12 
"Waft  Ttrhehan^,: 


Prirt.  You  foure  mall  front  them  in  the  narrow  Lane* 
Ned  andl,wiU  walke  lower?  if  they  fcape  from'youi  ini 
counter,then  they  light  on  vs.' 

Veto/  But  how  many  be  of  them  ? 

Cad.  Some  e i  ght  or  teny 

Fal.  Will  they  not  rob  vs? 

Pr'm '  What, a  Coward  Sir  Teh  Paunch 

Fal.;  Indeed  I  am  ttotlohnof Gaunt  your  Grandfatheri 
b  ut  y et  no  Coward,  Hal. 

Pritt^  Wec'l  leaue  thatto  the  proof** 
Poor.  Sirra  Iacke,  thy  borfe  ftands  behfnde  the  hedgj 
when  thon  needft  him,  there  thou  (halt  finde  him.  Fare* 
welhand  ftandfaft.' 

Fal.  .Now  cannot  I  ftrike him.if  I  fhouldbe  hangM, 
J?nnS:Ned,  where  are  our  difguifes  f 

Pom.  Hecrc  hard  by :  Stand  dofe> 

Fal.  Now  my  Matters,  happy  man  be  his  dole,  fay  I 
eucry  man  to  his  bufineflV 

Billet  Trauelltrs. 

Tra.  Come  Neighbor:  the  boy  (hall  leade  out  Rorfes 
dowhe  the!  hill :  Wee*l  walke  a-foot  a  while;and  cafe  our 
Legges, 

Theeues.  Stay. 

7V<.,lc(ublelTevs. 

JEal.  Strile.  down  with  them,  cut  the  villains  throats; 
a  whorfon  Caterpillars :  Bacon  fed  Knaues *  they  hate  vs 
I  youth ;  downe  with  them.fleece  them,'1 

Tra.  0,we  are  vndonejaoth  we  and  ours  for  cuer — • 

Fal.  Hang  ye  gorbcllied  knaues,areyou  vndone  ?  Nii 
yeFatChurTe»,I  would  your  More  '.were  heere^.  On  Ba- 
con s. on,  what yeknaues?Yong  men  muft  hue,  yotfare 
Grand  Iurers,areye .  Wee'l iure ye  ifaith; 

Heere  theyyob  themtaad  binde  them.  Snter  the 
Prince  and  Pomes. 

T'WiCTheTheeues  haue  bound  the  Truc-men :  Now 
could  thou  and  I  rob  theTheeuej,a!id  gomerily  to  Loni 
don,  it  would  be  argument  for :  a  Weeke,  Laughter  foi  1 
Moncth,anda  good  iell  for  euer, 

Paynes.  Stand  clofe. I  hcarc  them  comming. 

MnterTheettes  againe. 

Fal.  Come  my  Mailers,  let  vs  fhare,and  then  toborlff 
befoce  day :  and  the  Prince  and  Poyncs  bee  not  two  ar* 
rand  Cowards,  there's  no  equity  {tirritig.  There's  no  mot 
valour  in  that  Poyncs,than  111  a  wrlde Dueke« 

Jurist*  Your  money 

Pwr^iyilfaines; 
iAsihej  arefharingftieVtmcz  and  Poynea \fet  ivpon-ttie&& 

They  xHrtiHaxAjJeaniiig  the  booty  behind  theati 

frinct!.  Got  With  much  eafc.  Now  merrily  ctf  tftftfti 
!TheThfecue*are  fcastrcd,and  poltcftwiih  fear fafti |dW» 
!y,  eh  at  they  dare  not  meet  each  other :  each  takes  his  tw> 
|ow  for aft  OfficcrrAway  good  Uedr  jFalJlajfe  fweitesto 
death.and  Lards  the  lea  ne  earth  as  he  walkes  along;weKI 
not  for  laughing^l  (hould  pittyrhTm* 

'JPoSttflfom  the  Rogue^bat'di,  ?xchhi± 


SwruiTertia. 


MmerHotfjtttrrefoltujreadiHgaLetttr.       % 
TButfor  mine  owne  part ;mf  Lord,  JconldbetweSemttitrtdU 
it  tbirc^in  refyeft  ofthctml  beareyottrhoufe. 

He 


XbePirfiTartofKmgHettrytbeFmth, 


55 


He  could  be  contented :  Why  is  he  nor  thcaPiarerp.cdt.of 
the  loue  he  besres  our  houfc. '  He  (he  w  es  in  chis',he  loucs 
hisowne  Barne  better  then  he  loues  our  houfc.  Lee  me 
fipcibmc  more*,  i  The  pnrpofeyoji ;  vndertake  isj&angttgttt* 
Why  that's  certainc  i'Tis  dangerous  to  takeaColde,  to 
flrcpe,  to drinkc :  but  t  tell you.(my  Lord  foole)  out  'of 
thisNettle^Dangeri  we pluckethis Flower^ Safety.  Tbf 
mrpofeyott  undertake  is  dangerous,  the  Friends- jottJiaue no* 
uudvnctrtaine>tUeTmcit  felfevnforted^amA  jqw^ypholt 
Plot  too  light,  t  for  ike  counterpoize  of fo great  am  Oppofttion. 
Say  you  Jo,  fayyou  fo :  I  fay  vncoyou.  againej,  you  are  a 
(hallow  cowardly  Hinde^andyonXye.,  What.a.lackc- 
brainc  is  this?  1  prolcrt,  our  plot  U  as  good  a  plor  as  cuer 
v/as  laid  j  our  Friend  true  and  coriftant :.  A  good  Plotic, 
goodFricnds.andfuUofexpeclation:  An  excellent  plot* 
yciy  good  Friends*  What  a  Frofty-ipitUcd  rogue  is  this? 
Why,  my  Lord  of  Yorke  commends  the  plot  v  and  the 
generallcourfc  of  the  action;  By  this  hand.if  1  were  now 
by.thisRafcalLlcouldbraine  him  with  his  Ladies  Fan, 
Is  there  not  my  Father;  my  .Ynckle,  and  my  Sclfe,  Lord 
Edmund  Moriimertmy  Lord  of  TorketmA  Owen Cjlendou'r} 
Is  there  not  b.efides,  the  Dowglast  Haue  I  not  all  their  let* 
tersjtomeetemeinArmesby  the  ninth  of  the  next  Mo- 
ncth  ?  and  ore  they  not  (ome  of  them  fct  forward  already?. 
What  a  Pagan  Raltall  is  this?  AnlnfideMHai  you  (nail 
ieen.ow  in  very  (inccrity  of  Feare  and  Cold  hcart.-willhc 
to  the  King,;and  lay  open  all  our  proceedings*  0,1  could 
diuide  my  fclfe,  and  go  to  buffets*,  for  moiling  fucha  di(h 
«f  skinrd  Milk  with  fo  honourable  an  Action.  Hang  him. 
lethim  tell  the  King  wcare  prepared.  I  will  fet.totwards 
tOflighr. 

Enter  his  Lady, 

How  now  Kate,lmuft  leaue  you  within  thefc  two  hours. 

La,  O.my  good  Lord*  why /arc  you  thus  alone  / 
For  what  offence  haue  J  this  fortnight  bin 
A  banifiYd  woman  from  my  Harries  bed  ? 
Tell  me  (fwcer  Lord)  what  is't  that  takes  from  thee 
Thy  ftomacke^pleafure.and  thy  golden  deepe? 
Why  doft  thou  bend  thine  eyes  vpotvthe  earth  ? 
A.ad  (tart  fo  often  when  thou  fitt'ft  alone  ?  - 
Why  haft  thou  loft  the  fre(h  blood  in  thy  cheekc*  ? 
And  glucn  my  Treafures  andmy  rights  of  thee, 
To  thicke-ey  'd.mufing,  andeurft.meUncholiy  ? 
In  my  faint-flumbers,  1  by  theehaue  watcht, 
Andnesrdthce^rourmorexales  of  Iron  Warre* : 
Speake  tcarrnes  ofmana ge  to  thy  bounding  Steed,  • 

Cry  courage  to  the  field..  -  And  thou  baft  talk'd 
OfSaUies^and.RetircsiTrenches.TcntSi 
0  fPalizadoes,  Frontiers  ,PaMpets^ 
OfBafiliskesjOf  Canon,  Culucrinii 
OfPrifonersianfome,  andof  Souldiera  flafnCi 
AudaU.thecuttent  of  a  headdy fight;  , 
thy  Ipir'u  within  thee  hath  beene fo  at' Warre, 
And  thus  hatbib  beftirr'd  thee  lathy  IkepCi 
That  beds  offweate  hath  ftood  vpon  thy  Brow, 
like  bubbles  in  a  late-diftutbed  Streamer 
And  in  thy  face  Grange  motions  baue  appcar'd_ 
Suchas  we  fee  when  men  rcftraine  their  breath 
Onfome  great. (o'daine  hatt.iQw.haf  portents. are  thefe? 
Some  hcauiebulincflc  hath  my  Lord  in  hand, 
Aodl  rouft  know  it :  clfe  helctueamenot. 

Her.  >  What  ho  ;_Is  GiUiams  with  the  Packer  gone  t 

St n  He  is  my  Lord.an  honre.agorle.  .. 
-iHtt.Hath  ^w/fr/brought thofeJiorlelJ&QibeSheiifrer 


Ser.  One horfc,myXord,he  brought eucn.no w» 

HotZ  WhatHoilc  ?  AJRoanc,a  crop  carc.is  it  not. 

Set.  It  is  my  Lord, 

Hot..  That  Roane  Aall  be  myTbwne;  Well,  twill 
backc  htm  ftraight.  Ejperaace+bid  Butler  lead  him. lorth 
into  the  Parke. 

La..  Bui  hear  cyoujny  Lord. 

Hoi*  What  fay'ft  thou  my  Lady  $ 

La.  What  is  it  carries  you  away  1 

Hot.  Why,myhorfe(my  touc)myhor(e» 

La~.  Out' you  mad-headed  A pej.  a  WcazelLbatraiof 
fuch  a  dcale  of Spleene^ as  y ou  are.tou\ withi  In.footh  lie 
know  your  bufineflc  Harry*  than  I  wjuY  tfcare  my  Bro^ 
chet  Montmtr  doth  ttirreabout  his  Title;  and  hath  lent 
foryou  to  line  his  enterprizci  \  But  if  you  go-— — 

Hot.  Sofarre a fooi/ ( (ball beOTcary, Loue^ 

LA  Come.come.you  Paraquito,  anfwer  me  directly 
vnto  this  queftion  that  I  fluU^kcA  Judcede:  He  brcake 
thylittlc  finger  Harrjjf  thou  wilt  not.tel  me  true. 

Hot.  Away  .away  you  trifler  :.Loue.IIouethcenor^ 
T  carenotforthee  Kate.:  this  is  no  world 
To  pGy  with  Mamrncts.andto  tilt  with  Yipsi 
We  muft  haue  bloodie  Nofes.and  crack'd  Grownes^ 
And  pafle  them  currant  too.  .Gods  me,myhor(e. 
W  hat  fav'ft  thou  Kate} what  woid'ft  thourhauc  withine.  ? 

Irn.,  Do  y  p  not  loue  me?  Do  yenot  indeed  ?, 
Well,  donor;  then,  .For  fince  you  loue  menofi 
Twill  not  loue  my  felfc.  Do  yew  not  loue  nae2 
Nay.tell  mc  if  thou,  (peak'ft  in  ieft»or  no* 

Hot.  Cd*me>  wilt  thou  fee  meridc? 
And  when  lam  a  horfebacke.  I  will  fweare 
I  loue  thee  infinitely.  But  hcarke  you  Kate, 
I  m'u  ft  not  haue  you  hencerorth^queftion  mc, 
Whether  I  go :  nor  reafon  whereabout:* 
Whether  I  muft,  1  muft:  and  to  conclude, 
This  Eucning  muft  I  leaue  thee,gcmje  Kate. 
Ilino.wyouwife.but  yet  no'furthct  wife 
Then  HarryPeraes  wife.  Coriftant  you  are, 
But  yet  a  woman ;  and  for  fecrecic,? 
No  Lady  clofer^ForlTWill  belceuc 
T  nou  wilt  not  vtter  what  thou  do'  ft  not  kno  w» 
And  fa  farre  wiltl  truft  thee,gentl«Katev> 

(4.  Howlofarrc? 

/JVr.Nofcan  inch  furtheri  .Bntbarkc  you  Kmet, 
Whither  T  go,  thither  (hall  you  go  top : 
To  day  will  I  fct  forth,  ro  morrow  you* 
Will  this  rontenr  you  Kate  I 

Let.  Itmuft offorce. 


SxtHMt 


Scmtii  Quarts 


Enter  Prince  and  Poiniti^ 

Prim  7\T^,prethec  come  out  of  that  iatropmej?:  lend 
mc  Uw  hand  to  laugh  a  little. 

fo'weu  Wherehaft bencHalll 

SM&r.  With.threeorfoureLoggw-he3ds,-amongft3. 
orfourefcoreHoglheads.  I  haue  foundcd.the  vcrie  bafe 
firing  of  humility.  Sirrajam  fworn  brother  to  a  lea(h  of 
Drawers  .andean  call  them  by  their  names.as  T^.i)/^, 
and  Francis.  Thcy.takeitalteadv  vpontheirconfidenceV 
that  thoughl  be  but  Prince  of  Wales,  ycryl.am  tfee  King 
of  GuTtefic^ellingrae  flatly  I  am  no  proud  lack  like  Fat- 
ftaffejovi  a  Corinthians  lad  oFmcttlc.-a  good  boy,'  and 
when  1  am  King  of  England,!  (hall  command  al  toe  good 
Laddcs  in  Eaft-chcape.  They  calldrinking  dcepet .  dy- 
ongScaTletrj  and  whcDyoubreath  myouiwaming^thcn 
e  z  tbey 


56 


TheFirft  Tart  of  Ring  Henry  the  Fourth. 


|thcycryhem,and  bid  you  play  it  off.  To  conclude,  lam  \ 
i'o  good  a  proficient  ia  one  quarter  of  an  houre,tbat  I  C3n 
drinjie  with  any  Tinker  in  his  owne  Language  duringmy 
life.  I  tell  thee  AW,thcu  haft  loft  much  honor,  that  thou 
wer't  nor  wi:h  me  in  this  action :  but  fwcet  Nedtto  fwee- 
ten  which  name  o{Ned,l  giue  thee  this  peniworth  of  Su- 
gar, clapteuen  now  into  my  hand  by  an  vndcr  Skinker, 
one  that  neuerfpake  other  Englifn  in  his  life,  then  Eight 
fallings  andjix pence,  and,  Ton  are  welcome :  with  this  fhril 
addition,  ts4non,  ssfmnjir,  Score  a  Pint  of  'Bayard  in  the 
Halfe  Moone,oi  to.  But  Ned,  to  driue  away  time  till  Yd- 
fiaffe  come,  I  pry  thee  doc  thou  Hand  in  fomeby-roome. 
while  I  queftion  my  puny  Drawer,  to  what  end  hee  gaue 
me  the  Sugar,  and  do  neuer  leaue  calling  Francts,  that  his 
Taleto  me  may  be  nothing  but,  Anon :  ftcp  afide,  and  He 
fhewtheeaPrefident. 

Poines.  Francis. 

Pun*  Thou  art  perfect. 

Poin.  Francis. 

Enter Drawer. 

Fran.  Anon,anon  fir ;  lookc downe 'into  the Pomgar- 
nct.Ralfi: 

Prince,  Come  hither  Francis. 

Fran.  My  Lord. 

Trin.  How  long  haft  thou  toferuc,  Francis? 

Fran,  Forfooih  fiuc  ycares,and  as  much  at  to— — — 

Pom.  Francif. 

Fran.  Anon,anon  fir. 

Prin.  Fine  yeares  f  Bcrlady  a  long  Leafe  tax  the  din- 
king  of  Pewter.  But  Francis,  dareft  thou  be  fo  valiant,  as 
to  play  the  coward  with  thy  Indenture,  &  fhew  it  3  faire 
paire of  heeles,and  run  from  it? 

Fran.  O  Lord  fir,  He  be  fworne  vpon  all  the  Books  in 
England, I  could  finde  in  my  heart. 

Pain.  Francis. 

Fran,  Ano^anop  fir. 

Prin,  How  old  att  x\\ou,FravcU  ? 

Fran.  Let  me  fee,  about  Michaelmas  nextl/halbe— 

Poin.  Francis. 

Fran.  Anon  fir,  pray  you  flay  alittle.my  Lord.- 

Prin.  Nay  but  harke  you  Francis,  for  the  Sugar  thou 
gaueft  me/twas  a  peny  worth,was't  not  > 

Fran.  O  Lord  fir,  I  would  it  had  bene  two. 

Prin.  I  will  giue  tbee  for  it  a  thoufand  pound :  Askc 
me  when  thou  wilt,and  thou  (halt  haue  it. 

Poin.  Francis. 

Fran.  Anon, anon. 

Prw.Anon  Francis?  No  Francis.but  to  morrow  Fran- 
cis :  or  Fraficis,on  thurfday:or  indeed  Francis  whentho" 
wilt.  But  Francis. 

FWr  My  Lord. 

Prin.  Wilt  thou  rob  this  Leathetne  Ierkin,  Chriftall 
button,  Not-pated,  Agat  ring,  Puke  flocking,  Caddice 
g3ricr,  Smooth  tongue,Spaniih  pouch. 

Fran.  O  Lord  fir,who  do  you  mcane  f 
,  Prttt.  \Vhy  then  youcbrowne  Baftardis  youronefy 
drinke :  for  looke  you  Francis,your  white  Canuas  doub- 
let will  fulley.  In  Barbary  fir,it  cannot  cometo  fo  much. 

Fran.  What  fir? 

Poin.  Francis. 

Prm.  Away youRogue,doftthouhcar« them  call? 
Jfearethey  both  call  him,  the  Drawer ftands  amazed, 
nuihnoming  which  way  to  go. 

■  Enter  Vintner 
Vitf*    .Whatyftand'il thou  ftill,and  hear'ft  fuch a  Cal- 


ling PLookctotheGutfts  within.  My  Lord,  oldeSir 
Ichn  with  halfe  a  dozen  more,are  at  the  doote :  ihall  I  let 
them  in? 

Pri».  Let  than  alone  awhile4and  then  open  the  doore, 
Poines. 

Enter  Poines. 

Poin.  ;»non,anon  fir. 

Prin.  Sirra,  Falfiaffe  and  the  reft  of  the  Thecues,areat 
the  doore,fhall  we  be  merry  t 

Poin.  As  mcrrie  as  Crickets  my  Lad.  But  harke  yee, 
W7hat  cunning  match  haue  you  made  with  this  ieft  ofthe 
Drawer?  ComCjWhat's  the  i  flue? 

Prin.l  am  now  of  all  humors,that  haue  (hewed  them: 
felucs  humors,  fincc  the  old  dayes  of  goodman  Adam,  to 
the  pupill  age  of  this  prefent  twelue  a  clock  at  midnight. 
What's  a  clocke Francis? 

Iran.  Anon,anonfir. 

Prin,  That  euer  this  Fellow  fhould  haue  fewer  words 
then  a  Parrer,  and  yet  thefonneofaWoman.  Hisindu- 
firy  is  vp-ftaires  and  down-ftaires,  his  eloquence  the  par- 
cell  ora  reckoning.  I  am  not  yet  ofFercies  mind,the  Hot- 
Ipurre  ofthe  North,  he  that  killes  me  fome  fixe  or  feauen 
dozen  of  Scots  at  a  Breakfaft,  waihes  his  hands,and  faies 
to  his  wife ;  Fie  vpon  this  quiet  life,  I  want  worke.  O  my 
fweet  Hxrry  fayes  (he,  how  many  haft  thou  kill'd  to  day? 
Gtuc  my  Roane  horfe  a  drench  (fayes  hee)  and  anfweres, 
fome  fourtcene,an  houre  after :  a  trifle,a  trifle  I  prethee 
call  in  F*//?*/f*,  lie  play /V^,  and  that  damn'd  Brawne 
fhall  play  Dame  ^Mortimer  his  wife./tow/ayes  the  drun- 
kard. Call  Id  Ribs,call  in  Tallow. 

Enter  Falfiaffe. 

Poin. '  Welcome  Iackc,where  haft  thou  beene? 

Fal.  A  plague  of  all  Cowards  I  fay,iand  a  Vengeance 
too,  marry  and  Amen.  Giue  me  a  cup  of  Sackc  Boy.  Ere 
I  leade  this  lifelong,  He  fowc  nether  ftoc';es,  and  mend 
them  too.  A  plagueofall  cowards.  Giue  me  aCop  of 
Saclce,  Rogue.  Is  tbeteno  Vcrtue  extant : 

Prin.  Didtfthou>Bciier  fee  Titan  kiflc  a  d.fh  of  Butter, 
pittifuli  hearted  Titsnthar  melted  at  the  fweete  Taleof 
the  Sunne  ?  If  tboiididftythenjbehold  that  compound. 

Fal.  You  Rogue,  heere's  Lime  in  thisSacke  too:there 
is  nothing  butRoguery  to  be  found  in  Villanous  man;yet 
a  Coward  is  worfe  then  a  Cup  of  Sack  with  lime.  A  vil- 
lanous Coward,  go  thywayes  old  Iacke,  die  when  thou 
wiltyfmanhood.good  manhood  be  not  forgot  vpon  the 
face  ofthe  earth,thenaml  a  fhotten  HenTng :  there  lines 
not  three  good  men  vnhang'd  in  England,  &  one  of  them 
isfat,andgrowcsold,GodhelpethewhiIe,abadworIdl 
fay.  I  would  I  were  a  Weauer,I  couldfing  all  manner  of 
fongs.  A  plague  ofalLCowards,I  fay  ftill. 

Prin.  Hownow  Woolfacke,what  mntter  you  ? 

Fal.  AKings  Sonne?  Ifl  do  notbeate  thee  out  ofthy* 
Kingdorne  with  a  dagger:  of  Lath,  and  driue  all  thy  Sub- 
ie£ts  afore  thee  like  a  flocke  of  Wilde-geefe,  lie  neuer 
wearehaireon  my  face  more.  You  Prince  of  Walet? 

Prin,  Why  you  horfon  round  man?what*s  the  matter? 

pal.  Are  you  not  a  Coward?  Anfwer  me  to  that,aod 
Poines  there?.' 

Prin.  Ye  fatch  paunch,  and  yeccallmeeCowardVlfe 
flab  thee. 

Fa/.  I  call  thec  Coward  ?  He  fee  thee  damn'd  ere  I  caul 
the  Coward:  burl  would  giue  a  thoufand  pound  Icould 
runasfaftasthotfeanft.  Youareflraight  enough  hi  the 
fhoulders,  yon  care  not  who  fees  your  backe  :  Call  you 

.  that 


The  FirjlTart  of Betrry  the  Fourth; 


57 


that  hacking  of  your  friends?  a  plague  vpon  fuch,  bac- 
king; glue  mc  them  thai  will  face  me.  GiuemeaCup 
of  Sjskrl  anva  Rogue  if  I  drunketo  day. 
_  Pftna.  O  Villaine,  thy  Li£pea  ae  fcarce wip'd>  fincc 
jnourcTrunk'ilIafb 

Falfi.  All's  one  for  tba*.  HkArivket. 

Aplague  of  all  Cowards  ftill,fay  I, 
Princa  What's  the  matter  ? ; 
Palfi  What's  the  matter?  here  be  foure  of  vs,  haue 
ta'ne  a  thoufand  pound  thisJMoming, 
prince.  Where  is  hjac^i  where  is  it  ? 
Jpalft,  Where  is  ic  ?  taken  from  ys,  it  is:  a  hundred 
vpoopoorc  foure  of  vs. 

Prince*  What, a  hundred, man"? 
palfLl  am  aRogue,if  I  were  not  atbalfe  Sword  with 
a  dozen  of  them  two  houres  together.  1  haue  fcaped  by 
miracle.  lam  eight  timet  thruft  through  the  Doublet, 
foure  through  the  Hofe,  my  Buckler  cue  through,  and 
tnrough,  my  Sword  backt  likeaHand~faw,«r*  ftgnum. 
I  neucr  dealt  better  fined  was  a  man:  all  would  not  doe. 
A  plag»c  of  all  Cowards:  let  them  fpcake;  if  they  fpeake 
more  or  lefie  then  truth^they  are  villaines,  and  the  fonnss 
of  darknclTc. 

Prince.  Speake  firs,how  was  it? 
Gad.  We  fourc  fet  vpon  fornc  dozen. 
pat/?.  Sixtccne,at  icaft.my  Lord. 
Cad.  And  bound  them. 
Pets.  No,no,they  were  not  bound, 
V*lfl.    You  Rogue,  they  were  bound,  euery  man  of 
them,  or  I  am  a  lew  elfe,an  Ebrew  lew; 

Cad,  As  wc  were  (haring,fome  fixe  or  feuen  frefn  men 
fet  vpon  vs. 

palji..  And vnbound the  reft,  and  then  come  in  the 
other. 
Prince.  What,fbught  yee  with  them  all  ?' 
JFdji.  All  ?  I  know  not  what  yee  call,  all  :  but  if  I 
fought  not  with  fiftic  of  them,  1  am  a  bunch  of  Radifn : 
if  there  were  not  two  or  three  and  fiftie  vpon  poore  olde. 
lackey  then  am  I  no  two-legg'd  Creature. 

Pom.  Pray  Heaucn,  you  haue  not  murtherecT  fome  of 
them.  . 

palfl.  Nay,  tbat's  paft  praying  for,  I  haue  pepper'd 
two  of  them :  Two  I  am  fure  1  haue  payed,  two  Rogues 
inBuckrom  Sutes.  I  tell  thee  what,  Hal,  if  I  tell  thee  a 
Lye,fpit  in  my  facc,caH  me  Horfc;  thou  knoweft  my  olde 
word:  here  I  lay.and  thus  Ubore  my  point;  fourc  Rogues 
in  Buckrom  let  driuc  at  me. 
Prince,  Whatjfoure?  thou  fayd'ft  but  two.cuen  now. 
palfl*  Foure /£«/, I  told  thecfouren 
pom.  I,I,hefaid  foure. 

Palfi.  Thefe  foure  came  all  a-front,and  mainely  thruft 
at  me ;  I  made  no  more  adoe,  but  tooke  all  their  feuen 
points  in  my  Targuet,thus. 
Prince.  Scucn  i  why  there  were  but  foure.cuen  now. 
palfl  k  InBuckrom. 
Pom.  I,foure,in  Buckrom  Sutes. 
falfl.  Seucn,by  thefe  Hilts,or  I  am  a  Villaine  elfc* . 
Prin.  Prethee  let  him  aione,we  (hall  haue  more  anon. 
Podfl.  Doeft  thou  hearc  mttHal  I 
Prin.  Land  marke  thee  tooj  lack^. 
palfl.  Doe  fo,forit  is  worth  the  liftningtoo:  thefe 
nine  in  Buckrotn,tbatI  told  thee  of. 
W».  So,two  more  alreadie. 
Ftlfl.  Their  Points  bring  broken-* 
Poin.  Downc  fell  his  Hofe, 

Jfalfl.  Began  to  giueme  ground :  but  I  followed  tne 
i     


elofcjCiime  in  foot  and  handjand  with  a  thought,feucn  of 
thee'eucnlpa/d, 

Prin.  Ojr.onftrous!  eleuen  Buckrom  men  grawnc 
out  of  two  o 

Palfl*  Eat  as  SbeDeuill  would  haue  it,  three  mif-bc- 
gotcenKnaues,in  Kendall  Greene,  came  at  my  Back,  and 
lecdriue  at  mejfot  it  was  fo.datke3fcfe/,thai  thou  could'ft 
not  fe£  thy  Hand. 

Frm.  Thefe  Lyes  are  like  the  Father  that  begets  them, 
gtolTc  as  a  Mountaine,open,palpabIe.  Why  thou  Clay- 
bray  n'd  Gutssthou  Knotty-pat  ed  Foolc,thou  Horfon  ob 
fecne  gi'catte  Tallow  Catch  * 

Falfl,  ^Whatjart  thou  mad?  art  thou  mad  ?  Is  not  :he 
truth,thc  truth  > 

Prim  Why,  how  could'ft  thou  know  thefe  men  in 
"Kendall  Greene,  when  it  was  fo  darke,thou  could'ft  not 
fee  thy  Hand  i  Come.tell  vs  your  reafon: what  fay 'ft  thou 
to  this  ? 

Pom.  Come,youi  reafor.  hct^  your  re.afon< 
Falfl.'.  WhatjVpon  compulsion  ?  No :  were  I  at  the 
Strappado,  or  all  the  Racks  in  the  World,  I,  would  not 
tell  you  on  compulfion.lGi'ue  you  a  reafon  on  compulfi- 
o\\  ?  If  Reafons  were  as  plentse  as  Black-beme$sI  would 
giuc  noman  a  Reafon  vponcompulfion,!* 

Prin.  lie  beno  JongCLguiltieofthisfinne.  This  fan- 
guineCoward.thts  Be*?  ^refler^this  Horkbacli-breaker, 
this  huge  Hill  of  Flefli* 

^Falfl.  AwayyouScarnelingjyouElfe-slciniyou  dried 
Neats  tongue,  Bulles-psiTtll,  you  ftockc-fiftuO  for  breth 
to  vtter.  What  is  like  thee?  You  Tailorsy  ard,y  ou  ftieath 
you  Bow-cafe,you  vile  ftanding  tucke. 

Prin.  Well,  breath  a-while,and  then  to't  againe :  and 
when  thou  haft  tyr'd  thy  fclfe  in  bafe  comoarifons,  heare 
me  fpcake  but  thus* 
Poin.  Marke  lacke* 

Prin.  Wc  two,faw  yon  foure  fet  on  foure  and  bound 
them,and  were  Matters  of  their  Wealth  :  mark  now  how 
a  plaineTale  fhall  put  you  downe.  Then  did  we  two,  fet 
on  you  foure,and  with  a  word,  outfae'd  you  from  your 
prize,and  haue  it :  yea,and  can  fhew  it  you  in  the  Hoofc . 
And  FAlfiaffeyyo\x  caried  your  Guts  away  as  nimbly /*vith 
as  quickc  dexteritie,and  roared  for  mercy,  and  ftill  rannc 
and  roar'd, as  euerl  heard Bull-Calfe.  What  a  Slaucart 
thou,  to  hacks  thy  fword  as  thou  haft  done,  and  then  fay 
it  was  in  fighr.  What  trick?  what  deuiccJ?  what  ftarting 
hole  canft  thou  now  findout-to  hide  thee  from  this  open 
and  apparant  fhame  > 

Poines.  Come,  let's  heare  Iacke  :  What  tricke  haft 
thou  now? 

Fal.  I  knew  ye  as  well  as  he  that  made  ye.  Why  heare 
ye  my  Matters,  was  it  for  me  to  kill  the  Heire  apparant  ? 
Should  I  turne  vpon  the  true  Prince?  Why , thou  knoweft 
I  amas  valiant  as  Hercules  :  but  bewate  Inftincl,  the  Lion 
will  not  touch  the  true  Prince :  Inftl..#  is  a  great  matter. 
I  was  a  Coward  &n  Inftind.  I  fhali  thinkethe  besser  of 
my  felfe,  and  thee,  during  my  life :  I,  foi  a  valiaRe  Lion, 
and  thou  for  a  true  Prince.  But  Lads,  I  am  glad  you  haue 
th*Mony.  Hoftcfle,clap  to  the  doores;  watch  to  night, 
pray  to  morrow.  Gallants,  Lads,Boyes,  Harts  of  Geld, 
all  the  good  Titles  of  Fellowship  come  to  you .  What, 
{hail  we  be  merry?  ftiali  we  haue  a  P!sy  extempory. 

Prin.  Content,and  the  argument  (hall  be,  thy  runitig 
away. 
pal.  A,no  more  of  that  Halltznd  thou  loueft  me. 

Enter  Hoftejfe. 
Hofi,  My  Lord,  the  Pxincc  ? 

Priii, 


58 


The  Firft&MofJfyng  Hem  the  Fourth. 


Prin^  How  nm  ray  Lady  she  Hoftefle  *  whac  fay*ff 
.thou  to  me? 

hojtejfe*  M»ry,rrjy  lord,  there  isa  Noble  man  of  the 
Court  at  doore  would  fpeake  with  you :  bee  fay es,hce 
comes  from  your  Father. 

Prw.  Giue  him  as  much  as  will  make  him  a  Royall 
m3rf,and  fend  him  backe  againe  to  m.y  Mother. 

Faljt.  Whatmannerofmanisb.ee? 

Hoftetfe.  An  old  man. 

F*//?.What  doth  Grauitic  out  of  his  Bed  at  Midnight? 
Shall  I  giuehimhis  anfwere'? 

Frin..  Prethee  doe  lac fc* 

Taljl.  'Faitb,and  lie  fend  him  packing.  Exit*\ 

Prince*  Now  Sirs:  you  fought  fiurc;  To  did  you 
Ptto9  fo  did  yoviSardtl:  you  are  Lyons  too,  you  ranne 
away  vpon  inftinft  i  you  will  not  couch  the  true  Prince;- 
no,  fie. 

Bard.  'Faith ,T  ratine  when  I  faw  Others  runne. 

Frin.  Tell  mee  now  in  earneft,  how  came  Faljlajfes 
Sword  fohackt? 

Peto.  Why,he  hackt  itvlth  his  Dagger,  and  faid,hee 
would  iwcare  truth  out  of  England.but  hee  would  make 
youbelecue  it  was  done  in  fight,andperf waded  vs  to  doc 
the  like. 

;  IJBard*  Yea^nd  to  tickle  out  Nofes  with  Spear-gratTe, 
to  make  them  bleed,  and  then  to  beflubbcr  our  garments 
with  it,  and  (weave  it  was  the  blood  of  true  men.  I  did 
snatl  did  not  this  feuen  yteres  before,  1  blufht  to  heare 
his  monftrous  deuiees. 

frin.  O  Wlaine,  thou  ftoJcft  a  Cup  of  Sicke  cigh- 
teeneyeeres  agoe,  and  wcrt  taken  with  the  banner,  and 
cuer  fin  ce  thou  haft  bluftt  extempore:  thou  hadft  fire 
and  fword  on  thy  fide, and  yet  thou  ranft  away ;  what 
inltinft  hadft  thou  for  it  ? 

'Bard.  My  Lord,  doe  you  fee  thefe  Meteors  ?  doe  you 
behold  thefe  Exhalations  ? 

Prin.  I  doe. 

'Bard*  What  thinke  you  they  portend? 

?rin»  Hot  Liucrs,and  cold  Purfes. 

M  Choler,my  Lord,if  rightly  taken, 

Trin.  No,if  rightly  taken,  Halter. 

Bnler  Faljlaffe. 

Hcere  comes  leane&cfoheere  corncs  Bare-bone.  How 
now  my  fweet  Creature  of  Bombaft,  how  long  is't  agoe, 
lack* face  thou  faw'ft  thine  owne  Knee  ? 

Falft,  My  owne  Knee  ?  When  I  was  about  thy  yeeres 
{Hal)  I  was  not  an  Eagles  Talent  in  the  Wafte,  1  could 
haue crept  into  any  AldermansThumbe-Ring :  a  plague 
of  fighing  and  griefe,  it  blovves  a  man  vp  like  aBIadder. 
There's  villanous  Newes  abroad  :  heere  was  Sir  lohtt 
Ytralj  from  your  Father ;  you  muft  *goc  to  theCourt  in 
the  Morning.  The  fame  mad  fellow  of  the  North  tPercj ; 
and  hee  of  Wales,  that  gaue  tAmamon  the  Baftinado, 
and  made  Lucifcr  Cuckold,  and  fworetheDeuill  his  true 
Liege-man  vpon  the  Croilc  of  a  Wclchihookc  j  what  a 
plaguccallyouhim? 

Peitt.  OyG/endower, 

Taljl.  OveetitOwtn ;  the  fame,  and  his  Sonne  in  taw 
tMortimeriZnti o\&  Northumberland,  zn&  the  fprightly 
Scot  of  Scots,  Dowglasy  that  runnes  a  Horfe-backe  vp  a 
Hill  perpendicular. 

Prm.  Hee  that  rides  at  high  ipeede.and  with  a  Piftoll 
kills  a  Sparrow  Pying.' 

Taljl.  You  h?ue  hit  it. 


JPrin.  So  did  he  neuer  the  Sparrow. 
jaljt.  Well,  that  Rafcall  hath  good  xfiettai]  In  Krai 
hee  will  not  tunne. 

JPrfa  Why,whac  a  Rafcail  art  thou  then.toprayfe  him 
fo  for  running? 

FalA  A  Horfe-backc  (yeCuckoc)  bui  a  foot  hee  will 
not  budge  a  foot. 

?tia.  1Yes/4cJ^vponinftinc"t« 

Palft*  I  grant  ye,vpon  inftinft:  Well,hce  is  there  too, 
andonecJ*/wvfe&,and  a  thoufaad  blew-Cappes  more. 
mrcelicr\%&Q\nc  away  by  Night :  thy  Fathers  Beard  is 
turn'd  white  with  the  Newes ;  you  may  boy  Land  now 
as  chcape  as  (linking  MackrelL 

PntfJThm 'tis  Iike,if  there  come ahot  Sunne^d  this 
cluill  buffetting  hold,  wee  {hall  buy  Maiden-heads  aa 
they  buy  Hob-naylcs,by  the  Hundred?. 

Falfi,  3y  the  Mafle  Lad.thou  fay'ft  truest  is  like  wee 
(hall  haue  good  trading  that  way.  But  tell  me  Hal,  art 
not  thou  horrible  afcar'd  ?  thou  being  Heire  apparanfc 
could  the  World  pickc  thee  out  three  fuch  Encmyes  al 
gaine.asthat  Fiend  Dewglas,  that  Spirit  Percy,  and  that 
Deuill  Gtendmerf  Art  not  thou  horrible  afraid  ?  Doth 
not  thy  blood  thtH  at  it  ? 

Prirt.  Not  a  whit :  I  lacke  fomc  of  thy  inftineT. 

Faffi.  Well  thou  wilt  be  horrible chidde  to  morrow, 
when  thou  commeft  to  thy  Father ;  if  thou  doe  loue  me, 
pra&il'e  an  anfwere. 

Frin,  Doethou  ftand  formy  Fathcr,and  examine  met 
vpon  the  particulars  of  my  Life. 

Talfi*  Shall  1?  content:  This  Ch3yre  (hall- bee  mj 
State*  this  Dagger  my  Scepter,  and  this  Culhion  my 
Crownc. 

P.rin.  Thy  State  is  taken  for  a Ioyn'd-Stoole,thy  Gol- 
den Scepter  for  a  Leaden  Dagger,  a/id  thy  precious  rich 
Crowne.tor  a  pittifull  bald  Crowne. 

Fatfl,  Well,andiheflre  of  Grace  be  not  quite  out  of 
thee  now  fhalt  thou  be  moued.  Giue  me  a  Cup  of  Satke 
to  make  mine  eyes  looke  redde,  that  it  may  be  though*  I 
haue  wept,  for  1  muft  fpeakc  in  pallion,  and  I  will  doe  it 
in  King  Cam&yfes  vaine. 

Prw.  WelljhecrcismyLegge. 

FalSl.  And  hcere  is  my  fptech:  ftand  afideNobilitie. 

Ecfleffe.  This  is  excellent  fport,yfaith. 

Falfi.  Weepc  not,  fweet  Qucene ,  for  trickling  tearea 
arevaine. 

Hoflcjfe.  O  thcFatherihowheeholdc&his  counte- 
nance? 

FalftXot  Gods  fake  Lords,conuey  my  truftfulIQuccoi 
Forteares  doe  {top  thefioud-gatesof  her  eyes*. 

hoflefe.  O  rare,he  doth  it  as  like  one  of  thefe  harfoisjl 
Players^aseuerlfee. 

Taljl,  Peace  good  Pinr*p©r,pcacegoodTicSle.braum 
Harry,  I  doe  not  onely  maruell  where  thou  fpended  tfiy 
time;  but  alio,  how  thou  art  accompanied:  Forthou^ 
the  Camomile ,thc  more  it  is  tfodcn,tlie  faftcr  it  gtowesj 
yet  Youth,  the  more  it  is  wafted,  the  fooner  it  wearcsij 
1  hou  arrmy  Sonne :  I  haue  partly  thy  Mothers  Word, 
partly  my  Opinion  j  but  chiefely.a  villanous  tricks  of 
thine  Eyesand  a  fooiilh  hanging  of  thy  nether  Lippe,  fiat 
doth  warrant  me.  If  then  thou  be  Sonne  to  mee,  hcure 
lycththeifosnt :  why,  being  Sonne  to  me,  art  thou  fa 
poyntedat^  Shall  the  bleiTed  Sonne  of  Heauen  prouea 
Micher,  and  eate  Black-berry es?1  aqueftion  noc  to  bee 
askt.  Shall  the  Sonne  of  England  proue  a  Thcefe*  and 
take  Purfes  ?  aqueftion  CO  be  askt.  There  is  a  thing, 
Harr/f  which  thoii  hait  often  heard  of  and  it  isknowne  to 

many 


66 


TheFirJl  *P art  offing  Henry  the  Fourth. 


Jtfejf.  His  Letters  beares  his  mindc,not  I  his  mindc. 

jyor.  J  prethee  tell  me,doth  he  keepe. bis  Bed  ?    • 
, Meff.  He  did,my  Lo.d/oure dayes  ere.I fct forth.s 
And  at-the  time  of  my  departure  thcnccv 
He  was  much  fear'd  by  his  Phyfician. 

ff#r.  ;I  would  the  [rate  of  time  had  (lift  beenewhole, 
Ere  he  by  (lcknefle  had  beene  vifited : 
His  health  .waspeuer  better  worth  then  now. 

Hotjp.Sicke  now?  qroope  now?'this  fieknes  doth infect 
The  very  Life-  blood  of  our  Enrerprife, 
Tis  carcbinghithcr,euento  our  Campe. 
He  writes" me  here,thacinward  ficknefle, 
And  that  his  friends  by  .depuration 
Could  not  fo  foonebe  drawne:  nor  did  he  thinke  it  meet, 
To  lay  fo  dangerous  and  dears  a  trult 
On  any  Souls  remou'd,but  on  his  owne: 
Yet.  doth  he  giue  vs  bold  aduertifementi 
Thai  with  our  fmall  coniunition  wefiiould  ona 
To  fee  how  Fortune  is  diiposk'd  to  v  s  * 
For,as  he  writes.thcre  i*  no  quailing  now, 
Becaui'e  the  King  is  cettainely  poffeft 
Of  allourpurpoiesaWhaciayyouioit  ? 

War,  Youi  Fathers  fkknefie  is  a  mayme  to  vs. 

Hat$.  A  pcrilluiKGafh.a  very  Limine  loptofEs 
And  ycr,m;&ith,icjs  jrmthis  preient  wana 
Seemes  more  then  weJhall  firiaeit. 
\\'  ere  it  good;ro  fet't-ht  exa£t  wcalch  of  altour  ftatca 
All  at  oneCafl  i  To  fet-fo  rich  s  mayne 
On  the  nicehazard  of  one  doubtfull  houre, 
It  were  not  good :  for  therein  (haul d  we  reade 
The  very  Bottome,and  the  SouleoOiope, 
TheWy  Lift,the  very  srtmofl  Bound 
Of  all  our  fortunes. 

Doxvg.  Faith,andfv  -wee  {houfd". 
Where,  now  remaincsitfwcet.  reuerfion. 
We  may  boldly  fpettf3,vp;otivthe  hope 
Of  vth  a  u's  to  come  in : 
A  comfort  of  retyrementliues  in  this. 

Hotjp'..  A  TUhacuaqs,a.Home.to  flyervino, 
IF  that  the  Dcuilf  and  Mifchance  looke  bjgge 
Vpon  the  Maydenhcad  of  our  Affaires. 

\?f'br/ JZHtyci  I  would  your  EatherLtiajtbccne.  here; 
fhe  O  lilicic  and  Hcire  of?  our  Attempt 
Brookes  no  dioludtn  lcwIlLbe  thought  a 
By  fome,that  know  norwhy  he  is  away, 
That  wifedomc'loyaltieisnd  mecre  difhke 
Of  our  proceedings.kepuhe  Earle  from  hence. 
Andxhinke,'howfuch.an:spprehenfion 
May  turnethetydcof  fcarefull  Fa&ion, 
And  breedcakindeof  quettionin  ourcaufe: 
For  <*cil  .you  know.wce  of  the  offring  fide, 
Mr.ft  keepe  aloof'e  h"  om  ihiCi  arbitrement, 
And  (top  ill  fight".  ftolcs,euery  loope/rom  whence 
I  he  eve  of  rcafou  may  prie  in  vpon  vs  : 
Ttiis  sbfence  nf  your  f-ather  drawes  a  Curtain^ 
That  ihcvves^he.igtioranta  kinde  of  fearc, 
£  e  fo  r  ejvorjjr  cam  t.i>f« 

UoiR;  "YoUitraynetoo  firre. 
Xtatacroflns  ab fence  make  thisvfe; 
klena&a  l.ultre.ai'ui  more  great  Opinion, 
Ajif.n-ct'D.areto yonr great  Enterprise, 
Tlrc.ii.rtl'-c  E»rk  were'here :  for  men  mutt  thinke^ 
lFv.:.c.ivii1io'j:bishclpe,canmakeaHead 
'1:0 ;2.ujh.agamil  thcKingdomc.;  with  his  helpc, 
WcTKiII 'o.'re-turne  it  topfic.-turuy  downe  : 
Y.ct  .all '"goes  w.cll,yet'aU-our,ioynts  are  whole. 


Vcwg*.  A3  heart  can  thinke : 
There  is  noxfuch  a.  word  lpokeo£in  Scotland, 
AuhiiDreame  of  Feare.  • 

Zn ter  Sir  Richard  Veram. 

Ho(§  My  Cou  fin  r«ww,weIcome  by  my  Soul©, 

Vera.  Pray  God  my  newes  be  worth  a  wclcome,Loid, 
The  Earle  of.  Weftmcrland,feuen  thoufand  ftrong, 
Is  marching  hither-wards, with  Prince  labn. 

Holjft,  Noharrae:  what  more? 

Vi  m.  And  further,  I  haue  learn'd, 
1  The  Kinghimfelfe  in  pcrfon  hath  fir  forth, 
Or  hither-wards  intended  Ipecdily, 
With  ftrong  and  mightie  precaution: 

Hoi  [p.  He  fhall  be  v/clcome  too. 
Where  is  his  Sonne, 

The  mmble-footed  Mad-CapJPrinceof  WaleS> 
And  his  Cumrades.thatdaftthe  World  afide, 
Andbid.it  pafic? 

Vem,  AlfmrnifhrtalllnArmes;  * 
Afl.plumV.. like  Eilridgesj  that  with  the  Windc 
Bayted  like  Eagles,hauing  lately  bath'd, 
Glittering  inGoiden  Co'ares.likc  Jmage*, 
As  full  of  fpirit  as  the  Moneth  of  May, 
And  gorgeouins  theSunncat.Mid-fummefj. 
Wanton  asyouthfull  Goates,wildc  as  youngBulIs* 
J  faw  young  Harry  with  his  Beuer  on» 
His  Cullies  on  his  thfghe?,gallantly  arnvd1, 
Ri(e  from  the  ground  jike/eathercd;c^ww7, 
And  vaultcdwith  fuch.eafe  into  his  Sear, 
As  if  an  Angcll  dropt  downc  fronithe.Cloucls, 
To  turnf  ^rid  windc  a  fierie  Vegafui 
And  wi cch  the  World  with  Noble  Hojiemanihipi, 

Hotfp   l^Ja  more, no  more',. 
Wortc  then  tne  bunne  ijaMarckf 
This  prayfc  dotKnourifli  Agues .?  lelthemcome. 
Theyicome  like  Sacrifices  an  their^rimrrw;, 
And  to  the  fire-ey'd  Maid  ofJmoakle.Vl^rre, 
Al!  hoi,and  bleeding^wlllwee^fTcribeau 
Incimzylz&iMars  lliallon his  Aitatu'i&jt 
Vp,td  the  care5  in  blood.  I  am  on  fiire^- 
To  hearetbis  rfch  reprizalLtisfpnighi 
And  yet  not  ourst  Come',!  t  me  takcmyiHorfe, 
Who  is  to'bearesrac.Ukf'aThun.deribolt/ 
Againft  jh'e.bofome-of -the,  Prince  ofs  Wales'* 
/^^U.o;tori7,fh3li4ioiffyrfetQHoife. 
MefiejandneTretpaajtiliixnc  drop  do.vvn.eACSoarfejf 
Oh,that:(7/r^i?£r„w£re;c.ome< 

VsKi,  TherejsmoTe neA'cs 9 
I  learned  in  Worce(ter,as  I.rode  along, 
Htfcarinot  tlraw.his  Kdwti^his  four'et«;enerda.ye«. 

IW£.  That.'s  the,worlt:Tidings,t;that>  J  he3relOI 

ye« 

tVor.  Ihy.rtfy, faith.that  bearcs  a  frofty.  foilhdv, 

ffoijjn  What 'roaythc,  Kings  whoiedbatcaile  rcacft 
vnro  > 

Vtri  To  thirty  tfioiirand* 

Hot.  Forty  let  it  be? 
My  Father  and  GU»dorverhtx\\ghoCn  aw?y* 
Th*  powres  ofvs,may 'lerucfo  great  a  day, 
Come.letvstake  a  mufter  fpeedily  i 
Doojnefday  :s  neere;  dye  all,dye  merrily* 

Vow.  'Talke  not  or  flying  Iamoutoffeare 
Of  death,or  deaths  handy ot  this  prjchalfey  care. 

gxtrntOmnefll 
Seen* 


The  Ftrft,  Tart  ofKjng  Henry  the  Fourth 


67 


Selena  Secmda* 


Enter  Fa/flafe  and '  Bardolpb. 

Falfl.  'Bardolph^t  thee  before  to  Couentry,  fill  me  a 
Bottle  of  Sack.our  Souldicrs  (hall  march  through;  wce'lc 
wSutton-cop-hill  to  Night. 

'Bard.  Will  you  giuc  me  Money, Captains* 

Tal^i.  Lay  out,lay  out. 

"Bard.  This  Bottle  makes  an  Angel!. 

Falfl.  And  if  icdoe,  take  it  for  thy  labour  :  and  if  it 
make  twentie ,  take  chera  all ,  He  an'fwere  the  Coynage. 
Sid  my  Lieutenant  /Wmcece  me  at  the  Townes  end. 

'Bard.  1  will  Captaine :  farewell.  Exit. 

F*lft.  If  I  be  not  afharnM  of  my  Souldiers,  I  am  a 
fowc't-Curnet :  I  hauemif-vs'd  the  Kings  Preffe  dam- 
nably. I  haue  got,  in  exchange  of  a  hundred  and  fiftie 
Soufdiers,  three  hundred  and  odde  Pounds.  I  preffe  me 
none  but  good  Houfe-holders,Yeomcns  Sonnesrenquirc 
me  out  contracted  Batchelers,  fuch  as  had  beene  ask'd 
twice  on  thcBanes:  fuch  a  Commoditic  of  warme  flaues, 
as  had  as  lieue  heare  the  Dcuill,  as  a  Drumme  ;  fuch  as 
feare  the  reporr  of  a  Calmer,  worfe  then  a  ftruck-Foole, 
bra  hurt  wilde-Ducke.  1  prcft  oie  none  but  fuch  Toftes 
and  Butter. with  Hearts  in  their  Bellyes  no  bigger  then 
Pinncs  heads,  and"  they  haue  bought  out  their  feruices: 
And  now,  my  whole  Charge  confifts  of  Ancients,  Cor- 
norals^Lieutenants/jentlcroen  of  Companies,  Slaues  as 
ragged  as  Lazaru*  in  the  painted  Cloth,where  the  Glut- 
tons Dogges  licked  his  Sores;  and  fuch,  as  indeed  were 
neuer  Souldicrs,  but  dif-carded  vniuft  Seruingmen,youn- 
gerSonnes  to  younger  Srothers,  reuolted  tapfters  and 
Oftlcrs,Tradc-falne,  the  Cankers  of  a  calme  World.and 
long  Peace ,  tenne  times  more  dis-honorablc  ragged, 
then  an  old-fae'd  Ancient;  and  fuch  haue  I  to  fill  vp  the 
roomes  of  them  that  haue  bought  out  their  feruices:  that 
you  would  thinke,  that  i  had  a  hundred  and  fiftie  totter'd 
Prodigalls,lately  come  from  Swinerkeeping,from  eating 
DraffcandHuskes,  A  mad  fellow  met  mo  on  the  way, 
and  told  me.I  had  vnloaded  all  the  Gibbets,and  preftthe 
dead  bodyes.  No  eye  hath  feene  fuch  skar-Crowes:  He 
not  march  through  Couentry  withthcm,that's  flat.  Nay, 
and  the  Villaincs  march  wide  betwixt  the  Legges,  as  if 
they  had  Gyues  on ;  for  indeede,  I  had  the  motfof  them 
out  of  Prifon.  There's  not  a  Shirt  and  a  halfe  in  all  my 
Company  ;  and  the  halfe  Shirt  is  two  Napkins  tackt  to- 
gether, and  throwne  ouerthe  (houldcrs  like  a  Heralds 
CoatjWithout  fleeucs:  and  the  Shirt,  to  fay  the  truth, 
ftolne  from  my  Hoft  of  S.  Albones ,  or  the  Red-Nofc 
Inne-keeper  of  Dauintry  But  that's  all  onc,thcy*lc  finde 
Linnen  enough  on  euery  Hedge. 

Enter  the  Prince %and  the  Lord  efWeftmerland. 

Prince.  How  now  blowne  IackJ  how  now  Quilt  t 
Falfl.  What  Hall  How  no*y  mad  Wag.whataDeuill 
do'ilthouinWarwjckfhire?  My  good  Lord  of  Wcft- 
raerland  J'cry  you  mercy,  I  thought  yourHonour  had  al- 
ready beene  at  Shrewsbury. 

Wr/£  'PaithiSirjfofof/tismore  then  time  thar  I  were 
mere,  and  you  too;  but  my  Powers  are  there  alreadie. 
The  King,i  can  tell  you,  lookes  for  ?s  all :  wc  mufj  away 
*U  to  Night. 


Falfl.  Tut,ncuer  feare  me,I  am  as  vigilant  as  a  Cat,to 
fteale  Creame. 

Prince.  I  thinke  to  fteale  Creame  indeed,for  thy  theft 
hath  alreadie  made  thee  Butter :  buc  tell  me,/*^, whole 
fellowes  are  thefe  that  come  after  ? 

Falfl.  Mine,//4/,mine. 

Prince.  1  did  neuer  fee  fuch  pittifull  Rafcals. 

Falfl.  Tut,tut,good  enough  to  tofTe:  foode  for  Pow- 
der, foode  for  Powder;  they'le  fill  a  Pit,as  well  as  better: 
tufh  man.mortall  mcn.mortall  men. 

fVeflm.  I,  but  S ir  tohn,  me  thinkes-they  arc  exceeding 
poore  and  barc,too  beggarly. 

F alft.  Faith.for  their  pouertie,I  know  not  where  they 
had  that  5  and  for  their  barenefle ,  J  am  furc  they  neuer 
lcarn'd  that  of  me. 

Prince. No,l\z  be  fwor:.c,vnlciTe  you  call  three  fingers 
on  thcRibbes  bare.But  fii.a^makchafte,!'^  is  already 
in  the  field. 

Falfl.  What,  is  the  King  encamp'd  1 

Weftm.  Hce  is.  Sir  John,  I  feare  wee  (ball  flay  coo 
long. 

Falfl.  WelI,to  the  latter  end  of  a  Fray,  and  the  b  egin- 
ning  of  a  Feaft,  fits  a  dull  fighter,  and  a  kecne  Gueft. 

Extant. 


Scoena  Tertia. 


Enter  Hot fttir ^trailer  Jlewglatjuid 

potfr.  WeeMe  fight  with  him  to  Night. 

Ware.  It  may  not  be. 

Dowg.  You  giue  him  then  aduantage. 

Vern.  Not  a  whit. 

Tb$.  Why  Cxyy ou  fo  r  lookes  he  not  for  fiipply? 

Vern.  So  doe  wee. 

Hotjp.  His  it  cercaine,ours  is  doubtfull. 

Wore.  Good  Coufin  be  aduis'd^ftirrc  not  tonight* 

Vera,  Doe  not,my  Lord. 

Dowg.  You  doenot  counfaile  well : 
You  fpeake  it  out  of  feare,and  cold  heart. 

Vent.  Doe  me  no  flandcr,Do)»»^.*  by  my  Life, 
And  I  dare  well  maintaine  it  with  my  Life, 
If  well-rcfpecled  Honor  bid  m?  on, 
1  hold  as  little  counfaile  with  weake  feare, 
A*  you,my  Lord,or  any  Scotthac  this  day  liucy« 
Let  it  be  feene  to  morrow  in  the  Battel!, 
Which  of  vs  fcares. 

Dorvg.  Yea,or  to  nighti 

Vern.  Content. 

hotjp.  Tonight,fayI. 

Vern.  Come,come,rt  may  not  be. 
I  wonder  much,being  me  of  fuch  great  leading  a*  youare 
That  you  fore-fee  not  what  impediment  j 
Drag  backc  our  expedition :  certaine  Horfc 
Gf  my  Coufin  Kernons  are  not  yet  come  yp, 
Your  Vnckle  Warceflers  Horfe  came  bnt  to  day, 
And  now  their  pridcand  mettall  isaflcepej 
Their  courage  with  hard  labour  tame  and  dull, 
That  not  a  Horfc  is  halfe  the  halfe  of  himfelfe,, 

Hotjp.  So  arethe  Horfes  of  the'Enemie 
In  gcnerall  iourncy  batcd,and  brought  Iov» : 
The  better  part  of  ours  are  fuU  of  reft. 

f  5         War.  The 


6%  ^heFk^an^K^n^HmrytbeFtm^k 


Were.  The  number  of  the  King  crceetieth  our;  s 
For  Gods  fakerCoufin.ftay  till  all  come  in. 

The  Trufiqet  founds  i  Party.   Enter  Sir 
WatterBlunt, 

'Blunt.  1  come'With  gracious  offers  from  she  liing, 
If  you  vouchfafe  mc  hearing,and  refpe&. 

Hotjp.  Welcomc.Sir  Walter'Blmt: 
And  would  ro  God  you  were  of  our  determination. 
Some  of  vs  loue  you  well  i  and  eucn  thofe  fomc 
Enuie  your  great  deferuings,and  good  nam?, 
Beeaufe  you  are  not  of  our  qualitie, 
But  (tend  againft  vs  like  an  Enemie. 

j3/*»r.And  Heauen  defend,but  ftill  I  Should  ftand  fo, 
So  long  as  out  of  Limit,  and  true  Rule, > 
You  ftand  againft  anoynted  Maieftie* 
But  to  my  Charge. 
The  King  hath  lent  tolcnow 
The  nature  ofyourGriefes.and  whereupon 
You  coniure  from  the  Breftof  Ciuill  Peace, 
Such  bold  Hoftilitie,  teaching  his  dutious  Land 
Audacious  Crueltie.  If  that  the  King  '- 
Haue  any  way  your  good  Deferts  forgot, 
Which  htconfeffeth  to  be  mangold, 
He  bids  you nameyour  Gricfes,and  with  all  fpeed 
You  fball  haue  your  defiresjwith  intereft  j 
And  Pardon  abfolute  for  your  felfe,  and  thefe, 
Herein  mis-led,by  your  fuggeftion. 

&at(]>.  The  King  is  kinde : 
And  well  wee  know,  the  King 
Knowes  at  what  timt  to  promife,when  to  pay. 
My  Fathcr,roy  Vnckle.and  my  felfe, 
Did  giuc  him  that  fame  Royaltic  he  wcares : 
And  when  he  was  not  fixe  and  twentie  ftrong, 
Sicke  in  the  Worlds  regard,wretched,and  low, 
Apoore  vnminded  Out-law,  fneaking  home, 
My  Father  gaue  him  welcome  to  the  (Lore: 
And  when  he  heard  him  fwearcand  vow  to  God^ 
He  csme  bu:  to  be  Duke  of  Lancafter, 
To  fue  bis  Ltueric,and  begge  his  Peace, 
With  teares  of  Innccencie,and  tcarmes  of  Zeale; 
My  Father,m  kinde  heart  and  pitty  mou'd, 
Swore  him  affiflance,and  perform'd  it  too. 
Now.when  the  Lords  and  Barons  of  th^lealme. 
Perceiu'd  Northumberland  did  leane  to  him. 
The  more  and  Iclle  came  in  with  Cap  and  Knee, 
Met  him  in  Boroughs,C<tics,  Villages, 
Attended  him  on  Bridges,(tood  in  Lanes, 
Layd  Gifts  before  him,proffer'd  him  their  Oathes, 
Gaue  him  their  Heires,as  Pages  followed  him, 
Eucn  at  the  hecles.in  golden  multitudes. 
He  prefently.as  Greatneffe  knowes  it  felfe, 
Steps  mc  a  little  higher  then  his  Vow 
Made  to  my  Fathcr.whilehis  blood  waspooret 
Vpon  the  naked  fiiore  at  Rauenfpurgh : 
And  now(forfooth)  takes  on  him  toreforme 
Some  cevtaine  Edicls.and  iomeftrait  Decrees, 
That  lay  too'headic  on  the  Common-wealth; 
Cryes  out  vpon  abufes3lcemcs  to  weepc 
Oucr  his  Countries  Wrongs:  and  by  this  Face^ 
This  fcemingBrowof  lufiice.did  h.ewinnc 
The  hearts  of  all  that  hce  did  angle  for. 
Proceeded  furthcr,cut  mc  off  the  Heads 
Of  all  the  Fauoritcs,that  the  abfent  King 
In  deputation  left  bchinde  hiro  hecre, 


Wnen  bee  was  perfonail  in  the  Iri(h  Warre. 
„  'Blunt.  Tut,I  came  not  so  hcare  this. 

Hotjp.  Then  to  the  point,  , 
In  ftiort  time  after,  hec  depos'd  the  King* 
Soone  after  that,depriu'd  him  of  his  Life : 
And  in  the  neck  of  that.task  c  the  whole  State* 
To  make  that  worfe,fuffet'd  hi*  Kinfman  fJHarck^ 
Who  i8,ifeuery  Owner  were  plac'd, 
Tndeedc  his  King,to  be  engag d  in  Wales, 
There,without  Ranforae,tolye  forfeited ; 
Bifgrac'd  me  in  my  happic  Vi&ories,/ 
Sought  to  intrap  me  by  intelligence, 
Rated  my  Vnckle  from  the  Councell-Boord, 
In  rage  difmifs'd  my  Father  from  the  Court, 
Broke  Oath  on  Oath,committed  Wrong  on  Wrong, 
And  in  conclufion,droue  vs  to  fceke  out  * 

This  Head  of  fafctie;  and  witlulUoprie 
Into  his  Title:  the  which  wee  finde 
Too  indirect,  for  long  continuance. 

"Blunt.  Sham.returnethisanfwertQtheKin^? 

Hotjp.  Notfo,SirW4/ttr. 
Wee'Ie  with-draw  a  Awhile : 
Goe  to  the  King,and  let  there  beimpawn'd 
Some  furetie  for  a  fafe  returne  againe, 
And  in  the  Morning  early  dial!  my  Vnckle 
Bring  himour  purpofc :  and  fo  farewell. 

Blunt.  I  Would  you  would  accept  of  Grace  and  Loue, 

Hotjp.  And't  may  bejbwee  (hall. „ 

Blunt.  Pray  Heauen  you  doe.  Exeunt. 


Scena  Quartet. 


Enter  the  Arch.Bi(ko$  ofrarfawcL  Sir  MkheB. 

vftr£.Hie,good  Sir  Aftche!ltbcate  this  fealedBrkfc 
Withwingedhaftctothe  Lord  Marfhall, 
This  to  my  Coufin  Scroope,  and  all  the  reft 
To  whom  they  arc  directed. 
If  you  knew  how  much  they  doe  import, 
You  would  makehafie. 

Sir  Mich.  My  good  Lord,I  guefle  their  tcacr* 

Jirch.  Like  enough  you  doe, 
Tomorrow,good  Sir  Michelljs  a  day, 
Wherein  the  fortune  often  thoufand  men 
Muft  bide  the  touch.  For  Sir,at  Shrewsbury, 
As  I  am  truly  giuen  to  vnderftand,' 
The  Kmg.with  mightie  and  quick-rayfed  Power, 
Meetes  with  Lord  Harry :  and  1  fcare,Sir  Michelle 
Wh3t  with  the  fickneffe  of  Northumberland* 
Whofe  Power  was  in  the  firft  proportion ; 
And  what  with  Owen  Gleudaners  abfence  thence,   ' 
Who  with  them  was  rated  firmely  too, 
And  comes  not  in,ouer-rui'd  by  Prophecies, 
I  fcare  the  Power  of  Percy  is  too  weakc, 
To  wage  an  inftant  tryall  with  the  King. 

Sir  Mich. Why  yvay  good  Lord,you  need  not  fear** 
There  is  2W£/«**,and  Lord  KMortimer. 

Arch.  No,LMQrtimer\s  not  there. 

Sir  mc  .But  there  is  Mordake^ernon, lord  Harry  T#i 
And  there  is  my  Lord  of  Worccfter, 
And  a  Head  of  gallant  Warriors, 
Noble  Gentlemen 

Arnh^ 


The  Firjl  Tart  of  Kjng  Henry  the  Fcurth. 


69 


50 


100 


t/frch.  And  fo  there  is*  but  yet  the  King  hath  drawne 
The  fpccisll  head  of  all  the  Land  together : 
The  Prince  of  Wales,  Lord  foknot  Lancafter, 
The  Noble  Wsftmerland,  and  warlike  'Blunt ; 
And  many  moc  Corriuals1ancTa'eare  men 
Of  cftimation,  and  command  in  Armes. 
*Sir  M.  Doubt  not  my  Lord,  he  fhall  be  well  opposed 
esfrch.  I  hope  no  IclTe?  Yet  n«3iull 'tis  to  feare, 
And  to  preiient  the  worft,  Sir  -^^OJpeed  ; 
For  if  Lord  Percy  thriuc  not,  ereTrjeT^ne 
Difmifle  his  power,  he  meancsto  vifit  vs : 
For  he  hath  heard  of  our  Confederacies 
AndjTTs  but  Wifedometo  make  ftrong  againft  him : 
Therefore  make  haft,  I  mu^, go  write  againe 
To  other  Friends :  and  fo  fatewell,Sir  MickrlL    Exeunt. 

120 


ABus  Qmnitts.   Scena  Trima. 


150 


Enier  the  King,  Prince  of  Wales,  Lord  John  ofLancafler, 
hurls  oftVefimerland,Sir  waiter  Bl»nty 

andFalJlzfe. 

King.  How  bloodily  rhcSunnc  begins  topecrc 
Aboueyon  husky  hill;  the  day  lookespale 
At  his  diftemperature, 

PriM.  The  Southernc  winde 
Doth  play  the  Trumpet  to  hi3  purpofes, 
And  by  his  hollow  whittling  in  the  Leaues, 
Fortetsa  Tempe(x„and  a'bluft  ring  day. 

King .  Then  with  the  lofers  kt  it  fympathize. 
For  nothingcan  feeme  foule  to  thofe  tnatwrnT^ 

The  Trumpet  founds. 
Enter  Worcester. 


King,  How  now  my  Lord  of  Worfter?  'Tis  not  well 
That  you  and  1  fhould  meet  vpon  fuch  tearmes. 

200  Asnowwejmeet.  Youhaue  deceiu'dour  truft, 

And  made  vs  doffe  our  eafie  Robes  of  Peace, 

To  crufh  our  oldljjgjj^  in  vngentlc  Steele : 

This  is  not  well^my  Lordjtjj^is  not  well. 

What  fay  you  to  it  ?  Will  you  againe  vnknit 

1  h     This  churlifh  knot  of  all-abhorred  Warre? 

-        And  nioue  in  that  obedient  Orbc  agr.j'ne, 

Where  you  did  giue^afaire  and  naturall  light, 
And  be  no  more  an  c(jngTJjd-Meteor, 
Aprodigic  of  Feare,  and  a  Portent 
Ofbroachcd  Mifchcefe,  to  the  vnbtirne  Timss? 

Worl  Hcare  me,my  Liege  : 
%r,mine  owne  part,  I  could  be  well  content 

;  [         To  entertaine  the  Lagge-end  of  my  life 
With  quiet  houres :  For  l$o  protcft, 
Ihaue  not  fought  the  day  of  rj^diflike. 

King,  You  haue  nor  fought  it :  how  comes  it  then? 
Fal.  Rebellion  lay  in  his  way,anu  he  found  it< 
Prin.  Peace,Chewet.  peace. 

350       fror-  Itpleas'd  your  rvisicfty,to  turneyour  looker 
Of  Fauour,  from  my  Sclfd,  and  all  our  Houfc  ;  *" 
A"d  yet  I  muft  remember  youmy  Lord, 
Weweret]iejirft,and deareftofyourFricnds  : 
For  you,  mvftaffe  of  Office  did  I  breake 
In  Rtcbards'tlmc,  andpoafleddav  and  night 
Toraectc  youoaihe.w^aj^  kifleyour  haudj 


400 


L 


When  yet  you  were  in  place,  and  in  account 
Nothing  fo  ftrong  and  fortunate,  as  I  • 
it  was  my  Selfc,  my  Brother,  and  his  Sonne, 
That  brought  youhome,and  boldly  did  out-d*re 
The  danger  of  the  time.   Y  ou  fwore  to  vs, 
Andyou  did  fweare  that  Oath  at  LJoncafter, 
That  you  did  nothing  of  purpofe  'gatnlt  thc-State, 
Norclaime  no  further,  then  your  new-fa!ne.ri«hcj 
The  feate  of  £?*?««? ,..Dukedume.of  Lancafrer, 
To  this,  wcTware  our  aide;  But  in  fiiort  fpace> 
It  rain'd  downe  Fortune  ihowring  onyour  head, 
And  fuch  a  floud  of  Grcatneffe  fellonyou', 
What  with  our  helpc,whac  with  theabfenc  King, 
What  with  the  injuries  ofwanton  time, 
Thcfeeming  fufTcranccs  that  you  had  borne, 
And  the  contranous  VYindes  thar  held  the  King 
So  long  in  the  vnlucky  Irifh  Warre  v" 
That  all  in  England  did  repute  him  dead*  : 
^nTTTronvthisfwarme  of  faire  advantages'. 
You  tookeoccaiion  to  be  quickly  woo'd^ 
To  gripe  thegenerallfway  into  your  handj 
ForcotyourOath  toys  at  Donca(tert 
And  being  fed  byvs,  you  vs'd  vs  fo, 
AstnatvngentlegulitheCuckoweiBircL, 
Vfcth  the  Sparrow,  dicvopprelTe  our  Neil, 
Grew  by  our  Feeding,  to  fo  greats  bulke, 
T hat  euen  our  Loue  durft  not  come  neerc  your  fight 
For  feare  of  fwallowing :  But  with  nimble  wing 
We  were  infore'd  for  fafety  fike,toflye 
Out  ofyour  light,  anS  raifc  this  prefent  Head, 
Whereby  we  ftand  oppolcd  by  fuch  mcanei 
Asyou  your  felfe,  haue  forg'd-againftyour  lelfc, 
Bv  vnkinde  vfage,  dangerous;  countenance, 
And  violation  of  all  faith  and  troth? 
S  worneto  vs  tnyonger  encerprize* 

Kin.  TheCe  things  indeedc  you  haue  artkuTaeed, 
Proclaim'd  atMarket  iJroUes  read  in  Churches, 
To  face  the  Garment  of  Rebellion 
With  fome  fine  colour,  that  may  pleafc  the  eye 
Offickle  Changelings,  and  poore  Difcontcnts^ 
Which  gape,  and  rub  the  Elbow  at  the  newe» 
Of  hurly  burly  Innouation : 
And  neuer  yet  did  Infurre£lion  wane 
Such  water- colours, to  impaint  nTfeaufc  2 
Nor  moody  Bcpgars,(taruing  for  a  tkac 
Of  pell-mell  hauocke,and  confufion-i 

Prim  In  bothour  Armies,  thereis  many  a  foule 
Shall  pay  fidlaearely  for  this enco&irer, 
1  f  once  they  loyne  in  trial!.  Tell  your  Nephew, 
The*Prince  of  Wales  ciotn  ioyne  with  all  the  world 
In  ptaife  of  Henry  Percie :  By  my  Hopes, 
This  prefent  enterprize  fecoffhisliead. 
1  donot  thinke  a  brauer  Gentleman, 
More a£tiue,yali'ant,or  more  valiant  yong, 


More  daring.or  more  bold,is.now  aliue« 
To  grace  this  latter  Age  with  Noble  deeds. 
For  my  party!  may  fpeake  it  to  my  fharae, 
I  haue  a  Truant  beene  roChiualry, 
Andfo  I  heare,  he  doth  account  me  too  : 
Yet  this  before  my  Fathers  Maicfty, 
I  am  content  that  he  fliall  take  the  oddes 
Of  his  great  name  and  eftimation, 
And  willjto  faue  the  blood  on  either  fide, 
Try  fortune  with  h"im,  in  a  Single  Fight. 

King   And  Princeof Vv^ales.foaarevgg YeillCf  t&ee> 
Albeit,  confidetacions  infinite  "J 


403 -(0)-  2h 


504- (0)-  4 h. 


jo The  Firft  Tart  o/^mgHenry  the  Fourth. 


Do  make  againft  tct  No  good  Worftcr,no, 
We  louc  our  people  well  •  euen  thofe  we  roue 
That  are  miGed  vpon  your  Coufins  pare : 
And  will  they xake  the  offer  of  our  Grace  s 
Both  he,  and  they, and  you ;  yea,euery  man 
Shall  be  my  Friend  againe,  and  lie  be  his. 
So  tellyour  Coufin.and  bring  me  wbrd.j 
What  he  *  ill  do/  But  if  he  will  not  yeeld, 
Rebuke  and  dread  correction  waite  on  vs* 
And  they  (hall  do  their  Office.  So  bee  gone* 
We  will  not  now  be  troubled  with  reply. 
We  offer  faire^tafee  it  aduifcdly. 

Exit  iVorcefter. 

Priit.  It  will  not  be  accepted.on  my  life, 
The  DMgfaand  the  Hotffntrre  both  together, 
Are  confident  againft  the  world  in  Armes. 

King.  Hence  therefore,  euery  Leader  to  his  charge,, 
For  on  rheir  anfwet  will  we  fet  on  them ; 
And  God  befriend  e»,  as  our  caufc  is  iuft.  txeunt, 

Manet  Prince  and  Faljlaffe. 

Tai.  Hal,  if  thou  fee  me  downe  in  the  battell, 
And  beftride  me,  fo;  Vis  a  point  of  friendfnip. 
TV/w.Notbing  but  a  CololTus  can  do  thee  that  frendfhip 
Say  thy  prayers, and  farewell. 

Fal.  I  would  it  were  bed  time  /iW,and  all  well4 

frin.  Why.thou  ow'itheauen  a  death. 

Falfi*  Tis  lot  due  yet :  I  would  bee  loath  to  pay  him 
before  his  day.  What  neede  \  bee  fo  forward  with  him, 
that  call's  not  on  rre  ?  Vv*eTT,  'tis  no  mawe^Honor  prickes 
me  on.  But  how  if  Honour  pricke  me  off  when  I  come 
on  ?  How  then?  Can  Honour  fet  too  a  leggc?  No  :  01  an 
arme  ?  No :  Or  take  away  the  greefe  of  a  wound  ?TSTo. 
Honour  hath  no  skill  in  Surgerie,then  ?  No.What  is  Ho- 
nour ?  A  word.  What  is  that  word  Honour  ?  A  yre  :  A 
trim  reckoning.  Who  hath  it  ?  He  that  dy'de  a  Wednef- 
day.  Doth  he  feelc  it?  No.  Doth  hee  hears  it?  No.  Is  it 
infcnfible  then?  yea,  co  the  dead-  But  wil  it  not  liue  who 
the  liuing?  No,  Why  ?  Detr3c*tion  wil  not  (after  ir,ther- 
fore  lie  none  of  it*'  Honour  is  a  meert  Scutcheon,  and  fo 
endsmyCatcclnTine.  JExti. 


Scena  Secunda* 


Enter  Wercejfery  andStr  7{[cbard  Vjcrncn. 

IVor-  O  no.my  Nephew  muit  not  know,Sir  Richard, 
The  liberall  kinde  offer  of  theKing„ 
""Vtr.  'Twere  beft  he  did. 

Wor*  Thenweareaflvndone. 
It  is  nor  poffible,  it  cannot  be, 
The  King  would  Jccepe  his  word  iD  Iouing  vs, 
He  will  fufpect  vs  ftill  and  findc  a  time 
TopuniPn  th'rs  offencein  others  faults : 
SnppofitiorjjaH  out  hues,  fhall  be  ftucke  full  of  eyes ; 
ForTreafon  is  bi'trrufted  like  theFoxe, 
Who  ne're  fo  tame,  fo  cherj(ht,and  lock'd  vp, 
Will  haue  awildcmcfce  of  his  Anceftors  : 
lookc  how  He  can,  or  facTor  merrily, 
Interpretation  will  mifquote  our  lookes. 
And  we  (hall  feede  like  Oxen  at  a  flail, 
The  better  chcriflit,  SHI  the  nearer  death. 
My  Nephewes  trefpafle  may  dTwcII  forgot, 
Ithath  the  excufc  ofyouth,and  heate  of  bloody 


And  an  adopted  name  of  Ptiuilcdge, 
Ahaire-brain'd  Hetjjmrre,  gouern'd  by  aSplceno 
All  his  oflfences  liue  vpon  my  head, 
And  on  his  Fathers, '  We  did  rraine  him  on 
And  his  corruption  being  tane  from  vs, 
We  as  the  Spring  of  all,  (hall  pay  for  all : 
Therefore  good  Coufin,  ler  not  Harry  know 
In  any  cafe,  the  offer  of  the  King, 

Ver,  Deliuer  what  you  wilLjle  (ay  'tis.  Co, 
Heere  comes  your  Cofin. 

Emer  Hotjpmre^ 

Hot.  MyVnklcisr«urn*d, 
Deliuer  vp  my  Lord  ofWeftmerland* 
Vnkie,  whSFnewe-  ? 

War.  The  King  will  bid  you  battell  prefently, 

©w.Dcfiehim  by  the  Lord  of  Weftmerland. 

Hot,  Lord  Dowglas :  Go  you  and  tell  him  fo. 

Do*,  Marry  and  (hall.and  verie  willingly. 

Exa  Doxtght, 

IVor.  There  is  no  feeming  mercy  in  thcKing. 

Hot,  Did  you  begge  any?God  forbid. 

War.  I  told  him  gently  of  our  greeuance-, 
Of  his  Oath-breaking :  which  he  mended  thus, 
By  now  forfwearing  that  he  is  forfwornc, 
He  cals  vs  Rebels,  Traitors ,  and  will  fcourgs 
With  haughty  armes,  this  hatefull  name  in  vs. 
Enter  Dowglat. 

2)ovp.  Arrae  Gentlemen,  to  Armes,  for  I  haue  thrown 
Abraue  defiance  in  KlngHenrtes  teeth : 
And  Weftmerland  th3t  was  ingag'd  did  bcare  ir, 
Which  cannot  choofc  but  bring  him  quickly  on. 

War.  The  Princcof  Wales,  ftept  tonh  before  the  king, 
And  Nephew,  chaileng'd  you  to  (ingle  fight. 

Hot.  O,  would  the  quarrel!  lay  vpon  our  heads, 
And  that  no  man  might  draw  (horc  breath  to  cfay ~ 
But  I  and  Harry  Monmouth.  Tell  mCjtell  mee, 
How  (hew'd  his  Talking  ?Scem'd  it  in  contempt  ? 

*Ver.  No,  by  my  Soule  :  I  neuer  in  my  life 
Did  heare  a  Challenge  vrg'd  more  modeitly, 
Vnleffv:  a  Biotherfhoul  J  a  Brother  dare 
To  gentle  exercife,  and  proofe  of  Armes. 
He  gaue  you  all  the  Duties  ofa  Man, 
Trimm'd  vp  your  rrailes  with  a  Princely  tongue. 
Spoke  your  defcruings  like  aChronicle4 
Making  you  euer  better  thcnhlspraHe^ 
By  ftill  difpraifingpraife,  valcw'd  with  you  : 
And  which  became  him  like  a  Prince  indeed^ 
He  made  a  blufhiag  cirall  ofhirofelfe, 
And  chid  his  Trewanr  youth  with  fuch  a  Grace, 
As  if  he  maitred  there  a  double  fpiric 
Of  teaching,  and  of  learning  inftantly : 
There  did  he  paufe. "  But  let  me  tell  the  World, 
If  he  ont-Iiue  the  enuie  of  this  dayf 
England  did  neuer  owefo  fweet  a  hope, 
So  much  mifconftrued  in  his  WantonnciTe. 

Hot.  Coufin,  I  thinke  thou  art  enamored 
On  his  Follies :  neuer  did  I  heare 
Of  any  Prince  fo  wilde  at  Liberty. 
But  be  he  as  he  will,  yel  once  ere  night, 
I  will  imbrace  him  with  a  Souldiers  arme, 
That  he  (hall  (hrinke  vnder  my  curtefie. 
Arme,armc  with  fpeed.  And  FeIlow's,Soldiers,Friend$, 
Better  cenfider  what  you  haue  to  do, 
That  I  that  haue  not  well  she  gift  of  Tongue, 

Can 


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Thet  Firji  Tart  of Kjng  Henry  tbefmrtL 


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50 


100 


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150 


Can  life  your  blood  vp  with  perfwafion. 
Enter  a  (Jlfejfenger, 
Mtf.  My  Lord,heere  arc  Lettersioryou. 
Hot,  I  cannot  reade  them  now 
OGentlemem  the  time  of  life  is  (hort  ; 
Xofpend  that  fhoTtncffcbafcIy,wcre  too  long. 
If  life  did  ride  vpon  a  Dials  poinr, 
Still  aiding  attltcarnuali  of  an  houre, 
And  if  we  Hue,  we  Hue  to  treade  on  Kings: 
irdye;braue  death.when  PrinceFoye  with  vs. 
Now  for  our  Confciences,  the  Ara.es  is  faire, 
Wncn  the  intent  for  bearing  them  is  mft. 
Enter  another  (Jltefengcr. 
ftfef.  My  Lord  prepare,  the  King-comes  on  space* 
liar.  I  thanke  htm .  that  hectics  me  from  my  yj.ei 
For  I  profeffer.ot  calking:  QneTyThis, 
Let  each  nun  do  his  beft.  Andneere  1  draw  a  Sword, 
VVhofe  worthy  temper  1  intend  to  fta"ifie 
With  the  beft  blood  that  I  can  mectc  withall, 
[n  the  aducnture  of  this  perilious  day. 
Now  EfpcranceP^rj,  and  fee  on  : 
Sound  all  the  lofty  I  nit  rumen  ts  of  Warre, 
Andby  that Muficke, let v sail  imbrace  : 
Porheauen  to  earth,fomc  of vs  neuer  fnail, 
Afccond  time  do  fuch  a  curtefie. 

The  ensvracejbeTrumj/etsfoUKd,  the  King  entereth 
with  his  power,  alarum  vnto  the  battel!.  7  hen  enter 
t>owg'as%ar.dSti  Walter 'Blunt. 
2?/«,Whac  t  thy  namcAth3t  in  battel  thus  y  croficft  me? 
What  honor  do  ft  thou  feeke  vpon  my  head? 

rDow.  Know  then  my  nameis  Dowglas, 
And  I  do  haunt  thee  in  the  battell  thus, 
Becatife  fome  tell  me,  that  thou  art  a  King, 
Blunt.  TheyTell  thee  true. 

Bow.  The  Lord  of  Sta^ord  deere  to  day  hath  bought 
ThvlikcneiTe  -.for  irrfled  of  thee  King  Harry, 
This  Sword  hath  ended  him,  fo  fhafl  it  thee, 
Vnlefle  thou  yecld  thee  as  a  Prifoner. 
$  Blu.  I  was  not  borne  to  yeeld,thou  haughty  Scot, 
And  thou  fhalv finde  a  King  that  wjlreucnge 
Cords  Staffords  death. 

F  ioht ,  Blunt  if  (lainefhen  enters  Flotjp.'ir, 
Hot.  O  Dowglas ,hadft  thou  fought  at  Hcimedon  thus 
F ncuer  had  triumphed  ore  a  Scot.  , 
Dow.  All's doncall's  won,here  breathlcs  lies  rhe  king 
Hot.  Where  f" 
Dew.  Heerc. 

Hot.  Th\rDon>gUs}  No,I  know  this  fa.ee  fail  well : 
A  gallantKnight  he  was,  his  name  was  Blunt y 
Scmblably  furnifli'd  like  the  King  himfelfc. 

Dow,  Ah  foole :  go  with  thy  fouje  whether  it  goes, 
A  borrowed  Title  haft  thou  bought  too  dcere. 
Why  didft  thou  tell  me,  that  thou  wer  taJCing  - 
Hot.  The  King  hath  many  marching  in  his  Coats. 
ZW.  bjow  by  my 5 word ,1  will  kijrall  his  Coates, 
He  murder  all  nis  Wardrobe?peece  by  pecce, 
Yntilll  meet  the  King. 
Hou  Vp^andaway, 
,0«r  Souldiers  ftand  full  rakely  for  tVe  day.    '      Exeunt 
alarum,  and  enter  Fal/Iaffe  foltts. 
Fal.  Though  I  could,  fcapc  (hor-frce  at  LpgdonJ  fear 
tne  (hot  hecre  :  here's  nofcoring,but  vpon  the  pate.Soft 
who»are  you  ?  Sir  Walter  'Blunt  f  there's  Honour  for  you ; 
here's  no  vanity,  I  am  as  hot  as  molten  Lcad^aod  as  he*, 
uy  toojheauenkecpe  Lead  out  of  mee,  Ioeexiencj  more 
weight  theammc  ownefiowelles.  1  haue  ted  m*  ra«  of 


Muffins  where  they  are  peppei'd  :  there's  notthree  of  my 
150.  left  aliue^and  they  for  the  Townes  end,  to  beg  du- 
ring life.  Bu t  who  comes  heeref 
Enter  the  Prince, 

Pr#.\Vhat,(tand'ft  thou  idleherePLend  me  thv  fword, 
Many  a  Nobleman  likes  ftarkc  3nd  ftiffe 
Vnder  the  hooucs  oTvaunting  enemies, 
Whole  deaths  are  vnrcueng  d.  Prethy  lend  me  thy  fword 
""  Fat  0//«/,J  pretheegiucmcleauc  to  breath  awhile: 
Tuikc  Gregory  ncuer  did  fuch  deeds  in  Armcs    as  I  haue 
done  this  day,  I  haue  paid  Percy ,1  haui  made  him  lure. 
wr*7rin.  He  is  indced,3nd  liuing  to  kill  thee ;  "™ 
Iprethee  lend  me  thy  fword* 

"■  FaI'}.  Nay  Hal  if  Percy  bee  aliue,  thou  getft  not  my 
Sword   but  take  my  PiftoHif  thou  wilt. 

Prin.  Giue  it  me  :!WrTat,  is  it  in  the  Cafe  : 

till.   I  Halt  'tis  hot :  There's  that  will  Sacke  3  City 
TbeVrsnce  drawes  oM  a  bottle  of  Sacke-. 

Prut.  What,  is  it  a  timc.toicftanddally  now.     Exit. 
"Tbrowes  it  at  him. 

FaI.  If  Percy  be  aliue,  He  pierce  him:  ifhedocomein 
myway/o^fhedonotjiflcoTicinhis  (willingly)  let 
him  make  a  Carbonado  of  me:  Ilskenoc  fuch  grinning 
honour  as  Sir  Walter  hath :  Giue  mee  life,  which  if  I  can 
faue,  foufnordioaour  comes  vniook'd  for,  and  therY  an 
end.  Exit 


t^larmrjexcurftons^nter  the  King,the  Prince^ 

LqrJIobnofLancafter,  and  Ear  It 

ofWefimerlund, 

King    I prethee  Harry  withdraw  thy  fclfc,  thcu  blcc- 
deft  too  much:  Lord  lohn  ofLancajler.pi  you  with  hjr|Z 
*j£.M.  NotI,my  Lord,vnlefle  I  did  bleed  too« 

Prin    1  befecch  your  Maiefty  make  vp* 
Leaft  you  retirement  do  amaze  your  friends. 

King.  I  will  do  lot 
My  Lord  of  Weftmetland  leade  him  tohis.Tenr. 

Weft.  Come  my  Lord,  lie  leade  yoiuo  your  Tent. 

Pr'w.  Lc-d  me  my  Lord?  I  Jb  not  need  your  helpej 
And  heaucu  forbid  a  fnallow  {cratch  fliouldclriug 
TheprinceofWalesfromfuchafi^asthi^ 
Where  ftain  d  Nobility  lyes  trouen  on, 
And  RebeW  Armcs  triumph  in  maflacres. 

I0I1.  We  breath  too  long:  Come  cofin  We.li-erland, 
Our  doty  this  way  lics/or  heaueas  fale  come 

Prin    By  heauen  thou  haft  deceiu  d  me  Lancifter^ 
I  did  not  think  e  thec  Lord  of  fuch  a  lpint . 
Before,  1  lou'd  thee  as  a  Brother,  lohn ;  % 

But  now.  Idorefoecl  thec  as  my  Soule. 

King.    I  faw  mmnold  Lord  Percy  at  the  point, 
With  luftier  maintenance  then  Hid  looke for 
Offuch  an  yngrowng  Warriour. 

Prin.  6  this  Boy,  lends-mettall  to  vs  all. 
Enter  Dowglas. 

Dow.  Another  Kiog?They  gtow  like  Hydra's  heads* 
I  am  the  Dowglas,  fatall  to  all  thofe 
Thai*  weare  thofe  colours  on  them.  What  artthou 
Jhat  countexfeit'ft  the  perfon  of  a  King? 

KitifrTkc  Kiaghimfelfe ;.  who  Dw^Uu  gticues  at  hilt 

So 


50 


100 


150 

(1) 
200 


Exit. 


250 


300 


350 


100 


168  -CO)  -\h 


133  —  U> 


1  yz The  Firft&artoflQng  Henry  the  Fourth. 


Sqmany  of  his  fcadowes  tbotf  haft  mcrt 
And  not  thevery  King.  I  haue  two  Boyes 
Seekef^rqandth?  felfe  about  the  Field : 
But  feeing  thou  fall'ft  onrnefd  luckily, 
I  will  affay  thee :  fo  defend  thv  felfe* 

'Dew,  I  feare  chouart anoraer  counterfeit : 
And  yet  infaithtfrou  bear'(l  thee  like  a  King: 
Bat  mine  I  am  lute  thou  art,whoere  thou  be, 
And  thus  I  win  thee.      Tbeyfiiht^  the  K.beingm  danger , 
titter  Prmce. 

tiint.  Hold  vp  they  head  viIeScof,ot  thou  artlikc 
Keoer  to  hold  it  vp  againe :  the4Spirits 
Of  valiant  Sberlj.SiajfbrdfBltoitjtc  in  my  ArratfJ 
It  is  the  Prince  of  Wales  that  threatens  thee, 
WEo  neuer  promifechjbut  he  meaner  to  pay. 

Thty  PtghtfDowgtaifytth. 
Cheerely  My  Lord :  how  fare's  your  Grace  ? 
Sir  Nicholas  Gavrfey  hath  for  fuccourfent, 
And  fo  hath  Clifton  :  He  to  Clifton  ftraight* 
~"l&wjr.  Stay,and  breath  awhile. 
Thou  haft  redeemed  thy  loft  opinion, 
And  fhew'd  thou  mak'ft  fome  tender  of  my  life 
In  this  faire  tefcug  thou  haft  brought  to  race, 

Prin.  O  heauen,  they  did  me  too  much  iniury* 
That  euer  faid  1  hcarkned  to  your  death. 
If  it  were  Co,  I  might  haue  let  ajfiflS, 
The  infulting  hand  of  DmgUs  ouer  you^ 
Which  would  haue  bene  as  fpeedy  in  your  end, 
As  ali  the  poyfonousPotions  in  the  world, 
And  fau'd  the  Treacherous  labour  o£your  Sonne. 

K,  Make  vp  to  Chftm^\t  to  Sir  Wcholas  GaHJey.  Qcit 
£nter  Hatfyttr.  """ 

Hot.  If  I  miftake  not,  thou  art  Harry  Monmouth. 

Prin,  Thou  fpeak'ft  as  if  I  would  deny  my  name. 

Hot*  My  name  is  Harris  Percie. 

frin.'Wbj  then  I  fee  a  very  valiant,  rebel  ofthatname* 
I  am  the  Prince  of  Wales.and  tbinke  not  Tercy j 
To  Gsare  with  me  in  fclory  any  more ; 
Two  Starrcs  keepe  not  their  motion  in  qne.Sphere, 
Nor  can  one  England  brookc  a  double  xeigne, 
Qf  Harry  Percy  ^dt  the  Prince  of  Waler. 

Hot*  Not  (hall  \iHarry>  for  the  hourc  is  come 
To  end  the  ojjc_of  vs;  and  wouLUohcauen, 
Thy  ttamein  Armes;  were  now  as  grcatas  mme. 

Prin.  lie  make  it  greatcr.ete  1  part  from  thee/ 
And  all  the  budding  Honors  on  thy  Creft, 
He  crop,tomake  a  Garland  for  my  head, ' 

Hot.  I  can  no  longer  brooEe  thy  VankieS-      &£*> 
Enter  Faljtafe. 

Pal.  Well  faid  7f*/,to  it  Hat.  Nay  you  (hall  finde  no 
Boyes  play  heere.J  can  tell  you. 

Enter  Dowglas  he  fight smth  Falftaffewbofah  dowtt 

tit  tfhfxvere  dead. The  frwce'kiHeth  Percie. 

Hot.  OhMnryjtJiojihafTrob'd  me  of  my  youth: 
I  better  brookc  t£g  Ioflc  of  brittle  life, 
Then  thofe  proud  Titles  thou  jjaJi  wonne  of  me, 
They  wound  my  thoghts  worfe,then  ttafword  my  fle(h; 
But  thought's  the  flaue  of  Life,ajii  LifeVTimcs  foole; 
And  Time,  that  takes  iuruey  of  aiithe  world, 
Mnfthaueaftop.  O.  T  could  Pronhefie. 
But  that  the  Earth,and  the  cold  hand  of  death. 
Lyes  on  my  Tongue  :  No  /V*7,thou  att  duft 
And  food  for— — — - 

Prin,  Fox  Worme*,braue/V?T7  .Farewell  greatheart: 
Ikweau) d,  h  mbmon.how  much  art  thou  fhrunke?. 
that  this  bodic  did  conuine  a  ipirit, 


AKingdomefor  it  was  too  fmall  a  bound ; 
But  now  two  pace?  of  the  vilcft  Earthl 
Is  rcomc  sneugh.  This  Earth  that  bearec  ths  dcac^ 
Beares  notaTTueTo  ftouta  Gentleman. 
If  thou  wer'tfenftEle  of  curtcfle, 
Ifhould  not  make  fo  great  a  (hew  of  Zcale. 
But  let  my  fauours  hide  thy  mangled  face, 
JSnd  euen  in  thy  behalfe,lle  thanke  my  felfc 
Fordoing  tnefefavrc  Rites  of Tenderneflc. 
Adicu,and  take  thy'praife  with  thee  to  heauen, 
Thy  ignomy  (lecpe  with  thee  intne  grauca 
But  not  Kmembred  in  thy  Epitaph. 
What?01d  Acquaintance? Could  not  all  thisflefli 
Ketpe  in  a  little  life^Poore  facTe",farewell ; 
I  could  haue  better  fpai^d  a  bettetman. 
0,1  (houldhauea  heauy  miiTeof  tljee, 
XfjL  were  much  in  loue  with  Vanity. 
Death  hathnot  ftgucke  fo  fat  a  Deere  to  day, 
Though  manyo'carer  in  this  bloody  Fray  s 
Imbo weird  wiiTTTee thee  by  and  by* 
Till  then,in  blood,by  tfobftpereie  Ivc.  Exit* 

Talftaferifetbvp.    ' 

PaIJI*  Imbowell'd?  If  thou  imbowel!  Rice  to  dayjlc 
giue  youlegue  to  powder  me,and  eat  me  too  to  morow, 
'Twai  t-me  to  counterfet,  or  thathotte  Termagant^wj) 
had  paid  me  fcot  and  lot  too.Counterfei  i?  I  am  no  coun. 
ccrfeit;  to  dye,  is  to  be  a  counterfeit,  for  bee  bbut  tfec 
counterfeit  of  a  man.who  hathnot  the  life  oft  man  s  Bui 
to  counterfeit  dying^yvhen  a  manthcr  cby  liu«h,is  to  hi 
no  counterfeit,but  thctrue  and  perfect  image  of  life  ijj« 
deede.  Thebettcrpart  of  Valour,  is  Difcrenon;  in  the 
which  Better  parrTl  haue  faued  my  life.  I  ana  atlcaide  of 
this  Gun-powcfer Percy  though  he  i>c  dead.  How  if  hee 
fhould  counterfeit  too,  and  lift?  \  am  afraid  bee  would 
prouc  the  better  counterfcit:thereforclle  make  him  lure.' 
yea.and  llefwearelkiP/dhioi.  Why  may  not  bee  rife  as 
well  as  I  :Nothing  confutes  mebut  eyes,  anjj  no-oTdie 
fees  me.Thrrefore  firra^with  a  new  wound  in  your  thigh 
come  you  along  me.  Trt%*  Hotfinrre  on  bu  iecke* 

Evur  Prince  and  lohn-ofLanc^fier. 

Prin.  Come  Brother  lohn%  full  brauely  haftthouflelht 
thy  Maiden  fwcrd. 

hhn.  Butfoft.whohaueweheeret* 
Did  you  not  tell  mc  this  Fatman  was  dead  ? 

Prin.  I  did,  I  faw  himoTad, 
BreachieCfc  and  bleeding  on  the  ground:  Art  thou  aliue? 
Or  u  it  fantafir  that  playes  vpmrour  cye-figb.t  l 
I  ^retheefpeskc.we  wili  not  truft  oureyes" 
Without  our  earcs.  Thou  art  not  what  thou  feern'ft. 

Pal.  No,  that's  certaine ;  I  am  not  a  double  man ;  bfit 
if  1  be  not  lacfa  Fatjlaffe^htn  ami  a  lacks :  There  is  Per* 
ryj£yout  Fathet  will  do  me  any  Konor,fo:  ifno^tjet  hhw 
kill  the  next  P<rrw  himfelfc.  I  looketo  bccitherEarleojf 
Duke,Ican  affurcyou. 

Print  Whv.P^ra  I  kill'd  my  fclfe,  and  faw  thee  dead» 

Pal.  Did  ftthou?LordXord.  how  the  world  is  giuen 
to  Lying?  I  grauntyou  I  was  downe.  and  cue  ofpreatb, 


and  fo  was  he,  but  we  rofe  both  at  ajjinftant.and  fought 
alonghoureby Shrewsburie  clocke.  jyflmay beebelee- 
ued /o  •  if  not,let  them  t^aftfhould  reward  Valour^beare 
the  finne  vpon  their  owne  heads.  He  take'r  on  my  death 
I  gaue  him  this  wound  in  the  Thigh :  if  the  man  #?crea- 
liuejand  would  deny  it,  J  would  make  him  cate  a  p«ce 
o£my  fword. 

hhn.  This  is  the  ftrangeft  Tale  that  e'r?j^ieapd. 

Prin,,  This  is  the  ftrangeftTcHow,Brother  hhn. 

Come 


~^~ 


588-(0)  -37i 


The  Firjl  Tart  ofI\ing  Henry  the  Fourth. 


Come  bring  y.our  luggage  Nobly  on  your  backc 

For  my  partjif  a  Iyc  may  Ao  thee  grace, 

He  yitfl  it  with  the  happieft  tcatraes  I  hauc.    »•  27 

*sf  Retreat  u  founded, 
TftS  Trumpets  found  Rctrcat.thc  day  is  ours : 
Come  Brother,  lei's  to  the  higheft  of  the  field, 
» fee  what  Friends  are  Iujmg»  who  are  dead .        Exeunt 
FaJ.  lie  follow  as  thcyTayT'fot  Reward.   Bee  that  re- 
wards IPC,'  -einen  reward  bim,    Ifldogrow  great  again. 
fie  grow  Icffe?  For  Itepurgc,  and  leaue  Sackc  andliue 
cleanly^s  a  Nobleman  fhouIdcJoT--  90—  ^xit 


11 


Scma  Qmrta. 


The  TrutttpersfoKtfdi. 

Enter  tbeKing,  Prince  oftfates,  Lord  Iobn  efLtnatfteri 

Earle  cfwejfmerland,  Mtb  Worccflcr& 

Vernon  Pnjbners. 

King.  Thus  euerdid  Rebellion  finMe  Rebuke. 
IIMpirited  Worcefter.did  wc  not  fend  Grace* 
Pardon  ,and  tcarmes  ofLoueTB  all  of  you  I 
And  would'ft  thou  turne  our  ofrcTs  contrary  > 
Mifufe  chc  tenor  of  thy  Kiofmans  truft? 
Three  Knights  vpon  our  party  flame  to  day, 
ANob!eEarIe!,andmany;a  creature  elfe, 
Kad  beene  aliuc  this  houre, 
If  like  a  Chriftian  thou  had  ft  rruly  borne 
Betwixt  out  Armies,  true  Intelligence. 

Wor,   What  I  hane  donc,myFa!ttyvrg  d  me  to, 
1GD  -  (0)  -17* 


And  I  embrace  this  fortunspaiicntly, 
Smcenoc  to  beauoyded,  it  fals  on  mee. 

King,  Beare'Worcefter  to  dczih,zn£2Jernm too ; 
Other  Offenders  we  will  paufespon, 

Exit  mrcefter  and  Vernon. 
How  goes  trie  Field? 

Prin. "The Noble  Scot  Lord  DmgUsk  when  bee  Can 
The  fortune  of  the  day  quite  turn'd  from  him,         Tmm 
The  Noble  Percy  flaine.and  allhis  men, 
^pon  the  foot  of  feare.fied  with  the  reft  5 
And  rallingTrom  a  hill,  he  was  fo  bruia'd 
That  the  purfuersTooke  him.  At  my  Tenc 
The  Vmglas  is,  and  I  bcleecb  your  Grace, 
1  may  difpofeofhim. 

King.  With  allmy  hearts 

Prin.  ThenBrothern?5»ofLanc3?er, 
To  you  this  honourable  bounty  fhall  belong  1 
Go  to  the  DmglAS,in&  deliuer  him 

if  Vp  to  his  pleafUre,  ranfomlcfle  and  free : 
Tits  Valour  fhewne  vpon  cur  Grefts  to  day, 
Hath  taught  vs  how  fSTnenfh  fuch  high  deeds, 
Eucn  in  the  bof  ome  of  our  /Lduerfaries. 

King,  Then  this  rcmaincs  i  tnal  We"  diuidc  our  Power. 
You  Sonne  lobn.&nd  my  Coufin  Weftmerland 
Towards  Yorke  fhall  bend  you.withyour  deereft  fpeed 
To  meet  Norihumbei land, arTffthe  Prelate  Stroopc> 
Who(as  wc  heare)arc  bufily  in  Armes. 
My  Selfe,  and  jTou  Sonne  Harry  will  toward*  Wales, 
To  fight  with  UTendmer.iDd  iheEarle  ofMarcb. 
Rebellion  in  this  Land  iHOTofehisway? 
Meeting  the  Checkc  ofTucTi  another  day : 
And  fince  this  BuSnctfe  fo  faire  is  done, 
let  vs  not  leaue  till  all  our  owne  be  wonne.        Exam, 


50 
100 

15( 

(3) 
20C 


(3) 


07i 


FINIS. 


"* 


74 


The  Second  Part  of  Henry  the  Fourth; 

Containing  his  Death :  and  the  Coronation. 

of  King  Henry  the  Fift. 


edftus  Primus,   SccenaTrirna* 


I 


NDVCTION, 


Enter  'Rumour. 
Penyour  Ear  es  ;For  whiekof  you  will  ftop 
f  he  ventof  H«ari»g,whcr>»loud  &w«r  fpeakes? 
t ,  from  the  Orient,  to  the  drooping  Weft 
(Making  "the  winde  my  Poit-horfe)  ftill  vnfold 
The  A6fo  commcncedonchls  Ball  of  Earth. 
Vpon  my  Tongue,  coniftnuall  Slan  lersride> 
The  which,  in  euery  J-  angU3gc>  J  pronounce, 
Stuffing  the  Eares  of  china  with  falfe  Reports : 
I  fpeakc  cTF  Peace,  while  couertEnmitic 
(  Vnder  the  fmile  of  Safety)woundsr  thcWorid : 
And  who  but  Rumour,  who  but  onely  I 
Makefearfull  MITfVers,  and  prepar'd  Defence, 
Whil'ft  the  biggeyeare;  fwolnc  with  Tome  other  gtiefes, 
Is  thought  with  childe,  by  the  fierne  TyrantiWarrc, 
And  no  fssch  matter?  IXumor.r^  is  a  Pipe 
Biowne  by  Surjnifes,  ieloufics,  Conie&urcsj 
And  of  fo eafie,  and fo  j^am'ea (lop, 
That  the  blunt  Monftcr,  with  viTcountad  heads, 
The  ftill  difcordant,  wauering  Multitude, 
Can  play  vpon  it.  But  what  ncedel  thus 
My  well-knowncBody  to  Anathomize 
Among  my  hou^old  ?  Why  is  £w»w  heere  ? 
I  run  before  King  Harriet  vi&oty, 
Who  in  a  bloodie  field  by  Shrewsburie 
ffatrTbeaten  downe  yong  Hotjpttrre  ,aud  bis  TrOcpes^ 
Quenching  the  flame  of hold  Rebellion, 
Euen  with  cheRebels  blood.  But  what  meane  I 
To  fpcake  fo  true  at  firft  ?  My  Office  is 
15  novfc  abroad,  that  Harry  CMonMomb  fell 
Vnoar  the  Wrath  of  Noble  Hotjptirres  Sword: 
Jtfd  that  the  King,  beJorcthe  DcwglM  Rage 
Stocp'd  his  Annointed  head,  as  low  as  death. 
This  haue  I  rumout'd  through  the  peafant-Townes* 
Bejwecnc  the  Royall  Field  of  Shrewsburie, 
Aadthis  Worme-eaten-Hole  of  ragged  Stone, 
Where  Hot  flumes  Father,  old  Northumberland, 
Lyes  crafty  fake.  The  Pofles  come  tyring  on, 
And  not  a  man  of  them  brings  other  newes 
Then  they  haue  learn  d  of  Me.  'From  Rumurt  Tongues, 
They  bring  fmooth-Comforti-fa'.fe,  wc:fc  then  True- 
wrongs.  Exit 
*                       10)  -8fc 


Siena  Secunda, 


Enter  Lord  eBardotfeyand  the  Porter* 

L/Bar,  Who  kcepes  the  Gate  heere  hoi  ? 
Where  is  the  Earle? 

For.  What.flulJ  I  fay  you  are  i* 

Bar.  Tell  thou  the  Earle 
That  the  Lord  Baxdolfe  doth  attend  hint  heere. 

Per.  His  Lordfbip  is  walk'd  forth  into  the  Orchard 
Pleafe  it  your  Honor,  knocke  buti&cfaeGtoj, 
And  he  himfelfe.wHl  ahfwer. 

Enter  Northumberland, 

L  ."Bar.  HeelC  comes  the  Earle. 

Nor.  What  newes  Lord  Bardolfe>  Eu'ry  minute  now 
Should  be  the  Father  of  fame  Strat3gem; 
The  Times  are  wilde :  Contention  (liki  a  Horfe 
Full  oFhigh  Feeding)  madly  hath  b;oke  loofc, 
And  bcares  downe  all  before  dim* 

L.Bar.  Noble  Earie, 
I  bring  you  certaine  newes  from  Shrewsbury. 

Nor.  Good,andheauenwi!l. 

L.Bar.  As  good  as  heart  can  wifh : 
The  King  is  almoin  wouno'ed  to  the  death  : 
And  in  the  Fortune  of  my  Lord  your^ohne, 
prince  Hank  flaine  out-right :  and  both  the  Blmtt 
Kill'd  by  cho  hand  ofDowglas,   Yong  Prince  Iok;t 
And  WeGmerland,  andStafrbrd,fled  the  Field. 
And  Harrie  Monmouth1  s  BTawne  (the  Hulke  Sir  tokt) 
Is  prifonerra  your  Sonne*  O/uchaDay, 
(So  foughtrio  follow'd,  and  lb  faireiy  wonnc) 
Came  not,  till  now,  to  dignific  theft" imes 
Since  Cafars  Fortunes. 

Nor.  How  is  this  dertu'd? 
Saw  you  the  Field?  Came  you  from  Shrewsbury  ?  , 

L.Bar. I fpake  with  one  (my  L.)that  came  frdthen^ 
A  Gentleman  well  bred,and  of  good  name, 
That  freely  rendet'd  me  thefe  newes  for  true. 

Nor,  Heere  comes  my Seruant  Tranert tYihom  I  fen* 
OnTuefday  laft,  to  liften  after  Newes. 
EnterTratteru 

LJBar,  My  LordJ  oucr-rod  him  on  the  way* 
And  he  is  furnilli'd  with  no  certainties, 
More  then  he  (haply)may  retaile  from  me. 

Nor  J$ow  Trover*,  what  good  tidings  cornefftiSyc  i 

.)IO  ft*: 


TbeficondTart  of  King  Henry  the  Fourth. 


75 


Tr<t..My  Lox^Sit  lohtt .VmfrtuiKiuxxx  d  me  b'acke 
With  ioyiul  fydingsi;  and  (being  better  hors'd) 
Out-rod  me.  After  him,,  came  fpun  ing  head 
^Gentleman  (alrooit  fore-fpent  with  ipecd) 
That  ftopp'd  by  mc,  to  breath  his  bloodied  b&£$A 
He  ask  d  the  way  to  Chefter  t  And  of  him 
tdid-demand  what  Ncwcs  from  Shrewsbury: 
He  told  me,  thatRebcllion  had  111  Iucke, 
And  that  yong  Harry  Perries  Spurre  was  cold. 
With  that  he  gaue  his  able  Horfe  the  head, 
And  bending  for  wards  ftrooKe  his  abiehceies 
Agsinft  ths  panting  fides  or  his  poore  lade 
Vp  to  the  Rowcll  head*  and  flatting  fo, 
He  feem'd  in  running,  to  dejuiuj&Ehe  way, 
Staying  no  longer  queftion. 

North.  Ha?Againei 
Saidiieyong  H^me  Percyes  Spurre  was  cold  «> 
(Of /^f-5p*rrff,cold-Spurrc?)  chat  Rebellion, 
Hadmecillluckc? 

{,$ar>  My  lord:  He  tell  you  what, 
If  njy  yong  Lord  your  Sonnc,haue  not  the  day, 
Vpon  mine  Honor,  for  a  fiiken  point 
jle  giuc  my  Barony.  Neuer  talkc  of  it. 

Nor.  Why  fliould  the  Gentleman  that  rude  hgXraiters 
Giuerheniuch  inftances  ofLoflcf 

L.Var.  Who,hc? 
rjc'was  Tome  hicldingPelloWj  that  nad  folnej 
TheHorfcherodc-on  ;  and  fpon  my  lite 
Speakeataduencurc.  Loake,hexexomes  more-Ncwes, 


JEntff'lMmat* 


93 


Nor*  Yes,  this  mans  trow,  like  to  iTitle-leafe^ 
Fore-iels  the  Nature  of  a  Tragtcke  Volume : 
Solookes.  the.Strond,  when  the  Imperious  flood. 
Hath  leftawitneft  Vfurpation., 
Say  Morton%  did'ft  thou  come  from  Shrewsbury  }, 

Mou  I  ran  fronrShrewsbuiy  (my  Noble  Lor  J) 
Where  hatefull  death"  put  on  his.  vglicitMaikc. 
To  fright  our  party. 

North.  Howc.othTRySonne,and  brother? 
Thou  trembl'it;  and  the  whitcneflc  in  thy  Cheeke 
Is  apter  then  thy  Tongue,  to  tell  thy  Errand. 
Eucn  fuch  amafij  fo  faint,fo  fpiritleffc, 
So  dull,  fo  dead  ullooke>fo  w,oe-be-gone> 
Drew  PrUms  Curtaineiin- the  dead  ofnight, 
And  would  baue  told  him,Kalfe  his  Troy  w^buro'd. 
But  Priam  found  the  Fircere  he  his  Tfliigue: 
And  I,  my  Perries  death,  ere  thou  repor t'ft  it. 
This,  thou  would'ft  fay :  Your  Sonne  didthus,and  thus : 
£oui  Brother,  thus  .  So  fought  the  Noble  Z?03g/<*/, 
Stopping  my  greedy  earejWith  their  bold  deeds. 
But  in  the  end  (to  <\op  mine  Eare  indeed) 
Thou  haft  a  Sigh,  to  blow  away  thisPraife, 
Ending  wjiJi Brother,  Sonne,and  all  are  dead. 

Mor.  'Doivglas  is  huing,ajicj jour  Brother,yec2 
But  for  my  Lord,  your  Sonne. 

North.  \^hy  he  is  dead. 
Sec  what  a  ready  tongue  Sufpitionuatji ; 
Hcthat  but  feares  the  thing,hc  would  not  know, 
Hath  by  Inftin6t,knovyledge  from  others  Eyes, 
That  what  he  feard,  is'chanc'd.  Yet  fpeake(Mra>») 
Tell  thou  thy  Earlc,hisDiuination  Lies, 
And  1  will  take  i  c,  as  a  fwcec  Difgrace, 
And  make  thec  rich,  for  doing  me  fuch  wrong. 

Mar^  You  are  too  great,  to  be  (by  mc)  gainfaid : 


Your  Spirit  js  too  true,  your  Feares  too  ccrtaine. 

North.  Yctfor  all  thrs,fay  not  that  Perries  dead. 
I  fee  a  ftrange  Confeflion  In  thine  Eye  : 
Thou  fhak'ft  thy  head,  and  hold'ft  it  Fearc,  or  Sinne, 
To  fpcakea  UUj£>  If  he  be  flaine,fay  fo : 
TheTongue  offends  afit,  that  reports  his  deash ; 
And  he  doth  finne  that  doth  belye  the  dead ; 
Not  he,which  fayes  the  dead  is  not  aliue: 
Yet  the  fitft  bringcr  of  vnwekome  Newes 
Uasjh  but  a  loofmg  Office :  andhis  Tonguea 
Sounds  cuer  after  as  a  fullen  Bell 
Rcmcmbred,  knolling  a  departing  Friend. 

It.'Bar.  I  cannot  thinkef my  Lord)your  (on is  dead. 

Mor.  I  am  forty,  I  fliould  force  you  to  bclceue 
That,  which  1  would  tjaheaucn,Ihad  not  feenc. 
But  thefc  mine  cyes,faw.him  in  bloody  ftate> 
Rend'ring  faint  quittancc/Lwearied,and  ou  t-breath'd) 
To  Henrie  Monmwth%vi\\Qk  fwift  wrath  b»ate  downc 
The  neuer-daunted  Perrie  to  tjjjc.  earth, 
From  wbence(with  life)he  neuer  more  iprung  ?p, 
I"  &&»  his  death  (whofc  fpirit  lent  a  fire, 
Euen  to  the  dulleftPeazant  in  his  Campe) 
Being  bruited  oncs/tooke  fire  and  heate  ajaajfc 
From  chebeft  temper  a  Courage  in  his  Troopes. 
For  fjoro  his  Mettle,  was  his  Party  fteel'd  ; 
Which  once.inliinjL abated,  all  the  reft 
Turn'd  on  themfelues,  like  dull  ajiclheauy  Lead  i 
And  as  the  Thing,  that's  heauy  in  it/elfc, 
Vponenforcement,flyes_with  grcateft  fpeedc, 
So  did  our  Mcn,heauy  in  H.  ■  pirns  loffe, 
Lend  to  this  weight,  {ucbjightncflc  with  their  Feare, 
That  Arrowes  fled  not Twiftcr  towtarjitheir  ayme, 
Then  did  our  Soldiers  ( ayming  at  their  fafety) 
Fly  from  the  rlsUi*  Then  was  that  Noble  Worceflcr 
Too  fooneta'ne  prifoner :  ani.that  furious  Scot, 
(The  bloody  Eowglai)  whofc  well-labouring  fwor  J 
Had  three  times  flaine  th'appearance  of  the  King, 
Gan  vailehis  ftomackc,  and  did  grace  the  fliame 
Of  thofethat  turn'd  their  bacitex:  and  in  his  flight, 
Stumbling  in  Fcare,was  tookc.  The  furnme  ofall, 
Is,  that  the  King  hath  wonnc :  and  hath  ^ent  out 
A  fpeedy  power,  to  encounter  you  my^Lord, 
Vnder  the  Conduct  of  yong  Lancafter 
And  Weflmerlarid.  TliiSJs  the  Newes  at  full. 

North.  For  this,I  ftiallhaue  time  enough  to  rnoufO£ 
In  Poy fon .there  is.  Phy ficke :  ?ni  this  new* 
(Hauing  beenc  wcll)that  would  haue  made  me  ficke, 
Being  ficjj&haue  in  fome  meafure,madc  me  well- 
And  as  the  Wretcb.whofe  Feaucr-weakned  ioynt^ 
Like  ftrengthleflc  Hindges,bucklc  vnder  liftj 
Impatient  of  hi^Fit,  breakes  like  a  fire 
Out  af his  keepers  armes  :  Euenio,  my  Limbes 
( Weak'ned  with  greefe)  being  now  inrag'dwith  greefej 
Arc  thrice  themfelues.  Hence  therefore  thou  nice  au^h* 
A  fcalie  Gauntlet  nov^with  ioynts  of  Steele    . 
Muft  glouxthishand.  And  hence  thou  fickiy  Quoife^ 
Thou  arta.guard  too  wanton  for  the  head, 
Which  PrinceSjflelh'd  with  Conqueft,ayme  to  bit* 
Now  biode  my  Browcs  with  Iron.and  approach 
The  ragged'ft  hoore,that  Time  and  Spigbt  da?ebiing 
Tofrowne  vpon  thenrag'd  Northumberland. 
Let  Hcaucn  kiflc  Earth :  now  let  not  Natures  hand 
SCeepe  the  w  ildc  Flood  confin'd :  Let  Ordei  dye, 
frnd  let  the  world  no  longer  be  a  ttage 
To  feede  Contention  in  a  lipg'ring  A<51  ;i 
But  let  one  fpirit  of  the  Hrft-borne  C/unt    50S 

g  Rcignr 


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y  6  The  fecondTart  of  J^ingHenry  the  Fourth. 


Reigoe  in  all  bofomes,  that  each  heart  being  fee 

On  bloody  Courfcs,  the  rude  Scene  may  end* 

And  darknelTebe  the  buricr  of  the  dead.  (Flonor. 

LlBar  Sweet  EarIc,dmorce  not  wifedom  from  your 

Mor.  The  Hues  ofall  your  lotting  Complices 
Leane-on  your  health,  the  which  if  you  giuCrO  re 
To  ftormv  PalTion,  rouft  perforce  decay* 
YoiLcafl ithcuen:  ofWartefmv  Noble  Lord) 
And  fumm'd  the  accomptof  Chance,beforeyou  laid 
Let  gs  make  head  :  It  was  your  prefurmize, 
Thftrinfjhe  dole  of  blowes,your  Son  might  drop. 
You  knew  he  walk'd  o're  perils,  on  an  edge 
MorclikelyToiall  i°>  ™en  to  get  o're : 
You  were  aduis'd  his  flefh  was  capeable 
Of  Wounds,  and  Scarres  ;  and  that  his  forward  Spirit 
Would  lift  him,  where  moft  trade  of  danger  rang'd. 
Yet  did  you  fay  go  forth :  and  none  of  this 
(Though  ftrongly  apprehended)  could  reftratna 
The  ftfffc-borne  Action :  What  hath  then  befalne> 
Or  what  hath  this  bold  entcrprize  bring  forth, 
More  then  djit  Being,  which  was  like  to  be  ? 

L.Bar.  We  all  that  are  engaged  to  this  lofle, 
Knew  that  we  ventur'd  on  fuch  dangerous  Seas, 
That  if  we  wrought  out  life,was  ten  to  one : 
And  yet  we  venturd  for  the  gaine  proposed, 
Choak'd  the  refpe&  of  likely  pcrill  fear'd, 
And  fince  we  are  o're-iet,vcnture  againe. 
Come,  we  will  all  put  forth;  Body,and  Goods, 

TWer.'Tis  more  then  time :  And  (my  moft  Noble  Lord) 
I  heare  for  certaine,  and  do  fpeake  the  truth : 
The  gentle  Arch-bifhop  of  Yorke  is  vp 
With  well  appointed  Powres :  he  is  a  man 
Who  with  a  double  Surety  binde'shis  Followers. 
My  Lord  (your  Sonne)had  onely  but  the  Corpei, 
But  fhadowes.andthe  fhewes  of  men  to  fight.. 
For  that  fame  wordfRebdlionl)  did  diuide 
The  a&ion  of  their  bodies,  from  their  foulesr 
And  they  did  fight  with  queafincfle,  conftrain'd 
As  men  drinke  Potions;  that  their  Weapons  only 
Seem'd  on  our  fide :  bu^for  their  Spirits  and  Soules, 
This  word  (RebelIion)7t  had  froze  them  vp, 
As  Fifh  are  in  a  Pond.  But  now  tbeBifhop 
Turnes  Insurrection  to  Religion, 
Suppos'd  fincerc.and  holy  in  his  Thoughts : 
He's  follow'd  botn  with  Body,and  with  Mindc : 
And  doth  enlarge  his  Rifing,  with  the  blood 
OjTaireKing  Richard,  fcrap'd  from  Pomfiet  ilones, 
Deriues  from  heaucn>his  Quatrell.and  his  Caufe  i 
Tels  thcm,he  doth  beftride  a  bleeding  Land, 
Gafping  for  life,  vndcr  gxcax.Btttimgbrookey 
And  rnorc?and  Icffe.do  Bocketo  follow  him. 

jtforih.  I  knewof  this  before-  But  to  fpeake  truth, 
This  prefent  greefe  had  wip'd  it  from  my  ra'mde. 
Go  in  with  me^and  councell  euery  man 
The  apteft  way  for  fafety,  and  reucnge : 
Get  Pofts,and.Letters,anamake  Friend's  with  fptfed, 
Neuer  Co  few,nor  neuer  yet  more  need.  4.48  —    Exeunt. 


Scena  Tenia.   (14)~'u~ 


Enter  Fat  [I  aft, and  Page. 
fVi/.SirtaA'ou  gianr,what  laics  the  Doc7t.ro  my  water? 
Pag.  He  laid  fir,the  water  it  klfewasagood  healthy 
watenbut  for  the  party  that  ow  d  it,he  might  haue  more 
difeafes  then  h*  ^i?w  for. 

Fat.  Men  of  all  forts  take  a  pride  to  gird  at  mee :  the 
498 -(14)  -  S& 


braine  of  this  foolim  compounded  Clay-man,  is  not  able 
jo,  inuent  any  thing  that  tends  to  laughter,  t  more  then  t 
inuenr,orisinuentedonme.  J  am  not  onclft  witty  in  my 
felfe^but  the  caufe  that  witja  in  other  men,  I  doe  heerc 
walkc  before  thee,likfia  Sow,  that  hath  o'rewhelm'd  all 
her  Litter,  but  ojje^  If  the  Prince  put  thee  into  my  Ser- 
uice  for  any  other  reafon,  then  to  fct  mce  off,  why  then! 
haue  no  iudgement.  Thou  horfon  Mandrake,  thou  art 
fitter  to  be  woroe  in  my  cap,  then  to  wait  at  jypjj  heeles.  I 
was  neuer  mann  d  with  an  Agot  till  now ;  but  I  will  fette 
you  neyther  in  Gold,  norSiluer,  but  in  trilde  apparell,and 
fend  you  backe  againe j£  your  Mafter.  for  a  Iewcll.  The 
Tuuenali  (the  Prince  your  Matter)  whofe  Chin  i«  nor  yCt 
fiedg'd,  I  will  fooncr  haue  a  beard  grow.in  the  Palme  of 
1  my  hand,  then  he  (Kail  get oce  on  hischeeke :  yet  he  will 
not  fttcke  to  fay,  his  Face  is  a  Facc-Royall.  Heauen  may 
finifh  it  wn"en  he  will,  it  is  not  a  haire  anjifTc  yet :  he  may 
♦keepeTt  ftill  at  a  Face-Royall ,  for^Barbei  fhall  n-iJer 
earne  fix  pence  out  of  it;  fjaiyet  he  will  be  crowing,  as  if 
he  had  writ  man  euer  fince  his  Father  was  a  Batcbcllou?, 
He  may  keepe  his  owne  Grace,  but  he  is  almoft  out  jj£ 
mine,  I  canaffurehim.  What  faid  Vi.T)ombledon%  about 
the  Sattenfor  my  fhortCloalcc,and  Slops. ? 

Pag.  He  laid  fir  .you  fliould  procure  him  better  AfTu 
rance,then!5W^.'  he  wold  not  take  his  Bond  &  yours* 
he  lik'd  not  the  Security. 

Pal.  Tet  him  bee  damn'd  like  the  Glutton,  may  hii 
Tongue  be  hotter,a  horfon  Achitopbel;  a  Rafcally-yea- 
fprfooth-knaue^Jjcare  a  Gentleman  in  hand,  and  then 
ftand  vpon  Seen!  .  The  horfon  fmooth-pates  doe  now 
weare  nothing  butTiigh  fhoes»  and  bunches  of  Keycs  at 
their  girdles :  and  if  a,man  is  through  with  them  in  ho* 
heS Taking-vp, thenthey muft  ftawd vpon  Securitie 
had  as  liefe  they  would  put  Rats-bane  in  my  mouth,  _. 
offer  to  ftoppe  it  with  Security.  I  look'd  hee  fiiould  haue 
fent  me  two  anTtwenty  yards  of  Satten  (as  I  am  true 
Knight)  and  he  fends  me  Security.  WeH,he  may  fleep  in 
Security,  for  he  hath  the  home  of  Abundance  :  and  the 
lightneffc  of  his  Wifelnines  through  it,  and  yet  cannot 
he  fec.though  he  haue  his  owne  LanthOrnc  to  light  him, 
Where's  'Barfotfel 

Pag.  He's  gone  into  Smithfield  £o  buy  your  worfhip 
a  horfe. 

Fat.  1  bought  him  in  Paules,and  hec'l  buy  mee  a  horfe 
in  Smithfield.  Ifl  could  get  niee  a  wife  in  the  Stewes,  I 
"were  Mann'd.Hors'djand  Wiu'd.'  — 457™ 
Snttr  Chiefe  Itt^ice^ndSeruant. 

Tag.  Sir,  heere  comes  the  Nobleman  that  committed 
the  Prince  for flriking hirr,,about ,'Bardolfe. 

Fat.  Wait  clofe.I  will  not  fee  him. 

Ch.Iufi.  What's  he  that  goes  there? 

Ser.  Fa/Jtajft^ntSTpleik  your  Lordfhip. 

Ifift.  He  that  was  in  queftion  for  the  Robbery  ) 

Ser.  He  my  Lord,but  he  hath  fince  done  good  ferufce 
at  Shrewsbury:  and(a7Tneare}iisnow  going  with  fome 
Cbarge,to  the  Lord  lohnofLancafttr. 

luh.  What  to  Yorkerfcall  him  backe  againe, 

Ser.  Sir  Ioh»  Falftaffe. 

Fat.  Boy,teIl  him.I  am  deafe.    ' 

Pag.  You  muft  fpeake  lowdcrjny  Mafter  is  deafe. 

/«/?»  I  am  fure  hejs^to  the  hearing  of  any  thing  good. 
Go  pluckeJiiniby  the  Elbow,!  muft  fpeake  with  him. 

Ser.  Sir  Iohn. 

iW.  What  fa  yong  knaue  and  beg?Is  there  not  wj£S?l3 

there  not  imp'-oyment.-'Doth  not  the  K.l3ckfi>bjefis?  Do 

pot  the  Rebels  want  Soldiers?Though  it  be  afhamcto  be 

.    Ofc'  on 


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on  any  fide  but  one,  it  is  vvorfe  flume  to  bcgge,;  then  to 
be  on  the  worft  fidc,were  it  worle  therftbe  name  of  Re- 
bellion can  tell  how  to  rna'flkis. 

$er.  YoumiftakemcSir* 

Fd.  Why  fit?  Did  1  fay  you  were  an  honeft  manPSet- 
tlng  my  Knight-hood,"and  my  Souidierlhip  afide,  1  had 
Jyrdin  my  throat,  if  I  had  laid  fo. 

Ser.  I  pray  youT^Sir)  then  fct  your  Knighthood  and 
your  Souldicr-fliip  afidc,  and  giuc  mcc  Jcaoe  to  tell  you, 
you  lye  in  your  throat,  tf  you  (ay  i  am  any  otherthen  an 
honeft  man. 

Fal.  IgjuctheeleauetotcIImcfo?  Hay  a-fide  thai 
which  growes  ro  me?  Ifchou  gec'ft  any  Ieaueofme,hang 
me  :  if  thou  tak'ft  Ieauc,thou  vvcr't  better  be  hanjfd  :you 
Hunt-counter,hence  :  Auant. 

Sir.  Sir,my  Lord  would  fpe&kc  with  you, 

Jh(1.  Sir  lahn  Fatftaffe,*  word  with  you* 

FaUMy  good  Lord:giueyour  LcraThTp  good  time  of 
theday  lam  glad  tofeeyour  Lorcifhip  abroad :  I  heard 
{ay  your  loidfrSipwasficke.  i  hope  your  LordfhTp  goes 
abroad  by  aduife  Your  Lordir.ip  (though  not  clean  paft 
yout  youth)hath  vet  fomc  ^nsck  ot'age  in  you:  fome  r  el- 
lilh  of  the  faltncfle  of  Time,  and  I  rocfi  humbly  befcech 
your  LorduHip.to  haue  a  reuerend  care  of  ynurhealeh. 

hfi.  Skfokn,  TTentyoa  befotcyour Expedition,  to 
Sfucwsburie. 

Fal.  Jfitpleafcyour  Lordfhip,]  hearehis  Male  file  is 
Miurn  d  with  ibmcTIiTcomfort  from  Wales. 

hft.  1  talke  not  oliiis  Maicfty :  yoa  would  not  come 
whenlfentforyo'j? 

Fal.  And  1  hcare  moreouar.hls  Highneflfeis  falne  into 
this  fame  whotfaiAj>oplexie.  (ycu- 

A^.Welljhcauen  mend  him.  T  pray  let  me  fpe->.k  with 

Fal.  This  Apoplexic  isf  as  I  take  it)a  kind  of  Letnarl 
£ic,  a  fleeping  of  the  blood,  a  hoi  fen  Tingling. 

J*JF.  What  tell  y  ou  mc  of  it  r  be  it  as  it  is. 

Fal.  It  hath  korigirtaTl  from  much  greefc;  from  fl-ndy 
indperturbaiion'of the brainc.  ]  hauercad  thecaufc  of 
bis  effects  in  Galtn.  It  is  a  kinde  of  deafened 

/*j?.;jth"inkeyouarc  falne  into  the  dileafc;  Foryeu 
dcare  not  what  I  lay  to  y  ou. 

Fal.  Vety  wcll(my  Lord  )verywell :  rather  gn'tplcafc 
you)  itisthcdifeafeofnotLiftning,  the  malady©?  not 
Marking,  that  1  am  troubled  withall..  ""* 

foil.  Topunifliyoubytheheclcs,  would  amend  the 
Ktentiongfyour  earej,8c  I  care  not  if  I  be  your  Phylitian 

F«l.  lam  as  pooreas  I'o&, my  lordjbuc  not  fo  Patient: 
your  Lord/hip  may  minifler  the  Potion  of  imprifonment 
to  me  jn  rcfpe£l  of  Pouertic :  but  how  Hliould  bee  your 
Paticnt,to  follow  your  prefcriptions,  trie  wife  may  make 
fome  dram  of  a  fcrupIe,or  indeede,afcrupleit  lelfe. 

t*ft.  I  fent  for  you  (when  there  were  matters  againft 
pou  foi  your  life)  to  come  fpeakc  with  me. 

Pal.  As  I  was  then  aduiied  by  my  learned  CounceUn 
ibelawes  of  this  La.nd-feniice,  I  did  not  come. 

/«/?.  Wel^thc  truth  is(fir  M»)you  Hue  in  great  infamy 

Fal.tic  that  buckles  him  in  my  belt,canot  line  in  letic. 

/«/?.Youf  Meanes  is  very  flender,and  your  wa  [Threat. 

Fal.  I  wouldit/were  otherwife :  1  would  my  Meanes 
SJEJgreatcr,  and  my  watte  flenderer. 

tuft.  You  haue  mi  (led  the  youthfull  Prune; 

Val.  The  ypng  Prince  hath  milled  mec.  lamtheFel- 
ow  with  the  great  bcliy,and  he  my  Dogge. 

/w/fiWclljIarolothto  gall  ancw-heald  woundryour 
dales  feruice  at  Shrewsbury,  hath  a  little  gilded ouei 
your  Nights  exploit  on  Gads-hill.   You  may  thanke  the 


vnquiet  time,  for  your  quiet  o 're-polling  that  Action. 

Fal.  My  Lord  j  (Wolfe. 

/«/?.But  linceall  is  wcl.keep  it  fo:  wake  no:  a  llcepiug 

FzL  To  wake  a  Wolfe, is  as  bad  as  to  froelTa  Fox, 

/«.What?you  areas  a  candle,"!r)ebetter  part  burnt  out 

Fal.  A  Waflell-Canaic,  my  Lord;  all  TaiJow  :  if  I  did 
fay  ofwax4my  growth  would  approue  me  truth. 

Iufi*  There  is  not  a  white  haue  on  your  face,  but. (hold 
bane  his  cfredr  of  grauity. 

Fal.  -  His  effecToTgfauy,  grauy,  grauy. 

Inft  You  follow  the  yong  Prince  vp  and  downe,  like 
his  cuil'I  Angelk 

Fal.  Not  fo  (my  Lord)  your  ill 'A^gell  is  light :  but  I 
hopchethatlookes  vpon  mcc, ;  will  take  mce  without; 
weighing:  and  y^e?.:n  fome  refpefts  [grant,!  cannot  go  j 
I  cannot  tell.Vertue  is  of  fo  little  regard  in  thefc  Coftor> 
rnon^crs,that  true  valor  is  turn'd  Beare-heard,  Prcgnan? 
cicismadcaTapfter,  and  hath  his  ciuicke  wit  wolVed  in 
giuing  RccFnings:  all  the  other  gifts  appertinent  to  man 
\as  the  inancc  a  this  Agc'fhapesthcm)  arc  not  woortha 
Goofcberry.  You  that  arc  old ,  confider  not  the  capaci- 
ties of  vs  that  arcyong :  you  mcafcre  tnc  heat  of  our  Li- 
ueTsjwith me binemei ofycur gals:  &  we thatareinthe 
vaward  of  our  youth,I  muft  confcfle,are'wagges  too, 

Itifi.  DoyoufctdownTyout  name  in  the  lcrowleof 
youtn,that  are  written  downc  old,  with  all  the  Charrac- 
tcrs  ofagc?h3ueyou  not  a  mouTcyc  ?  a  dry  handP.3  yel- 
low cheeke?a  white  besidi;  a  decrcafing  leg?  an  increfing 
belly?  3  s  not  your  voice  broken/'yout  winde  fhortPyour 
wit  (ingle?  ancTeuery  part  about  you  blafled  with  Anti- 
quity ?and  wilyou  cal  your  fclfc  yongPFy.fy^y,  fir  Iohh. 
,Fd,  My  Lotd.l  was  borne  with,  a  whire  head,  ec  fom- 
thu?g  ground  bcily.Formy  voice,l  haue  iou  it  withhsl- 
lowingand  finging  of  Ant  hemes.  To  approue  my  youth 
farther  A  will  not:  the  truth  is,  I  am  oneiy  olde  in  iudge- 
ment  and  vnderltandmg:  and  lie  that  will  caper-withmee 
for  a  thoufand  Markes,lei  him  lend  methe  luony,  g^  haue 
at  him.  For  the  boxc  of th'eare  that  tbeTrincc  gaueyou, 
he  gaue  it  like  a  rude  Prince.a'ndyou  tookeit  like  a  fenfr- 
ble  Lord.  TlTaue  check  t  him  tor  it ,  ?-  d  the  yong  1  ion  re* 
pents :  Marry  not  in  allies  and  fad  :-clos:n7TSut  innew 
Silke.atjd-oidSacke, 

Inft.  Wel.heauen  fend  the  Prince  a  better  companion. 

FaI.  Heauen  fend  the  Companion  a  better  Prince  :  1 
cannot  rid  my  hands  of  him* 

lu/fc  WelLthe  King  hath  fcucr'd  you  and  Prince -H«r- 
r/,I  h?*are  ynu  are  going  with  Lord  hhn  of  Lancafter,  a- 
gainft  the  AwrhlTTDbop^and  the  Earle  of  Northumberland 

Fal.  Yes,I  thanke  your  pretty Tweet  witfot  it  ibut 
looke you  pray,  (all  you  that  kifiemy  Ladie  Peace,  at 
home)that  our  Armies  ioyn  not  in  a  hot  day:  for  if  I  take 
but  two  {hirts  out  with  me,and  I  meanc  ngt  to  Fweat  ex- 
traordinarily :  if  itbee  a  hot  day,  if  I  brandilh  any  thing 
but  my  Bottle,  would  I  might  neuer  fpit  white  againe  : 
There  is  not  a  dacngcrous  Action  canpeepc  out  his  head, 
but  lam  thruft  vnonit.  W*H,I  cannot  laft euer. •  .■ 

laft.  Wcllabe  honehVUe  honeft,and  bcauen  bletTeyout 
Expedition. 

Fal.  Will  your Xordftrip  lend  mee  a  thoufand  pound, 
to  furnifh  me  forth  ^ 

/«/?.  Not  a  peny,  nc«  a  peny :  you  are  too  impatient 
to  beare  croltcs .  Fate  you  well.  Commend  mee  to  my 
Corm  Weftmerland.  \ 

-  Fal.  If  I  do.hliop  me  with  a  three-man-BeetJk*  A  TOM 
can  no  more  feparatc  Age  and  Couetoufoefle^thfin  be  can 
part  yong  Umbcs  and  Ictchery :  bLtthe  Gowi'gallcs  |hjr 


577 -(24)  -lh, 


610-(19)-G7i 


jS  ^hefecondTartofK^ingHenrythe  Fourth^ 


onc,and  the  pox  pinches  the  other  ;  and  fo  bothihe  De- 
grees pteue&t  my  curfes.  Boy  ? 

P/tge.  Sir. 

Fal.  What  money  \fm  my  pur  re  ? 

PAge.  Seuen  groats:and twopence. 

Tat,  IcaDgetnoremedy3gainftthis  ConfumptTon  of 
thepurfe.  Borrowing  onely  lingers,!  and  lingers  it  out, 
butthedifeafcisincureablc.  Gobearcthis  letter tomy 
Lord  of  Lancafter.  this  to  the  Prince,  this  to  the  Earlc  of 
WcQmerland,  end  this  to  old  Miftris  Vrfala,  whomc  I 
haue  weekly  fworne to  marry,  fincelpcrceiud  the  firft 
white  haire  on  my  chin.  About  it :  you  know  where  to 
findeme.  ApoxofthisGowtj  or  aGowtofthisPoxe: 
for  the  one  or  th'other  playes  the  rogue  with  my  great 
toe :  It  is  no  matter,  if  I  do  halt,lhaue  the  warres  for  my 
colour,and  my  Peniion  fhall  fceme  the  more  reafonable. 
A  good  wit  will  make  vfe  of  any  thing :  1  will  turne  dif- 
cafes  to  commodity.         1G2  —  Exeunt 


Scena  Quarta. 


Enter  zArchbithop,Hafti»gsi\JMmbrayi  and 
LordHardolft. 
Ar.Thus  hauc  you  heard  our  caufcs.&  kno  our  Means : 
And  my  moft  noble  Friends,  I  pray  you  all 
Speake  plainly  your  opinions  of  our  hopes; 
Andfiift(Lord  MarfluH)what  fay  you  to  it  ? 

Mow.  I  well  allow  the  cccafion  ©four  Artnes, 
But  gladly  would  be  better  (atisfied, 
How  (in  our  Meanest  we  fhould  aduance  our  felues 
Tolooke  withforhead  boW  and  big  enough 
Vpon  the  Power  and  puifance  ofrjjp  King. 

Haft.  Our  prefent  Muftcrs  grow  vpon  thcFile 
To  fiue  and  twenty  thoufand  men  of  choice : 
And  our  Supplies,  liue  .largely  in  the  hope  ■ 
Of  great  Northumberland  ,whofe  bo'lbme  burnes 
With  an  incenfed  Fire  of  Injuries. 
L.Bar.Thc  qucflion  then(Lord  HdttiKgs)i\m&&  thus. 
Whether  out  prefent  fine  and  twenty  thoufand 
May  hold-vp-hcad,without  Northumberland: 

JIaff,'  With  him,we  may. 

ZjfBur.  I  marry  ^here's  the  point: 
But  if  without  him  we  be  thought  to  feeble, 
My  iudgement  is,wc  fJhould  not  ftep  too  farrc 
Till  we  had  his  Afsiftance  by  the  hand. 
For  ina  Thcame  fo  bloody  fac'd,as  this, 
ConiciSlure,  Expe£tation,and  Surmife 
Of  Aydfes  incertaine^fliould  not  be  admitted 

-Arch.  'Tis  very  tiuj  Lord  Tardolfefor indeed 
It  was  yong  Hotfpurres  cafe,  at  Shrewsbury. 

L.Bar.  It was(my  Lord)who  lin'd  himfelfwith  hope. 
Eating  the  ayre,  on  promifc  of  Supply, 
Flatt'ringhimfelfc  withProiecTofa  power, 
Much  fimllcr,  then  the  fmalleftofhis  Thoughts, 
And  fo  with  great  imagination 
(Proffer  to  mad  men")  led  his  Powers  to  death, 
And  (winking)  leap'd  into  deltru&ionv , 
*   Haft.  But  (by .your  Icaue)it  neuer  yet  didh--rT 
To  lay  downe  likely-hoods,and  formes  of  hope. 

L.Bar.  Yes, if.this prefent  quality  of  warre, 
Indeed  the  infant  acTion: a  caufe  on  foot, 
Liues  fo  in  hope :  As  in  an  early  Spring, 
Wc  iceth'appearingbuds,which  to  proue  frulte, 
Hope  giucs  not  fo  much  warrant,  as  Difpaire 
TijatFrofts  will  bite  thcrrt.  When  wemcane  to  build, 
Wpfitft  furucy  the  P16t,thcn  draw  the  Modcll, 


i  And  when  we  fee  the  figure  of  the  home 
/  Then  muft  wc  rate  the  coft  of  the  Erection, 
Which  if  we  finde  out-weighes  Ability, 
What  do  we  then,  but  draw  a-ne w  the  Model! 
In  fewer  offices  i  Or  at  leaft,  defift 
To  buildc  at  all  ?  Much  more,  in  this  great  worke, 
(Which  is  (almoft)  to  plucke  a  Kingdome  downe 
And  fet  another  vp)fhould  we  furuey 
Theplot  of  Situation,and  the  Modell ; 
Confent  vpon  a  furc Foundation : 
Queftion  Surueyors,  know  our  owne  eflate, 
How  able  fuch  a  Worke  to  vndergo, 
To  weigh  againft  his  Oppofite? Or  elfe, 
We  fortih'e  in  Paper,and  in  Figures, 
Vfing  the  Names  of  men,  inftead  of  men : 
Like  one,that  drawes  the  Modell  ofa  houfe 
Beyond  his  power  to  builde  it ;  who(halfe  through) 
Giues  o're,  and  leaues  his  part-created  Coft 
A  naked  fubiedl  to  the  Weeping  Clouds, 
And  wafte,for  churlifh  Winters  tyranny. 

Haft.  Grant  that  our  hopes(yet likely  of  faire  byrth) 
Should  be  ftill-borne .  and  that  we  now  polTcft 
The  vtmoft  man  ofcxpeelation : 
Ithinkc  we  area  Body  ftrong  enough 
(Eben  as  we  are)  to  equal!  with  the  King, 
£.2?,*r.vVhat  is  the  Kingbut  fiue  &  twenty  thoufand? 
Haft.-  To  vs  no  more :  nay  not  fo  much  Lord  Hardslfc 
For  his  diuifions  (as  the  Times  do  braul) 
Ate  in  three  Heads :  one  Power  againft  the  French, 
And  one  3gainft  Glendower:  Perforce  a  third 
Muft  take  vp  vs :  So  is  the  vnfirme  King 
In  three  diuided :  and  his  Coffers  found 
With  hollow  Ppuerty,and  Emptincfle. 
e^r.That  he  fhould  draw  his  fet&rall  ftrengtbi  tegitbej 
And  come  againft  vs  in  full  puiflance 
Need  not  be  dreaded 

Haft.  Ifheilvoulddofo, 
He  leaues  his  backe  vnarm'd,  theFrencn.and  Welch 
Baying  him  at  the  hecles :  neuer  feare  that. 

L,Binr.   Who  is  it  like  fhould  lead  his  Forces  hither. 
Haft.  The  Duke  of  Lancafter,and  Weftmerland : 
Againft  the  Wei  {ft  hi mf elfe,  and  Har/ie  Monmonth. 
But  who  is  fubftitused  'gainft  the  French, 
1  haue  no  certaine  notice. 

tAnh.  Letvson: 
And  publifh  the  occafion  of  our  AXT£.;. 
The  Common-wealth  is  ficke  of  their  owne  Choice^ 
Their  ouer-grecdy  loue  hath  r,ufetied : 
An  habitation  giddy,  and  vnfure 
Hath  he  that  buildeth  on  the  vulgar  heart. 
O  thou  fond  Many,  with  what  loud  applaufe 
Did'ft  thou  beatc  heauen  with  bkfling  'Btttiingbrookfi 
Before  he  was,what  thou  would'ft  haue  him  be  ? 
And  being  now  trimnVd  in  thine  owne  defircs, 
Thou  (beaftly  Feedcr)art  fo  full  of  him, 
That  thou  prouok'ft  thy  felfe  to  caft  him  vp 
So,foj(thou  common  Dogge)  did'ft  thou  difgorgC 
Thy  glutcon-bofomc  of  the  Royall  Richard, 
And  now  thou  would'ft  eate  thy  dead  vomit  vp. 
And  howl  ft^o  finde  it.  What  tmftis  in  thefe  Times? 
They ,that  When  Richard  liu'd,would  haue  him  dye, 
Are  now  become  enamour'd  on  his  grat!<° 
Thou  that  threw'ft  duft  ?p6n  his  goodly  I     ) 
When  through  proud  London  he  camefighingon, 
After  th^dmired  hecles  ofBaRiugbrooke, 
Cri'ft  now,  O  Earth,  yecld  vs  that  King  agine,  j 

And 


±i 


-~tn 


4fii-(^)-n: 


5; 


50 


00 


50 


TbefecondTart  of %jff> Henry  the  Fourth. 


79 


And  rake  thou  this  (O  thoughts  of  men  accurt  'J) 
"J>afttAndto  Comtifeemes  beft\  things  Prefentjeorft. 

Move.  Shall  we  go  draw  ournumbers,andfex.ori? 

Haft.We  artTimes  fubie&s.and  Time  bXcIs,bc  gon*> 


ffimSccundtis.  SccemTrima. 


Jinter Hojhjfe  ,mrb  two  Ojficers.Fangy^and  Snarl 

jKellefft.  Mr.F^,haueyou  entrcd  the A&ion  ? 

Fang-  It  is  enter'd. 

Hoihjfe.  "Whet'i  your  Yeomantls  IU  luffy  yeoman?. 
Will  he  Hand  toil? 
''Tang.  Sirrah,  whzrc  s  Snare  c 

'Hosltfe.  I  J,goodM..$Mre., 

£narer  Heere^nccre.  . 

Fang.Snare^e:  muQ  ArrcflSir  hhtt  Fatfiaft, 

'Heft.  I  good  Nl.S*are,l  hauc  enter  d  hinyandall., 

5».It  may  chance  coft  fome  of  vs  cur  ljucsirve  vvil  ftab 

Hojicjfe^  Alas  thr  day:  take  heed  of  him  :  he  fhbd  me 
in  mine  owne  houfc,  and  that  moft  beaftly^  he  cares  not 
what  mifchrcfe  he  doth,  ifhjs  weapon  be  out._Hce  will 
foynelikeanydiuclhhcwillfpate  ncithcrman,  wornjnj 
norchilJe. 

Fang.  If  I  can  clofe  with  him,!  care  not  for  (us  thrufl. 

Hoftfjfe.  Mo,nor  I  neither ;  1  ic  be  ar  your  elbow 

Fang.  Jflbutfift  himonce:ifhccomcbut_wuhinmv' 
Vice.       .  "  T 

.Hoft.  I  am  vndone  with  his  going:I  warrantee  is  an 
infiBitiucthingvponmyfcore.  Good  M.Eaw^holdhim 
fure:good  M.  Snare  let  him  not  fcape,  he  comes  conrinu- 
acdyto  Py-Corner(fauing  your  manTioods)to  buy  a  fad- 
die,  and  hee  is  indited  to  dinner  to  the  I.ubbars  head  in 
Lomb.-rdftrecr,to  M.Smcotbes  the  Silkm3n.I  pra'ye,(ince 
my~Exion  is  enter'd,and  my  Cafe fo  openly  known  tothe 
wnrld.let  him  be  brought  in  to  his  anfwer:  A  lOO.Marke 
is  along  one,for  a  poore  lene  woman  to  bearc:  &  I  haue 
borne,and  borne,and  borne,  and  hauc  bin  fub'doff.  and 
fub  d-offj  from  this  day  to  that  day,  that  ic  is  aXhamc.to 
be  thought  on.Tnere  is  no  honefty  in  fucb  dealing,  vnlcs 
a  woman  fhould  be  made  an  Affc  and  a  Beaft,  to  beare  e- 
ueiy  Knaues  wrong.  Enter  Falfiafe  and  3ardolfe. 

Yonder  he  comes,  andthatarrant  Malmcfey-Nofe  Bar- 
dolfe  with  himX)o  your  Officcs.doyour  omces:M.F.iw£, 
&  M.Snare}do  me.do  me^do  me  your  Offices. 

F4/.How  now.?whofe  Mare's  dead?  what's  the  matter  ? 

Fang.  Sir/^Iarreftyou,atthcfuitofMift.^V^/r, 

falft.  AwayVarlets.draw^ri?/^  :  Cut  me  oft  the 
Villaineshcad:  throw  theQueane  in  the  Channel. 

#ejP.Throwrneinthechannell?Ile  throw  thee  there.; 
Wilt  thou?wilc  thour'thou  baftardly  rogue.Murder,mur- 
der,Q^thouHony.fuckle  villaine3wilt  tkou  kill  Gods  of* 
r»cers,and  the  Kings?  O  thou  hony-fecd  Rogne,thou  art 
4honyfeed,aMan-queHer,and  a  woroan-queller. 

Falft  Keep  thernoff,o\«'*fc//*'.     Fang.  A  rcfcu,a  refcu, 

Hoft.  Good  people  bring  a  refcu.Thou  wilt  not?thou 
to  Ojwilt  not?  Do,do  thou  Roguc.-Do  thou  Hempfccd 

P*ge.  Away  you  S  cullion,  you  Rampalhan,  you  FuftiJ- 
hrian: Tie  tucke  your  Cataltrophc.         Enter.  Cb.Iuftic*. 

J»ji.  What's  the  matter?  Kccpe  the  Peace  here,  hoa. r 
Hoft.  Good  my  Lord  he  good  to  mcc*  IbefeechyoU 
^.3nd  to  rr.e. 

£Aj*/?.How  now  fir  /<?&»?  What  areyoubrauling  here? 
Doth  this  become  your  place,your  time>snd  buhneflc  ? 
You  fhould  hauc  bene  well  on  your  way  to  Yorke* 
Stand  from  him  Fellow  i  wherefore  hang.'ft  vporthim* 


Lj( 


00 


Heft..  Ohmy  moft  worfhiptull  Lord^andltpleafeyour 
Grace,!  am  a  pooicjwiddow.of  Eaffcheap>and  heis  arre- 
ted at  my  fuit,  Ch.  luftSnr  what:  FumrneT 

Ik/Otis  motetbtn  &r^5me(myJ.ord)itisfora]Itali 
Ihaue,h^hath  eaten  meiDurofhouleandhomeiheehath 
put  all  my  fubftancelntothatfatbelly  ofhis  r  burXwiIl 
haue  (Toms  of  it  out  agalne^^iIwULrideJfrieea'Nighrs, 
like  the  Mare,  L 

Falft,  I  thinkclamaslike-iande rae  Marej  iQhaue 
any  vantage*oTground,toi  gervp. 

Ch:  Itift^JrloYi ^  comes th»s,Sir/^»  i Fy,.whatarnaaof 
good  temrier  would  endure tbi«empeft,ot exclamation  ? 
Are  you  not  afbam'd  to  inforcea  poore*  Widdcwe.  taib 
rough  a  courie.to  comeby  hecowne^ 

Falft. _  Whar  is  the  grofle  furaRe  that  i  owe  thee? 
.Hoft.'  Marry  (if  thou  wet  t ant!%eit  man)thy  felfe^cV 
themonycoo.  Thoudidftfvvcatltomce  vponaparccll 
gilt  Goblet, iuuiig  in  my  Dolphin-chamber  at  the  round 
uble,by  a  fca-colc  fire^on  Wednefday  in  Whklorcvveek. 
when  the  Princebrokc  thy  headfot  Iik'ning  him  to  a(Tn> 
gingman  ofWindfor;Thoa.dldft.(Wearetomethen(asJ 
was  wafhing  thy  wound)tamarry  me.and  make  meamy 
hady  thy  wifes^inftj  deny  it  ?  Did  not-  good  wife  Keech 
the  Butchers  wife  come  in  then,and  cal  me  gcflip^g/^- 
lj}  comming  in  to  borrow  a  mefle  of  Vinegar:  telhngvs, 
(he  had  a  good  dim  of  Prawnes-wbcreby  ^  didft  Jefire"te 
eat  (ome  ^whereby  I  told  thee  they  were  ill  for  a  greene 
wound?  And  didft  not  thou  (wh*nfhewas  gone  downe 
ltaires)dc(ire  me  to  be  no  more  familiar  with  fuch  poore 
pcople,faying.i[iat  ere  long  they  (hould  call  me  Madam? 
And  did'A^notkiffe  me,andlbidmee  fetch  thee  50^  J 
put  thee  now  to  thy  Book-oath.denv  it  \i  ihoucanff^ 

TaIJ  My  Lord^his  is  a  poorcmad  ig^tand  fhe  (ayes 
vp  &  downe  the  town^that  hej^eldcft  foa  is  likeyoukShc 
hath  bin  in  gpod  ca(e.&  the  tram  is,  pouerty  hath  diffra- 
cted her : b,uctor thefc roolifli Officers,  I befecch you^  1 
may  ba.u£  redrcfle  againft  them. 

'Iuft.  Sir  IobnSxrlchn.1  am  well  acquainted  with  your 
maner  of  wrenching  the  true  caufe,the  falfc  way.lc  is  not 
a  confident  brow,  nor  the  throDg  of  wordes,,  that  come 
with  fuch  (more  then  impudent)fawcines  from  jt^u,  can 
thruff  me  from  a  leuell  confidcration,!  know  tyou  ha'pra- 
Cti/d  vpon  the  cafie-yeelding  fpiritof  this  woman, 
w    Hoft..  Yp  in  troth  rny  Lord  - 

Iuft.  Prethec  peace:pay  her  the-4gbj; ;you  owe  her,  and 
vnpay  the  villany  you  haue  doj\e  her:th'e  one  you  may  do 
with  rtarling  mony,&,the  other  with  currant  repentance5. 

Fal.  My  Lor^l,  I  will  nor  mdergo  this  fneape  without 
reply  You  call  honorable  Boldnes,impudcntSawcinefle 
If  a  man  wil  curt'fie,and  fay  nothing,he  is  vertuous :  Nci 
my  Lord(your  humble  duty  remcbred)I  wiIInotb«X£»JI 
futor.I  fay  to  you,I  defire  deliu'ranc-  from  theCc  Officer* 
being  vpon  hafty  employment  in  the  Kings  Affaires- 

luft.  YQufpeakc,ashauingpowertodowrongj  But 
anfwer  \\\  the  effect  of*  youc  Reputation,  and  fatisne^he 
poore  womaii* 

Falft.  Come  hither  Hoffefle.  Suter  7H.V»wor 

Ch.iHf},  Now  Mafter  Gower;  What  newes  ? 

Gov, .The  King(my  Lord)  and  Henrie  Prince  of  Wales 
Are  neere  at  hand;  TJji reft  the  Paper  icllcJ. 

lalfl.  As  I  am  a  Gentleman^ 

Hoft.  Nay,you  faid  fo  before. 

Fal.  As  I  am  aGcntleman.Cam£»rio  more  wordiefit 

Hoft.  By  this  Heauenly  ground  I  tread  on,  1  muff  be 
faine  to  pawncbothmy  Plate,and  tncTapiftry  ofmydy- 
nine  Chambers. 

r  Ftp 


518-C8)  — 7/j. 


598-(29)-4A. 


go 


he  fecondTart  o0gng  Henry  the  Fourth. 


';  Fat.  Glattes,glafles,  isthe  onelydrioking  ;  and  for 
thy  walks  a pretcy flight  Drollery,  ortnc  Srorie  ofth^ 
Prodjgall,  or'thc  Germane  hunting  in  W aterworke,-i$ 
worinathouland  ofthefe  Bed-hangings,  and  thefe  Fly- 
bitten TapHSnes.  Lee  it be tenne  pound  (ifthoucanft.) 
Come,  if  k  wejtt  not  for  tny  hurnors,  there  is  not  a  better 
Wench  in  England.  Go.wafhthy  face,  and  draw  thy 
A&ion:  Come,'  thou  muftnotbee  in  this  humour  with 
me,  come,  I  knowihou  was-t  feUoii  tothis. 

Hofl.  Pjetbec  (SirXfcwjkt  it  be  but  twenty  Nobles, 
I  loath  to  pawne  my  Platcin  good  eameft  la. 

'&/.'  Letit  alohe;  He  make^therflrift  -;yoa'l  bra  fool 
Ml  . 

If  oft.  Well,  you  fhall  haue  if  although  I  frawnemy 
Gowne.  Ihope  you'l  come  to  Supper;  You'l  pay  me  al- 
together? 

F*/,iWiUIliue:'Gowthfar,withher  :  hooke.on, 
hooke-on. 

Hoft*  Willyou  haucDogTVtfrg-^/mectyoiratfup- 

$tr?\     - 

F4//N0  more  words.  Let's  haueher. 

£$./##. '^hauc  heard  bitter  ncwes. 

¥d  •  What's  the newes  (my  good  Lord?) 

£hjn.\  Whetelay  theKtng  laft  night  ? 

Mef.  At  Bafingftoke  my  Lord. 

TEah  I  hope  (my  Lord  jai^'a  weU.r'  What  lithe  toewes » 
my  Lord? 

CbJ*ftJ  Corns  all  his. Forces  backe? 

Mef'  No-  FiftecncliundredFootjfiuernnjctrecTHojfe 
Ate  marched  vp  to  my  Lord  of  Lancaster, 
Againft  Notthumbcrland.an"d  the  Archbifhu  p, 

■fid  I  Comes  thc.King  bactcefrom  Wales;my  noble  L? 
•   XkJitft.  '•  You  (hall  haue  Lcttcr^of m-eprefcntly « 
Come.go-along  with.  meJ(«cod  M.  Gomt. 

pal.  My  Lord. 

CbJuft*  -What's  tig  matter? 

Pal. :  Mailer  Gomef,  {ball  i  cntreate  you  with  mec  to 
dinner? 

Gow?  I  tnuft  waite  vpon  my  good  Lord  heere. 
jUhartkeyou,good  S\rleh». 

Ch.Iafi;  Sir /^vyouloyterbfieie  too  long  beingyou 
are  to  take  Souldi.cts  yp,  ia  Countries  as  you  go. 

pal.'-  Will  you  fup  with  mc^s^Si  Gowrei 
iChJttft.  What  foohfh  Maftet  taught  you  thefe-.inan- 
ner.Sj  S\t  Tobn? 

FaL  Matter  Gower\  if  they  become  meenot,.heewa^a 
Foolethat  taught  them  mee .  This  is  the  right  Fencing 
grace  (my  Lord)  tap  for  tap,and  fo  part  faire. 

^Chjttfi:  NowiL.ctd  lighten  thee,  thou  aft  a  great 
EobleT  x  Exeunt 

-338-(ia)-5^ 


Scena.Secunda. 


Enter Pmce'Hem,  PoMz,t  ftftlolfc, 
and  P Age, 
^fo.s2jru(tQifi;Iam  exceeding  weary. 
%&#*  Isitcometothat?Xhad  thought  wearlnesdurit 
notb^ueatrach'd  one  of  fa  high  blood. 

y^ag^tfdotnfne:<(houghltdifcolotirs  the  complexion 
cFrttji<5reaiBeffe;toaclaiowledgeit .    Doth  it  not'fliew 
VilcTelf  imtwytc^defire  fmall  Beere  ? 
;  Jftsiiu  Why^PjiaB&ouldnotbefoloofely  fiudicd, 


3«.)6 


(12)      5ft 


as  to  rememberftyweake  aCompofition. 

Prince*  Belikethen,  my  Appetite  was  hot  Princely 
got?  for  (in  troth)  I  do  now  remember  the poore  Crcai 
ture,  Small  Beere.  But  indeede  thefe  humble  tonfidera- 
"ijon^makc  meoutoflouewithn.yGreatnefle.  Whata 
diigrace  is  it  to  me,  to  remember  thy  name  ?  Or  to  kno  w 
thy.face  to  morrow  ?Orto  tike  note  how^Tny  pairec 
Silk  ftockings  ^  baft?  (Viz.thefe,and  thofe  that-wcre  thy 
peach-coloupd  ones:)  Orjpbeare  the  Inuentorieof  thy 
fhirts,.as  one  for  fupcrflnity,  and  oneotberifj^rvfe.  But 
that  the  Tennis-Court-keepcr  knowes  better  thenl,  for 
it  is  a  low  ebbc  of  Linnen:  w  jth  thee,  when  thou  kcpt'ft 
notHacket  there,  as  thou  haft  not  done  a  great  while,bcv 
caufe  the  r^jft  of  thyLow  Countries;haue  made  a  fhift  to 
eate^p  thy  Holland. 

Poin.  How  ill  it  followes,  after  you  haue  labour'd  fQ 
hard,you  fhould  talkc  fo  idlely?Te!l  mrhow  many  good 
yong  Piinces  would  do  fo,  their  Fathers  lying  fo  fickc:  as 
yours  is? 

JPrw.  Shall  I  tell  tji^e  one  thing,  point*  ? 

Poin.  Yes :  and  let  it  be  an  excellent  good  thing. 

Prin.  It  ihaltferue  among  wittes  of  no  higher  breej 
ing  then  thine. 

toin.  Go  to ;  I  ftand  thepufl^.  ojyouronc  thing,  that 
you'l  tell. 

,Prin.  Why,  I  tell  tfae.lt  Is  not  meet,  that  1  fiiould  be 
fad  ujay  my  Father -is  ficke:-albeit  I  could  tell  to  rhee(at 
to  one  it  plcafes  me.for  fault  pt  abetter,to  call  my  friend) 
J  could  be  fa<f,artd.£ad  indeed  too*     ^ 

Poini  :-<  Very  hardlv  voon  filch  afubTe£r. 
Prin7<  Thtfu*ink^n?e  as'farre.nj ;thcDiuefs  Booke,  as 
•  thousand F^^-fbr-obctaracicanifperffftencie.  Let  the 
end  try  the  man;.-  But  Ite^l  thee,  my  hart'bleeds  inward, 
ly,  that  my  Fache/ is  jg  ilekeiihd I  keeping  fuch  vild  com- 
pany as  thou  art  jljatji  in  rcafon  taken  from  me,  aH'often- 
tat'on  of  foyrow. 

Poin?  The  reafon? 

T'r/w.Wha&W'OuTd'lt  thoutriinlcofme.ifnhold  weep? 

Potn.  I  wou*d  thinke  thee  a  moft  Princely  hypocrite. 

Ptin..  if  would  be  cuery  mans  thought  :*  and  thou  art 
a  blefied  FelloWito  thinke  as  cuery  man  thinkes  rneuer  a 
Bjajis  thought-ill the-w.ojld,keepes  the  Rodc-way  better 
then  tjiinjc :  euery  man  would  thinke  me  an  Hypocriteis- 
dee'ffe.7  And  ^hjt  accitesyour  moft  worftnpful  thoughlf 
to  thinke  fo? 

Poin?Why, }&££%&  you  haue beeneibTewde,  and  & 
much  ingraflFed  to  Falfttffe* 

Prin.  And  to  thee. 

Teintx,.  Nay,  I  am  welffpolccn  ft£  I  can  heare  it  with 
mine  owneeares:thevS£flifl  that  they  can  fay  ofmeiSjthat 
lamaiecond  Brother,  and  that  I  am  a  proper  FfHnw,e  of 
my  handsr  rand  thofe  two  things  I  confeflcj^canoc  helpe. 
Looke,looke,hcre  comes  Tardolfe. 

Prince:* And theBoy thatl gaue Falfiafe,  he nadhim 
from  me  ^bjjiJian^and  fee  it  thefat  villain  hauenot  trans, 
form'dhjjpji&pc, 

Enter  Bardo/fe. 

'Bar,  Saue  your  Grace* 

Prin,  Attdyours^oft Noble  llArAolfe* 

Poin.  jCafljcyoupernitiausAflre,youbafiifulI  Foolei 
muft  you  bcblufliing?  Wherefore  blulh  you  nowf  what 
a  Maidenly  man  at^JUXUtf  are  you  become  ?  Is  it  futh* 
matter:  to  gjgt  apottle-pots  Maiden-head  ? 

Page.  He  callM  me  euen  now  (my  Lord)througl\ared 
Latcice;andl  could  difcemenopart  of  bis  face  from  the" 

window- 

52?-(28)-G/i 


5< 


li 


i; 


10 


TbefecondTart  ofE^ngHenrythe  Fourth. 


Si 


.10 


00 


.10 


window :  a:  laft  I  fpy'd  his  eyes,  and  mer'koughchc  had? 
made  two  bolgsjn  the  Aic-  vviucs  new  Petticoat,  &  pec-- 
ped  through, 

Prtn.  Hath  no:  the  boy  profited  ? 
2for,  Away,you  horfon  ypright  Rabbct,away 
Page-  A  way,ycu  rafcally  jilt  heat dreame.away. 
Prim  Inttruct  va  Boy  t  what  dreame,  Boy  f" " 
page.  Marry.(my.  Lozdl^thhea  dream  d,  Hie  was  de- 
tiuer'doiaF  irebrand,and  therefore  I  call  hininV  dream, 

Urince*  AcrCrownes-worcrfofgojisd  Interpretation  • 
There  it  is.  Boy. 

Torn.  O  that  this  good  Blcflofne  could  bee"  kept  from 
Cankers:  WeUsehcrc  ufixperfcetoprefci'.uethee.  "" 

'Bard.  Iftyou  do  not  make lumb«  hingM^mon*  yoa> 
chegallowcs  (hall  be  wrong'd. 
'""prince.   And  how  doth  thy  Matter,  Bardolpb  ? 

'*Bar.  Well,my  good  Lord :  he  heard  of  your  Gr:crt 
ctorningtoTawoe.  There's  a  Letter  for  you. 

•  P«».  L)eHucr*d  with  good  rcfpccl:  And  how  doth  ihe  . 
Martlemas^your  Matter? 
fBard*  In  bodily  health  Sir. 

Pain.  !  Marry,  the  immorrail  paYt  neectes  a  PbynYian.* 
birtthatmouesnat  him :  though  that  bee  fkke,  it  dyes 
nor. 

[Prince/- I'do allowthte Wen \o bee  as. familiar  with 
rae.as  my  dogge':  andhe  holds  his  place,  :1olfooke  you 
he  writes.' 

Pettt.Letter.  John  Fafftaffe  Knight :  (Euery  man f  mutt 
know  that,as-  oft  .as"  beeihath  occaliontonamcMmfelfe:) 
Euert  like  thofc  thai;  arekinneto  the  King;  for  thcyncuer 
pricketneir  finger, but  they  fay,there  is  lorn  of  the  kings 
blood  fpilt.  How  comes  that  ( fayes  he)  that  takes  vpoti 
him  not  to  concei'ie  ?  the  anfwer  is  as  ready  ajj  a  borvow- 
e3  cap :  I  am  the  Kings  pooie  Cofin,Sir. 

■Prince.  Nay,  they  will  be  kiu  to  vsjtjii*  thevwil  fetch 
ittYorn Faphst.y  Buttw  the  Letter:  i  ~— Sir  John  Falftaffit. 
Knight- to  the  Sonne  of  the  King;  necreflhU  Father,  Harrii 
Prince  of  [Tales, greeting;'  s 

'pfm.  Why  this !s£ Certificate. 
fPrin.  Peace. 
fpftH  imitate  the  honourable  Romainesin  heHitie< 

$oi»,  Sure  he  meanc*  breuity  in  breath:fhort-Wmded. 
I  commend  %g  to  thes^  I  commend  thee. and  I  leme  thee. ,  Ee£ 
not  too  familiar  with  Pointz,  for  hecmijitfestbj  Fauottrsfo 
mcht  ihathefweares  thou  art  to  marrtcf^  Sijler  Nell,  Re* 
fetit  at  idle  times  as  than vr^ayjl^^fo  farewell. 

Tbinejbyjea  andno ;  which  is;  as  much  as  to  fay,  as  thoti 
vfefi  him.  \  Iacke  PaTftafrc  m'th.  my  Familiars.1 
lohn  with  mj-^ret  hers  andSifter-jtrSir-. 
Iohn,  with  all  Etswpe. 
My  Lord,  I  will'  ftcepethis  Letter  in  Sack,  and  make  htm 
eajeit.  ~ 

Pfin,  ThatVto  make  him  eate  twenty  of  his  Words. 
But  do  you  vie  me  thus  Med.}  Muft  I  marrvvour  Sifter? 

/Pd/»J  M3y  the  Wench  haue  no  worle  Fortune..  Bjjrl 
Mtterfgidfo., 

JPiimSW.<t%  thus  we  play  theFooIes  with  the  time  & 
^efpirits-ofthe wife^intheclouds.andmocke  ys  S  Is 
ybttrMafterheerein  London  t 
~yBarcL  Yes  my  Lcrd. 
_  /V«r,  Where  fuppesh'e?  Doth  the  old  Sore,  feedeln 
•theoldFranke?, 

'Bard.hi  the  ©Jo*  place  my  Lord,  in  Eatt-cheape. 
Tritt.  What  Company? 
Page.  Ephcfiansmy  Lord.oftheold  Church. 
Prtn.  Sup  any  women  with  him  ? 


Fag&.  NonemyLord,bm  oldMiftris  i^w^andM 
DolTeare-fkeet: 
mmmPrin.  What  Pagan  may  that  be  ? 

Page'  A  proper,GentIewoman,Sir,  and  aKinfwoman 
of  my  Matters. 

firhh  Euen  fuch  Kin,  as  the  Parifii  Hcyfors  are  to  the 
Towne-Bull  ? 
Shall  we  fteaic  vpon  them  (Ned)  atSupper? 

.Poiiu  \  am  your  rhadow,my  Lord,  He  follow  you. 

Prtn.'  Sirrah,you  boy,  and  Twdolph,  no  word  to  vour 
Matter  that  I  amyet  in  Towne. 
There^  for  your  filence. 

Baft  1  baue  no  tonguc,lir. 

Page,  And  for  mine  Sir, I  will  gouerne  it. 

Prin.  FareyTwellrgo, 
This  VoJlTeare  fheet fliouTditt fome Rode. 

Poin.  I  warrant  yousas  common  as  the  way  between! 
S^Alhans,and  London* 

Prtn.  How  might  we  fee  Faljlajfe  beftow.  himfelfe  to 
night, "n  his  true  colours,and  not  cur  felues  befeenej' 

P~Aa  Put  ontwo  Leather  lerldns,  and  Aprons,- and 
wa  cevponnimzt  his Tabie,hke Drawers.  . 

Pritt.  Ffom  a  God,  to^  Bui!?  A  heaure^decten/ion :  It 
wasloues  cafe.  From  a_Prince,toa  Prcncicc,iioWtran£. 
formation,  that  Giall  be  mine:  for  ineucry  th»ng,'thepur- 
pofc  muftweigh  with  the  foUy.  Follow  me  Aftihl!  Exeunt 

"""l85    (n     3fe        


100 


150 


Scena  Tenia. 


"Enter  KarthumherlandhisLadie^ndHarrie 
PercieiLadte. 

TJarth.  I  prethec  louing  Wife, jncj  gentle  Daughter, 
Giuc  an  euen  way  vnto  my  rough  Affaires:; 
Put  net  you  on  the  Vif3ge«f  the  Times, 
And  be  like  tbemtoPercie,'troublefome* 

Wife.  1  haue  giuen  puer;  I  will  fpeak  noTtrore, 
Do  what  you  will  :vour  Wiledome,  be  your  guide, 

Marth,  Afas (fwcet  WJfc)myHoaor is  atpawne. 
And  t^ut  my  going,  nothing  can  redecmeit,^ 

La.  Oh  yetjfor  hcauens  fake.go  not  to  thefe  Warrs  j 
TheTime  was(Father)  when  you  brokcyour  wordA 
When  you  were  more  endeer'd  to  itjthennow, ; 
\Vhenyourowne  Percy  j^jhj^  my  heart-decre-7/4?7/^ 
Threw  many  a  Northward  lookejto  fee  hj^Fathcr: 
Bring  vp  his  Powres  r  bucrre'didlongjo  vaine,. 
Who  then  perfw^aded  you  to  ftay  at  home? 
There  were  t Wo  Honors  lott;  Yours, and  yourSonnef* 
For  Yours, may heaucnlyalofy brightest : 
For  His,  it  Aucke  jrvojiiitni,3Sthe  Sonne 
Iuthe  ptav  VGutfof  He3uen  :and  by hisLight 
Did  all  the  Cheualrie  of  Ejj^Ja^d  moue 
.To  do  braue  A cts.  He  was  (indeed)the Glafle 
WhereintheNobre^Youth  did  dreffe  themffcSues, 
He  had  no  Legges,  jhjrpraclic'dnothis  Gate:"      ^    , 
'And  fpeaking  thicke  Cwhicb  Nature  madehis  blernifh) 
Rcramgthc  Accents  of  the  Valiant". 
For  thofethar  could  fpeake  low  jfld  tardily, 
Would  turne  their  ownePerfcdtion.toAbufe, 
Tn  feeme  tike  him.  So  that  in  Speech,inGatc, 
In  Diet^  in  Affections  of  delight, 
In  Militarie  Rules-  Humors.of  BJaojL, 

23o-(9)-3^.  _5c 


1/i 


\h 

(1) 
50 


200 


(2) 

250 

(1) 

2h 


300 


350 

(1) 
l/i 

(5) 


400 


480  -yd)  -Ih . 


420-UOj-OTi. 


lh  (3) 

U 
50| 


1/ 


[4)101 


150 


!0( 


82 ThefecondTart  ofKjn^  Henry  the  FowtL 


250 

lh 
lh 


He  vrat  the  Marke,andGl*u>,  Coppy^and  Book*. 
That  faflnon'd  otheri..  And  him,  O  wondrous!  hitrij 
Ottiraclc  of  Men  L  Him  did  you  Ieaue 
(Second  t0ddne)  yrr-feeonded  by  you, 
To lookcypon  the  hideous  God  of  Warre, 
In  dif.a3uaQtage,co  abide  a  field, 
Where  nothing  but  tfietound  ofHotjpurs  Name 
Did  fceine  defeofiblc ;  fo you left  him* 
Neuer,0 ntuer  doe  his  Ghoft  the  wrong, 
To  hold  ycTGTHonor  more  prccifc 8nd  nice 
With  others,then  witblnm.  Let  them  alone ; 
The  Marfhall  and  the  Arch-biflbop  areltrong. 
Had  my  fweet  Harry  had  but  halfc  their  Number*, 
To  day  might  I  (hanging  on  Hotftmrs  Nccke) 
Haue  talk"3  of  tJMotwioath  *G.raue. 

Worth*  Belhrcwyout  heart, 
(Faire  Daughter)  you  doc  draw  my  Spirits  from  mc, 
With  new  lamenting  ancient  Ouer.fights. 
But  I  rauft  goe,an  d  meet  with  Danger  there. 
Or  it  will  fceke  me  in  another  place, 
And  finde  me  worfe  prouided. 

WifeTXi  fiye  to  Scotland, 
Till  that  theNobles.and  the  armed  Commons, 
Haue  of  tKetr  Puiffancc  made  a  littletafte. 

Lady*  If  they  get  grouhd.and  vantage  of  the  King, 
Then  ioyne  y on  with  them,  like  a  Ribbc  ofS  teele, 
To  make  Strength  ftrongcr.  Bucfor  alfour  loucs, 
Firft  let  them  trye.tnemfelues.  So  did  your  Sonne, 
He  was  fo  fuffer'd ;  fo  came  I  a  Widow  ; 
Andneuer  (hall  haue  length  of  Life  enough, 
TBfSine  vpon  Remembrance  with  mine  Eyes, 
That  it  maf fFow^and  fprowt,as  high  as  Hcauen, 
For  Recordation  to  my  NoBTe  Husband. 

i\7i)«6.Come,come,go  in  with  mci'tis  with  my  Minde 
As  with  theTydc/well'dvp  vnto  his  height, 
That  makes  a  ftill-ftand,running  neythcr  way. 
FSTffie  would  I  ffoeto  meet  the  A.rch-biu»op1 
But  many  thoufand  Reafons  hold  me  backe. 
Twill  refoluc  for  Scotland:  there  ami, 
TillTime  and  Vantage  crauc  my  company, 

Selena  Ouarta. 


.h  300 

lh 

lh 
LA  35C 


lh 
400 


JLxshw. 


Enter  tmDr avers, 

1,  ffrasnt.  What  haft  thou  brought  there?  Apple. 
lohns  ?  Thou  know  'ft  Sir  Iohn calitiot  craJurc  an  Applc- 
Tohn . 

iiDraw.  Thou  fay'ft  crus :  the  Prince  once  feraDifh 
of  Apple.Iohns  before  him,  and  told  him  there  were  fine 
more  Sir Johns':  and,puttingoff  hi*H«,faid,I  will  now 
cake  my  leaue of  thefe  frxe  drie,  round,  old-wither'd 
Knights.  It  angerM  him  to  the  heart :  but  hee  nl^fof- 
gotthat. 

xYDr<#»\  Why  then  couev* and  fct  theiu  downc :  an£ 
fe?  if  thrmicanft  finde  out  Sneakes  Noy fc ;  Miftris  Tearc?_ 
Jheavroul&fomc  haue  feme  Mufique. 
"T;Z)r^Hf.  Sirrhajheerewill  be  the  Prince,  and  Maftcr 
2>W«rx,anom  and  they  will  put  on  two  of  our  lerkins, 
and  Aprouu,  and  Sir  lohn  muft  not  know  of  it :  JBardotpb 
ha:h  brought  word, 

I .  Draw.  Then  here  will  be  old  Vtu  : .  itwill  bearrex- 
eellem.  ftratagem,; 


% .  Draw,  lie  fee  if  I  can  finde  out  Sheakg*      Exit. 

, S»xtrHofiep>  and  T)ol% 

1 

Heft.  Sweer-hean,  me  thinkes  now  you  are  in  an  ex- 
cellent good  temperalitre :  your  Pulfidge  beates  as  ex- 
traordinan^as  heart  woultftSSfire  5  and  your  Colouf 
(Iwarrantyou)  is  as  red  as  anyRofc :  But  you  haue, 
drankc  too  much  Canaries,  and  that's  a  maruellous  feat* 
ching  Wine ;  and  r  perfumes  the  blood,  ere  wee  can  fay 
;what*«  rhlsTHow  doe  you  now  > 
""TftCBtHm  then  I  wa » :  Hem. 

fToft.  Why  that  was  welffaia :  A  good  heart  5  worth 
Gold.  Lookc,hcrc  comes  Sir  hhn. 

EntirFaljlaffe. 

'  Talf}.  When  Arthur  pr^  tn  Oarr— (emptie  the  Jordan) 
andwM  a  worthy  King :  How  nowMiftris  Doll 

R6s~i>  SickofaCalme:yea.good-footh. 

F«M.  SSTs  all  her  Seel:  if  they  be  once  in  a  Calcic, 
they  are  fick, 

Dal.  Tou  muddie  Rafcall,ls  that  all  the  comfort  yat» 
giue  me  ? 

Talft,  You  make  fat  RafcaJIs.Miftris  rDol: 

DoL  I  make  them  ?  Gluttonie  and. Diieafes  make 
them,  I  make  thetflllcTr. 

Falft.  I*  the  Cooke  make  the  Gluttonieiyouhelpe  to 
make  fhc  Dlfcafes  (7>el)  we  catch  of  you  (Dd)  we  catch 
of  you*:  Grant  that. my  poore  Vertue,  grant  that* 

!7><?/.  I  mafry.our  Chaynes^nd  Our  lewelsfc 

Falft.  Your  BrooehFs, %.ea"rles,  and  O wches  1  For  tO 
lerue  braucly,is  to  come  hahing  off:  you  know,to  come 
off  the  Breach,with  his  Pike  bent  brauely,  and  toSiirge- 
rie  brauely  ;  to  venture  vpon  the  charg*iI-Cha"mber$ 
braucly. 

Ho/r.  Why  this  is  the  olde  fathion :  you  two  neuer 
mecte,butyou  fall  to  fomc  difcord :  you  are  both  (in 
good  trotF)  as  Rhcumatikc  as  two  drie  Tories,  you  can- 
not one  bcate  with'^andthcrs  Confirmities.  What  tht 
good-yere  ?  One  mufiBearc7and  that  muft  bee  you 
you  are  the  weaker  Veffelj  •  as  they  lay,  the  emptier 
Veffell,  ■  , 

Do!.  Canaweake  emptieVefiVlI  bcare  fuch  a  huge 
full  Hogs-head  ?  There's  a  whole  Marchants  Venture 
of  Buideuv-Scuffeinhims  you  haue  not  fccneaHul!ce 
Better  ftufft  in  the  Hold.  Come,  He  be  friends  with  thee 
faat>f: ^  Thou  art  going  to  theWarres,  and  whether  I 
{hall  euer  fee  thee  againc ,  or  no,  there  is  no  body 
cares. 

£nter7)rawer. 

Drawer,  Sir,  Ancient  fiftoU  is  below,  and  would 
(peake  with  you. 

\Dot.  Hang  him,  fwaggering  Rafcall ,  let  him  net 
come  hither :  it  is  the  foule-mouth'dft  Rogue  in  Eng- 
land. 

Hoftt  If  hec  fwagger,  let  him  not  come  here :  1  mtfft 
liue amonglt  tfiy  Neighbors, He  no  Swaggerers;  I  am 
in  good  nafie,and  fame*  with  the  very  belt :  (hut  the 
doore,  there  comes  no  Swaggerers  heere  :  I  haue  not 
hu'd  all  this* while,  to  haue  iwaggcring  now :  ihut  th* 
doore,  I  pray  you, 

halsl.  Do'fl  thou  heare,Ho(TeiTe  ? 
,     ,/J*j?.'Pray  you  pacifie  yourfclfe(Sir  2oh»)thctc  romes 
no  Swaggerers  hecrc, 

b&  TalflVo'* 


(0)  -llh 


425  -  (13)  -  7h 


TheJecondcPartofl\w!g  Henry  the  Fourth, 


% 


Ftlfi.  D  o'ft  tho  u  hear e?  ic  is  mine  Ancient, 

Hoft .  Tilly-falty(Sir  M^neuerjejl  me,  your  ancient 
Swaggerer  comes  noc  in  my  dooresjl  was  before  Maftcr 
Tiftck,  the  neputie,  the  other  day ;  and  as  hec  faid  to  me3 
it  was  no  longer  a<;oe  then  Wednefday  laft :  Neighbour 
jjguicklj  (fayes  rice-)  Msfter  jDombeyo\K  Minifter^wa^  by 
then :  Neighbour  ®*ickly  (fayes  hee )  receiue  thole  that 
areCiuill;  forffaytrt  hee)  you  are  in  an  illNamc :  now 
hce  faidipj  can  tell  whereupon :  for(fayes  hee}  you  arc 
i*  honcft  Woman,  and  well  thought  on  5  therefore  take 
heede  whatSucClsj^u  receiue:  Receiue  (fayes  hee)  no 
daggering  Compsmons.Thcre  comes  noneheere,  XsiP 
would  blefie  you  to  hearc.  what  hee  faid.  No^  i\e  no 
Swaggerers, 

Falft.  Hee's  no  Swaggerer(Ho{tefie:)a  tame  Cheater, 
hee:  you  may  Broakc  l.ii;i  as  gently,  as  a  Puppie  Grey- 
hound :,-hee  will  not  lwaggW-WttrfftBatbgric  Hcnne,  if 
ber  feathers  turns  backs  Uttsuyjhcm  of  Ecfiftancc.  Call 
him  vp  (Drawer.} 

Hoft.  Cheater,  call  you  him  ?  I  will  barre  no  honeft 
man  my  houfe>uor  no  (theater :  out  I  doe  noifoue  fwag- 
gering ;  I  amibc  worfewhertonc  fayes,  fwaggcr :  Feele 
MaficrSjhow  I  fiiake:  looke-yau,I  warrant  you. 

Dol.  £0  you  doe,Hofteflc. 
•  Haft.  Doe  I  ?  y  ea,in  very  troth  doe  I,if  k  were  an  A  - 

pcnLeafe  :  T  cartnnr  sh^eSwfl-pgererg. 

£n:er  PiftoljmcL  Tfarda/pb  andhii  Boy, 

Tift.  'Saue you, Sir lohHi 

Falft,  Welcome hads^Piftol.  Hzre(PJJ?oQlchkrgc 
you  with  a  Cup  of  Sackes  doc  you  difchar^c  vpon  mine 
Hofteffe. 

Pift.  1  will  difchargevpon  bet  (Sir  /*£»)  with  two 
Bullets. 

Fatft.  She  If  PiaoII-ptoofc^SiO  y°"  fnall  hardly  of- 
fend her. 

Hoft  Game:  Iie-drinke  no  Ptoofes,nor  no  Bullets :  J 
willdiiake  no  more  then  will  doe  me  good,  for  no  jjQafls 
pleafurc,  I. 

Pift.  Then  to  you  (Miftris  Dorothie)  Iwili  charge 
you, 

Del.  CJjaxggme?  Ilcorhe  you  (fcuruie  Companion} 
what  ?you  poore;  bafe.  rafcallv.  cheating.  lacke-Linnen- 
Mate:  awayyoumouldicRoguejawayi  iammeatiflr 
yourMafter* 

Pift.  Iknowyou,MiftrisZ)«rtfrfaA 

T>oL  Away  you  rur.pnrfr  Rafc3ll,  you  filthy  Bung, 
•way :  By  this  Wiueylle  tjjjjtfjtmy  Knife  m  your mouldic 
Chappes,if  you  play  the  fawcieCuttle  with  me.  Away 
youBoulc-AleRafcall..youfiaikfifaittItfl3leIug/er,you. 
Since  when,  1  pray  yoUjSir  ?  jaJiat4  with  two  Points  on 
your  moulder  ?  much. 

Pift.  I  will  rnurt^r  your  Ruffe,Fo*r  this* 
Hoft,  NOjgood  Gaptaine  Piftot  .♦  not  h^ere.  fweete 
Captaine. 

Dol.  Captaine?.  thou  abhominabtedamn'd  Cheater* 
artthcuafiiafham'd  co be call'd  Captaine?  If  Captaines 
were  of  my  minde,  they  would trunchibn  you  out,for  ta- 
king their  Names  vpon  you.before  you  haueearn'd  them. 
You  a  CajnaiaePyou  fiauejForwhat  ?  for  rearing  a  poore 
Whores  Bj^inaBawdy-foa-fe?  H"ce  aCaptaine?  hang 
hJmRogutiiige liuesvpoitmouldie  fteW'd-Pruines,, and 
dry'deCakes.rA  Captaine.?  XhdieViUaines.will  mafce 
the  word  Captaine  odious  :  Therefore  Captaines  haa 
needelooketoir. 


Bard.  'Pray  thee  goc  downe,good  Ancknr. 

Falft.  Hcarke  thee  hithcrj^ifilis  Bel 

Pift.  Not  I ;  I  rclljjicewnar*  Corporal!  rBardrf$h\\ 
could  teare  her :  He  be  reueng'd  on  her. 

Page.  'Pray  thee  goc  downe. 

Pift.  Ilefeeherdaran'dfM:  10  Pluroysfam$  A  Lake, 
to  the  InfernaliDeepc,  where  Erebus  and  Tortures  vilde 
alfo.  Hold  Hooke  and  Line,  fay  I  ;  Downe:  downe 
Pogges.Howne Fates:  h'aue  wee  not /:&*.-»  here? 

Hoft.  Good  Captainei  P/^/fi  be  quiet,  it  is  very  late.: 
I  befeeke  you,Baw,3ggrauate  your  Choler. 

Pift.  Thciebe  good  Humors  indcede.  Sha?I  Pack, 


jisrjjcs,  and  hollow-pampered  lades  of  Aiia,which  can-  1  h 
not  goc  burjfcittic  miles  a  day,  compare  with  Cs/ir,  and  \  1 .  ,> 
with  Caniballsgjad  Trcirn  Greekes  ?  nay, rather damne 
them  with  King  Cerbern^^  Ice  the  Welkin  roate:  fliall 
wee  fall  foule  forToyes  ? 

Hoft.  By  my  troth  Captaincy  thefe  are  very  bititt 
words. 

i  'Bard,  .fiegsne,  good  Ancient:  this  will,  grow  toa. 
BrawJganon. 

Pift,  Die men,l;keDoggcs;giue Crownes IikcPinnes: 
Hauejge  not  Hiren  here? 

Hoft.  Onmyword(CapMiDe)theresnoneruchJiej;ei  (1) 
What  the  go od-yere^oey outhinke  1  woul i  denye^a  ?    1  h 
I  pray  be  quiet. 

Pitt.  Then  feed.and  be  far  (env  faire  /alipoles.)  Came.  Wj 
gtue  me  fomcSack,5/^n«wnw«'  tormeitte/tyertipmecon-  200 
tente.  Feare  wee  broad-fides  ?  No,l«  the  Fiend  gjflgfire;  1  h 
GiuemefomeSack:  and  Sweet-heart  lye  thou  th^rp ;  \h 
Come  wee  to  full  Paints  here .  and  are  *t  ^eterds  no- 
thing ? 

Fal.  Piftol,\  would  beqntet 

?;i?.  Sweet  Knight^,|^rfjy^Mf!e:wIjat?weehH« 
feenc  the  feuen  Starres. 

Dol.  yhrufl  him  downe  (layres,!  carmiit endure iucli 
a  FuftianEaltall. 

Pift.  Thruft  him  downe  ftayres.?  knawwc  not  Gallo- 
way Nagges  ? 

Fal.  i3tUfiit  him  downe  {Bardolph)  likeafiioae-groac 
fiiilling:  nav.if  heeikje nothing  but  foeakenotbing;3)iec 
fball  be  nothing  here. 

'Bard.  £flme,get  you  downe  ftayres. 

pift.  What?  (hall wee  hauelncifton?  j&aJIwce.e»« 
brew'?  then  Death  rockc  me  afleepe,abridgemywdoleii»ll 
dayes:  why  then  let  gricuous,  gaftly,  gaping  Wounds, 
vntwin  djhe  Sifters  three:  Come  jltropoiJ.-fay. 

HiSi'.  Hcrc's-goodftufretflMUKl. 

Fal.  GiuememyRapier,Boy. 

Dol.,  A  prestee  Pack,-,  J  pf*,t1lp<'  doeoot  draw. 

FaL  Gety*srdowneftayres» 

Hoft.  Here's a^flfidfer tumult:  He  forfweare keeping 
houfe,before lie  bcinrJidCe  tirr»ts,and  frights.  SotMur. 
ther  I  warrant  now.  Alas.aks,  pucvp your  naked  Wea. 
pons,putvp  your  naked  VKeac.onj.  1 

VaL  I  prcthce  lack&e  quiet^  thcRafcallis  gone  i-  &, 
you  whorfoji  litdevaliant  Villaine,yoor 

Heft.  Areyairoociutfr  1  th'  Groyne?  me  thought  nee 
made  alhrewdThtufiar  your  Belly. 

Ftd.  Haue  you  turn'd  him  out  of  doores  i 

/feri^XcsSir:  cheRafcall'sdrunke:  you  liauc  ^urt 
him  (Sir)  inibe-lhouldef. 

Fal.  ARa&alltobrauemei, 

TtiL  Ah^oafwcerUttlcRogacvyorr-;  &la$,poore Aper 
howtrjoafweattt?  Come^kcmewipethyFacetCoiae 
on,you whorfon  Chopfi  J&  Rogae,lIouc  »hce :  Thou 

art) 


250 


(1)  1 


500 


350 


400 


(1) 


450 


4>H-(§2J-10/i 


"465  -  (uj^mr 


84 Thefecond^PartofKjngHenrytheFourth. 


5<* 


17* 

17* 
1001 


(2) 


150 


200 

U 

250| 


2fr 
300 


lh 
3501 


lA 


400 


arc  as  valorous  as  Heeler  of  Troy,worth  fine  of  Agt 
nons  an  J  tenne  times  betcer  then  the  nine  Worthies :  ah 
Villaine. 

Fal,  Arafcally  Slaue,Iwill  toffe  the  Rogue  ina  Blan- 
ket. 

Del.  Doe,if  thou  darft  for  thy  heart :  if  thou  doo'ft, 
lie  sanuas  thee  bet  weenc  a  paire  of  ShectesT 

Enter  dfojique. 

Page,  The  Mufique  is  come,Sir. 

Fal.  Let  them  play :  play  Sir*.  Sit  on  my  Knee;  Del. 
A  Rafc3ll,bragging  Slaue :  cheTEogue  fled  from  mc  like 
Quick-filuer. 

Dot,  And  thou  followd'ft  him  like  a  Church:  thou 
whorfon  little  tydic  3artbolmewT3ore-pigge,Y»hejiwilc 
thou  leaue  6ghting  on  dayes,and  foy ning  on  nights,  and 
begin  to  patch  vp  thine  old  Body  for  Hcauen? 

Enter  the  Prince  and  Tomes  disgnifd. 

Fal.  Peace  (good  Dol)  doe  not  fpeake  UkeaDeaths- 
head :  doe  nor.  bid  me  remember  mine  end, 

Dol,  Sirrh3,  what  humor  is  the  Prince  of? 

Fal.  A  good  (hallow  young  fellow :  hee  would  haue 
made  a  good  Pander,  hee  would  haue  chipp'd  Bread 
wetT 

Dol.  They,  fay  poines  hath  a  good  Wit. 

Fal.  Hee  a  good  Wi|_f  hang  him  B'aboonchis  Wit  is 
asthicke  as  TewksburieMuftard :  there  is  no  more  con- 
ceit in  him,then  is  in  a  Mallet. 

Dol.  Why  dolli  the-  Prince  louc him  fa  t-hen  ? 

Fal.  Beca-jfe  their  Legges  arc  both  ofa  bigneffc:  and 
hee  playesat  Q^oirs  well,and  eates  Conger  and  FenneTT^* 
and  drinkes  off  Candles  ends  for  Flap.diagons,and  rides 
thewildcMarc  with  the  Boycs,and  iumpes  vpon  Ioyn'd- 
ftooles.and  fweares  with  a  good  grace,  and  weares  His 
Boot  very  fmoothdike  vnto  the  Signe  of  the  Legge;  and 
brecdes  nobate  with  telling  of  difcreete  ftorics:  and  fuch 
other  Gambol!  Faculties  hee  hath,  that  (hew  a  weake 
Minde,and  anjiblc  Body,for  the  which  the  Prince  admits 
him  ;  fot  the  Prince  himfelfe  is  fuch  another  :  the 
weight  oFanhayre  will  turne  the  Scales  betvveenc  their 
Flabcr-de-pois. 

Prince.  Would  njy;  this  Naueof  aWheele  haue  his 
Eares  cut  oj£? 

Fain,  Let  vs  beat  him  before  his  Whore. 

Vrince, ;  Looke,if  tjjfcwithcr'd  Elder  hath  not  his  Poll 
claw'd  like  a  Parrot. 

Poin.  Is  it  not  ftrange,  that  Defire  fhould  Co  many 
veetes  ont-liue  performance  ? 

Fat.  Kifle  me  Dol. 

Prince.  Saturne  and  Vena*  this  veerc,  in  ConiuncUon  ? 
Whar.  fayes  the  Almanack  to  that  ? 

?<>;«.  And  looke  whether  the  ficrie  Trtvon.  his  Man, 
benotlifping  tojns  Mafters  eld  Tablcs^hisNotc-Booke, 
his  Counccll.kecper  ? 

Fal.  Thou  4o_ft  giue  mc  flatt'ring  Buffer 

Dol.  Naytruely,  I  kifle  thee  with  a  moft  conftant 
heart. 

Fats  I  am  olde,  I  am  y?ifc. 

Dol,  I  louc  tbee  betcer. then  T  loue  ere  a  fcujujj  young 
Boy  of  them  all* 

Fat.  What  Stuffe  wilt  thou  haue  aKirtle  of  ?  I  (hall 
recciue  Money  on  Thurfday:  tjjgj^  lhalt  baueaCappe 
to  morrow,  A  merrie  Song,  ccjafi ;  it  gtowes  Jate, 


wee  will  to  Bed.  Thou  wilt  forget  roe*  when  \  aru 
gone. 

Dol.  Thou  wilt  fee  me  a  weeping,  if  thou  fay*f|  Cat 
pioue  that  euer  I  dreffe  my  fel'fe  Iiandfomc,  till  thy  m 
turne :  well,hearken  the  end. 

Fal.  Some  $&ck,Fratic*t, 

'Prm.Pein.  Anon,anon,Sir* 

¥al.  Ha?  a  Baftard  Sonne  of  the  Kings?  And  ttt  not 
thou  Poines^is  Brother  ? 

Prince .  Why  thou  Globe  of  finfull  Continentr^'whai 
a  Life  do'ft  thou  lead  fmm 

Fal.  Abetter  then  thou;  IamaGentleman3thouart 
aDrawefT 

Prince.  Very  true,  Sit :  and  I  come  to  draw  you  out 
by  the  Eares. 

Hofi,  Oh,  the  Lord  preferuethy  good  Grace:  We! 
come  to  London.  Now  Heauen  blefle  that  fwecte  Face 
of  thine :  what,arc  you  come  from  Wales? 

Fal.  Thou  whorfon  mad  Compound  of  Maieftle  t  by 
this  light  Flcfluand  corrupt  Blood.ttfou  art  welcome* 

Dol.  How? you  fat  Foole.l  fcorne  you. 

Poin,  My  Lord,  hee  will  driue  you  out  of  your  re 
uengc,  and  turne  all  to  a  merryment,  if  you  takenot  thfc 
heat. 

Prince,  You  whorfon  Candle-myne  you,  howvildly 
did  you  fpeake  of  me  euen  now,  before  this  honetl,m- 
tuouifcciuill  Gentlewoman  ? 

Hofi*  'BlciTmgon  your  good  heart,  and  fo  Lee  is  b| 
mytroth* 

Fal.  Didftthotfheareme? 

frmce.  Yes: andyouknewmfcaas you  did  when  ycik 
ranne  away  by  Gads-hill :  youknew  1  wai  atyour  back, 
and  (poke  it  on  purpofe,to  trie  my  patience. 

Fat.  No,no,no :  not  fo ;  1  did  not  thinke,  thou  wall 
within  hearing. 

prince.  I  (hall  driue  you  then  to  confeffe  the  wilrjil 
abufc,  and  then  I  know  now  to  handle  you, 

FaU  No  abufe  {Hall)  on  mi«e  Honor,no  abufe, 

PrinceTtiot  to  difprayfc  me?  anc^cail  mc  Pantlcr«iHid 
Bread-chopper,  and  I  know  not.wnare 

Fal.  Noabufe(tt«/J 

Poith  No  abufe? 

Fal,  No  abufe  (Ne£)  in  the  World:  honcft  Nedawt 
I  difprays'd  him  before  t%e  W.icked,  tjjaj  the  Wicked 
might  not  fall  in  louc  with  him:  Inwhichdoing,  I  haue 
done  the  part  of  a  carefuIlFriend.an5  a  true  Subiec>,and 
thy  Father  is  t£giue  me  thankes  for  it*  No  afo\ifc{ffalt) 
none  (Ned)  none;  no  Boyes,none, 

Prince.  See  now  whether  pure  Feare,and  entire  Qowj 
ardife.  doth  not  make  thee  wrong  this  vertuous  Gentle- 
woman,to  clofe  with  vs?  Is  (hee  of  the  Wicked  ?  Is  thine 
Hoftclfe  heereTof  the  Wicked  ?  Or  is  the  Boy  of  tj£ 
Wicked  ?  Or  honeft  Bardohb  (whofe  Zealc  burne*  in  his 
Nofc)  of  the  Wicked? 

Voiir.  Anfwcre  thou  dead  Elme.anfwerc, 

Fal.  The  Fiend  hath  priclct  downe  "Bardofyb  irrecoue* 
rable,and  his  Face  hZuerferj  Priuy-Kitchin,whcrehee 
doth  notEing  but  roft  Mault.Wormc*  :  for  the  Boyj 
there  is  a  good  AngeU  about  him>but  the  Deuili  out* 
bids  him  too* 

Prince.  FoTtJjfcWmnen? 

Fal,  For  one  of  them,  (hee  is  in  Hell  ajreadit.liDa 
burnes  poore  Soules  :  for  the  other,  I  owe 
ney  ;  and  whether  (hee  bee  damn'd  for  thap,  I 
not. 
Heft.  No,l  warrant  you* 

F**AN?o. 


I .IHI|IMI» 

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The  fecondTart  ofK^ingHmry  the  Fourth. 


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I'd.  No,I  clunkc  chou  arc  not :  J  thinkc  thou  att  quit 
forthbr.  Marry,  there  is  another  Indictment  vpon  thec, 
tor  fuffcring  'fleiu  to  bee  eaten  io  thy  houfe,  contrary  to 
the  Law,  :or  the  which  I  think  e  thou  wile  howlc. 

tfaSli  All  Viduallers'doe  Co  s  WEai'is  a  Ioyntjjf 
Jtluuon,oc  rw  o,in  a  whol  c  Lent  ? 

Fnnce.  YoUjGentlewoman. 

(DoL  What  fayes  yoorGracc? 

FJfc .  His  tiracefayes  diat#  wblchbis  fleih  rcbells 
Mptafi* 

Jlofi.  Wholcnocks  fo  lowd  at  doore?  lookctothe 
dcose  there,  transit  2 

Eater  Fen. 

Trim.  Ptf#,h<w  now?  what  ncwes  ? 
Fett.  The  King,your  Eather,is  at  Weftminfter, 
And  cherTaFe  twentie  weake  and  wearied  Poftes, 
Come  from  tber^orth  ^and  as  I  came  along, 
lrnel^and  ouer-tooke  a  dozen  Captaincs, 
Jkre*hcaded,fv?cati&g,knocking  at  the^I  auernes, 
Jtad  asking  euery  one  for  Sir  lohn  Falfiajfe, 

Prince,  By  Heauen  (Fairies)!  fecle  me  much  to  blame, 
»oidlytoprophane  the  precious  time, """ 
kVhenTempcltof  Commotion,likc  the  South, 
Jgome  with  black  Vapour,  doth  begin  to  melt, 
An3  drop  vpon  our  bare  vnarmed  heads. 
Cine  me  my  S  word,and  Liloake : 
Fdfiaf e.good  night.  Exit, 

FaUI.  Now  comes  in  the  fweeteft  Morfcll  of  the 
eight, and  wee  muft  hence,  and  leaue  irvnpickt.  More 
knocking  atthe  doore?  How  now  ?..  what's  the  mat- 
ter?        " 

ZBard.  Yon  muft  away  to  Court,Sir,prefent!y, 
&.  dozen  Captaines  itay  at  doore  for  you. 

Eiljr.  Pay  the  Mufitians.Sirrha:  farewell  Hoftefle, 
fr.rewcll  Dol.  You  fee  (my  good  Wenches)  how  rrien  of 
Merit  atsTought  after :  the  vndefcruer  .mayilecpe^vhen 
the  man  of  Action  is  calTaon.  Farewell  good  Wenches: 
if  I  be  not  lent  awaypofle>  1  will  fee  youagainc,  ere  I 
goe. 

Hoi.  I  cannot  fpeake  :  if  my  heart  bee  not  readie 
to  burlfc—  Well  (faecce  lacks)  haue  a  care  of  thy 
felreT" 

Tdjl.  Farewell,  farewell.  Exit, 

Hosl.  Well,  fare  thee  well :  I  haue  knowne  thee 
thefe  twentie  nine.yecres»  come  Pcfcod-time :  but  an 
honefter^and  truer-hearted  man-—  Weil,  fare  thee 
well, 

Bard.''  Miftris  Teare-Jheeu 

Hoft.  What's  the  matter? 

Bard.  Bid  Miftris  Tcare-frset  come  to  my  Matter. 

Bofi.  Ohjunnc  !/>«/»  ranne:  runnc.goodpg/. 
Exeunt, 


;50 


Aflus.Tertius.    Scena  Trim  a, 


Enter  the  K.teg,mth  a  "Page, 

Kt'«£.Goe.call  the  EarlesofSurrcy,and  of  Warwick: 
fat  ere  they  come.bid  them  ore-reade  theie  Letters, 
andwell  confidcr  of  them :  make  good  fpeed.    Exit. 


How  many  thouland  of  my  poorcfl  Subiecls 

Arc  3t  this  holvre  afleepe  ?  O  Sleepe,  O  gentle  Stcepe, 

NaturcTfoft  Nurfe,how  haue  1  frighted  thee, 

That  thou  no  cnors'wiit  weigh  my  eye-lids  downe, 

And  fteepe  mySences  in  For-gctfulnefTe  ? 

Why  rather  (Sleepe)  ly  eftthoa  in  finoakie  Cribs, 

Vpon  vneafie  Pallads  ftretching  thee, 

And  huifhc  with  bulling  Night,  flyes  tathyflumbert 

Then  in  the  perfum'd  Chambers  of  the  Great  ? 

Vnder  the  Canopies  of  coftly  Sc~ee, 

And  I'ull'd  with  founds  of  fweeteft  Melodie  ? 

O  thou  dullGod,why  fyeftrhouwith  the  vilde, 

In  loathfome  Bcds,and  Ieau'ft  the  Kingly  Couch- 

A  Warch«cafe,or  a  common  Larum-Bell  ? 

Wilt  thcu.vpon  the  high  and  giddie  Maft, 

Sealevp  the  Ship!b"oyes  Eyes.and  rock  his  Braincs, 

In  Cradle  of  the  rude  imperious  Surge, 

And  in  the  vification  of  the  Wmdes, 

Who  take  ^hc  Ruffian  Billowesbv  the  top. 

Curling  their  monftrous  heads  .and  hanging  them 

With  deaffning  Clamors  in  theUipp'ry  Clouds,' 

That  with  the  hurley.Dcath  it  felfe  awakes  ? 

Canft  thou  (O  parti  all  Sleepe)  eju^  thy  Repofc* 

To  the  wet  Sea-Boy  ,in  an  hourejo  rude: 

And  in  the  calmeft,and  moft  rtilleit  Nighr, 

With  all  appliances,  and  meanes  to  boote, 

beny  it  to^  King  ?  Then  happy  LoweJye  downe, 

Vneafie  Ives  the  Head.that  weares  a  Crowne. 

Enter  warwich  and  Surrey. 

War,  Many  good-morrowes  to  your  Maieftie, 
King.  Ts  it  good-morrow,  Lords  > 
War.  'Tis  One  a  Clock,  and  pa  ft. 
■K/flg'.Why  then  good-morrow  to  you: all(my  Lords:) 
Haue  y  ou  read  o're  the  Letters  that  I  fent  you  i    , 
Wat.  We  haue  (my  Liege.) 

King.  Then  you  pcrceiue  the  Body  of  our  Kingdoms, 
How  foule  it  is :  what  ranke  Difeafcs  grow, 
And  with  what  danger, neere  the  Heart  of  it  ? 

War.  Trithiirata  P.odv  vet  diftempcr'd. 
Which  to  his  former  ftrength  may  be  reftor'd* 
With  good  ad«iice,and  little  Medicine : 
My  Lord  Northumberland  will  foonc  be  cool'd. 

King.OU  Heauen,that  one  might  readthe  Book  of  Fare, 
And  fee  the  reuolution  of  the  Times 
Make  Mountaincs  leuell-  and  the  Continent 
(Wearic  of  folide  firmenefle)melt  it  felfe 
Into  the  Sea:  and  other  Times,  to  fee 
The  beachie  G  irdle  of  tj^Occan 
Too  wide  for  Neptmes  hippes ;  how  Chances  mocks 
And  Changes  fill  the  Cuppe  of  Alteration 
With  diuers  Liquors.  'Tis  not  tenne  yeeresgone, 
Since  Richard,and  Norifwmberland,  great  fjufifldj, 
Did  feaft  together ;  and  in  two  yeeres  after,     f 
Were  they  at  Warres.  It  is  but  eight  yeerci  fince, 
This  Terete  was  the  man,neereft  my  Soule, 
Who,like  a  Brother,  toyl'd  in  my  Affaires, 
And  layd  his  Louc  and  L^£g  vnder  my  foot: 
Yea,for  my  fake,euen  to  tiifieyes  of  'Flcbard 
Gauc  him  defiance.  But  which  of  jtfiu  was  b/ 
(You  Coufin  Nentsi  I  may  remember) 
When  Rich*rd,*i\ih  his  Eye,brim-full  of  Tfilttlf 
(Then  check'd.and  rated  by  North#mberl«nd) 
Did  fpeake  thefe  word?  (nowprou'daProphccie:) 
NortbHmkerlandjhou.  Laddcr,by  the  wiiisa 

My 


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$6 ThefecondTart  of  Kjw  Henry  the  Fourth. 


My  Coufin  ^Bnllingbrooke  afcends  my  Throne : 
(Though  tticn,Heauen  knowes,!  had  no  fuch  intent, 
But  that  necefiitic  fo  bow'd  the  State, 
That  land  Grestnefle  were  compcll*d  to  kiflc:) 
TheTimc  (hail  come  (thus  did  hee  follow  it) 
TheTimc  will  come  that  foule  Sinne  gathering  head, 
Shall  breake  into  Corruption  :  fo  went  on, 
Fore-telling  this  fame  Times  Condition, 
And  the  diuifion  of  our  Ami  tic. 

War.  There  isjj  Hiftoric  in  all  mens  Liues, 
Figuring  the  nature  of  the  Times  deceas'd: 
The  which  obferu  d,  a  man  may  prophecic 
With  a  neere  avme,ofthc  mainc  chance  of  things, 
As  yet  not  coracto  Life,which  in  their  Scedes 
A*nd  weake  beginnings  lye  entreafurca : 
Such  things  become  the  Hatch  and  Brood  of  Time  J 
And  by  the  nccelTarie  forme  of  Tins, 
King  Richardm'ight  creates  perfect  gucfle, 
That  great  Northumberland*  then  falfe  to  him, 
Would  of  xTTaTSeec^gro^tf  jo  a  greater  falfcnefle, 
Which  (hould  not  finde  a  ground  to  roote  vpon, 
Vnleflc  on  you. 

King.  Arc  thefe  things  then  NecefTities  ? 
Then  let  vs  meete  them  like  NecelTiciesj"*" 
And  that  fame  word.cuen  now  cryesout  onrs: 
They  fay  .ThTBifhop  and  Northumberland 
Are  fifue  th"oufand  ftrong. 

War.  It  cannot  be  (my  Lord:) 
Rumor  doth  doubhTjhke  the  Voice,and  Eccho, 
The  numbers  of  the  feared.  Pkafe  it  your  Grace 
To  goe  to  brd,  vpon  my  Life  (my  Lord) 
The  Pow'rs  that  you alrcadie  haue  fent  forth, 
Shall  bring  this  Prize  in  my  canTy. 
To  comfort  you  themorej  haue  rcceiu'u 
A"*ccttalne  inftancc,that  Clendourh  dead. 
Your  MaieBreKath  beene  this  fortnight  ill, 
And  thefc  vnfcafon'd  howrcs  perforce  muft  addc , 
Vnto'your  SicknefTe, 

Ktng.  1  will  take  your  counfaile : 
And  were  thefe  inward  Warres  once  out  of  hand. 
Wee  would  (deare  Lards)  ynto  the  Holy-Land. 

2GO-(35)-37i  Extmt' 

Scena  Secunda. 


tnter  Shallow  and  Silence :  with  Mouldie shadow 3 
Wart%  Feeble ,  "Buil-calfe. 

Sbal.  Come-on,come-on. come-on :  giuc  mee  your 
Hand,Sft;  giuc  mee  your  Hand-,  Sir :  an  early  ftirrcr,by 
the  Rood.  And  how  doth  my  good  Coufin  Silence  I 

SiL  Good-morrow,good  Coufin  Shallow. 

Shal.  And  how  doth  my  Coufin,  your  Bcd-fcllow  ? 
and  your  faireft  Daughter,  and  mine,  my  God-Daughter 
Ellen  I 

SiL  Alas,a  blacke  C^eU  (Coufin  Shallow.) 

Shal.  By  yea  and  nay  ,Sir,  I  dare  fay  my  Coufin  William 
is  become  a  good  Scholler  ?  hee  is  at  Oxfqut  full,  is  hee 
not? 

SiL  Indcede  Sir,to  my  coft. 

Shal.  ijje  muft  then  to  the  lnnes  of  Court  Ihortly :  I 
was  once  of  Clemems  Inne  j  where  (I  ihinke)  they  will 
talkc  of  mad  Shallow  yet. 


SiL  You  were  call'd  luftie  Shallow  then(Coufin) 

Shal.  I  was  call'd  any  thing  r  and  1  would  haue  done 
any  thing  indecde  too,and  roundly  too.  There  was  I  and 
little  lobn  Doit  of  StTftotdmire,  and  blacke  George'Bare 
and  Vrancu  Pick^bons^ndWjIl  Scjuele  a  Cot-fal-man,  you 
hadnotfoure  fuch  Swtndge-bucklcrs  in  all  the  lnnes  of 
Court  3gainc  :  And  I  may  fay  to  you>  wee  knew  where 
the  tBona-rRobas  were,  and  had  the  belt  of  them  all  at 
commandemenr.  Thcnwas lac^e Fal/lajfe(nov{ Sit  lohn) 
afeoy,  and  Page  to  Thomai  ^Mowbray  y  Duke  of  Nor 
folke.  

SiL  This  Sir  lohn  (Coufinj  that  comes  hither  anon  a- 
bout  Souldicrs  ? 
"~~Uhal.  The  fame  Sir  lohn}  the  very  fame  :  1  faw  him 
breake  Scoggant  Head  at  the  Court-Gate,  whennce  was 
aCr3ck,not  thus  high :  and  the  very  fame  day  did  I  fijjrit 
With  one  Sampfon-Stocl^fijk,  a  Fruiterer,  bjHm'de  Grcyes- 
Innc.  Oh  the  mad  dayes  that  I  haue  fpentT°and  to  fee 
how  many  of  mine  olde  Acquaintance  arc  dcaifl 

SiL  Wee  fhall  all  follow  (Coufin.) 

ShaL  Certaine:  'tis  certaine:  very  fure,  very  furc: 
Death  is  certaine  to  all,  all  (hall  dye.  How  a  good  Yoke 
of  Sullocki  at  Stamford  Fayre  ? 

SiL  1  ruly  Coufinj  was  nor  there. 

ShaL  Death  is  ccrtaine.  Is  old  Double  of  yourTowne 
liuing  yet  ? 

SU.  Dead,Sir. 

ShaL  Dead i  Sec,fee :  hec drew  a  good  Bow  :  and 
dead?  hec  fhocj*  finelhoote.  Iohn  of. Gaunt  loued 
him  well,  and  betted  muchMoney  on  his  head.  Dead? 
hec  would  haucclajjc  inthcCiowratTwelue-fcorejand 
carryrd  you  a  forehand  Shaft  at  foureteenc,  find  foure- 
teencand  ahallcTtnat  it  would  haiie  done  a  mans  heart 
good  to  fee.  How  a  (core  of  Ewes  now  ? 

SiL  Thereafter  as  they  be :  a  fcore  of  good  Ewes 
maybe  worth  tenne pounds. 

ShaL  And  is  olde  Double  dead  ?294-  (6  V"  10  h 

JLnzerrBardol$h and  his  Boj0 

SiL  Heere  come  rwo  of  Sir  Iohn  Falftaffes  Men  (as  I 
thinkc.) 

ShaL  Good-morrow,honeit  Gentlemen. 

'Bard.  I  befcech  you,which  is  lufticc  Shallow  ? 

ShaL  3  am  £c£m5WW(Sir)apooreEfquircofthis 
Countie,  and  one  of  the  Kings  Iufticcs  of  the  Peace: 
What  is  your  good  pleafure  with  roc  ? 

Bard.  My  Captainc  (Sir)  commends  him  to  yoo : 
my  Captame,Sir  lohn  Taljlajfe :  a  tall  Gentleman,  and  a 
mod  gallant  Leader. 

Shal.  Hee  grcetes  me  well .  (  Sir)  I  knew  him  a 
good  Back-S  word-man.  How  doth  fjje  good  Knight  ? 
may  I  askchow  my  Lady  his  Wife  doth  ? 

Bard.  Sir,pardon  :  a  Souldier  is  better  accommoda* 
ted.then  witha  Wife 

ShaL  Ttls  well  faid  Sir;  and  ids  well  faid,  indecde, 
too:  Better  accommodated?  it  isgood,^ca  indecde  is 
it :  good  phrafes  arc  furcly,and  eucrv  where  very  com- 
mendable. Accommodated  ,  it  comes  of  Accommedo', 
very  goodj  good  Phrafc. 

*B.vrd.  Pardon,  Sir,  1  haue  heard  tnc  word.  Phrafc 
call  you  it  ?  by  this  Day,  1  know  not  the  Phrafc :  but 
I  will  maintains  the  Word  with  mv  Sword,  to  bec  a 
Souldier.like  Word ,  and  a  Word  of  exceeding  good 
Command.  Accommodated  :  that  is,  when  a  man  is 
(as  they  fay)  accommodated  :  or,  when  a  man  is,  being 

whereby 


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ThefecondcPart  ofKjngHenry  the  Fourth. 


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hereby  he  thought  to  be  accommodated ,  -which  As  an 
excellcnuhing. 

Enter  Falfiajfe. 

Shal. It  is  vcrv  .hi  ft  :  Lookc,  heere  comer  good  Sir 
fohii.  Giucmcycur  hand,  g'memeyout  Wor-fliipsgood 
hand  :Truft  mc.you  Iooke  well :  and  beare  your,  yeares 
very  well.-  Wckomcgood  Sir  Mar, 

FaL  I  an)  glad  co/cc  you  well,  good  M .  Robert  Shal- 
low. Matter Sure'EarJas  I  thinke  c 

Shal,  No  KrJohnj  it  is  my  Colin  Silence ;  in  Commifli- 
onwithmee. 

FaL  GoadM.Sttene^it  well  befits  you  {hould  be  of 
ihc  peace* 

Sit.  Your  good  Worfhip.  is.  welcome. 

f^.Fye,  this  is  hot  weather  (Gentlemen)  haueyou 
prouided  gje  hecrc  halfe  adozen  of  fufficientmen?, 

ShaL  Marry  hauc  we  fir  1  Will  yo"u  fie  ? 

FaL  Let  me  fee  themjlbefcecb.you. 

ShaL  Where's  theRollf  Where  s  the  Roll?  Where's 
thcRoll  ?  Lermeiec,  letmc  fee,lct  me  fee ;  fo,fo,fo,fo : 
yea  marry  Sir>  Raphe  Mouldie:\ct  them  appeare  as  I  call: 
lit  them  do  fo,  let  them  do  fo :  Let  raee  fee,  Where  is 
jMtoftfr? 

Mod.  Hcere.if  itpleafe  you. 

Shot,  What  thinke  you  (Sir  lohn)  a  good  Urob'd  fel- 
low: yong.ftrong,  and  of  good  friends, 

Fal.  Is  thy  name  Monldie  ? 

fJHtnl.  Yea.ifitpleafeyou. 

Tat.  Jis  the  more  time  thou  wert  vs'd. 

Sha_L.  Ha.ha.ha,  moft  exccHenc.Things  that  are  moul- 
diejlackcv fe  •  very  lingular  good.  Well  faide  Sir  lehnx 
very  well  faid. 

J*/.. Pricke  him. 

MohL.1  was  prickt  well  enough  before,  ifyou  could 
hauc  let  me  alone:  my  old  Dame  will  be  vndone  now/or 
onctodoehjgr  Husbandry,  and  her  Drudgery  5  you  need 
nottohaucprickjme,  there  are  other  men  fitter  to  goe 
out.thenl. 

FaL  Go too: peace Monttie,yo\\ iKall goe.  (JHouldic^ 
it  istimeyouLwcrc  (pent, 

"Mont.  Spent? 

5Wfow._Peace,feIIow,peace;  ftandafide :  Know  you 
where  you  "arc?  For  the  otherfii  lohm  Let  me  izv.Simon 
Shadore. 

'JFaL  I  marry,  let  me  hauc  hirxua  nt  vnder :  iw  s  like  to 
be  a  cold  foul  dier. 

Shal*  Where  s  Shadow} 

Shad.  Heere  fir. 

fal.  Shadow,  whofe  fonne  art  thou  £ 

Shad.  My  Mothers  fonne,  Sir. 

Falfi.  Thy  Mothers  fonne :  like  enough,  and  thy  Fa- 
piers  (hadow :  fo  the  fonne  oftheFemale.  is  the  fhadow 
of  the  Male ;  it  is  often  fo  indeede,  but  novof  the  Fathers 
fubftancc. 

ShaL  Do  you  like  him,iir  lohrt  f 

falfi.  Shadow  wilt  ierue  for  Summer :  pnekchim : For 
weehaue  anumber  of  (hadowes  to  fill  vppc  the  Muftei- 
Booke. 

Shal.  Thomas  Wars? 

^.".Where's  he? 

Wart,  Heere  fir. 

f«lfl*  Is  thv  name  Wan  X 

Ww.'.Yeafir. 

F*l,  Thou  art  a  very  ragged  Warr. 


410  -  (3)  -  2h 


Shal.  .Shalll  pricke  him  downe^ 
$\rl&h*$    ■ 

Falfi*  Itwere  fupcrfluous:  for  his  apparrel  is  built  vp- 
onhis  backe,  and  the  whole  frame  ftands  vponpins:prick 
him  no  more. 

ShaL.  Ha,ha,ha,  you  can  do  it  fir ;  you  caadoe  it; ;  1 1 
commend  you  well, 
Francis  Feeble. 

Feeble.  Heere fir; 

Shal.  What  Trade  arr  thou  Feeble? 

Jeeble.  XWomans  Taylor  fir* 

ShaL  Shall  I  pricke  himdlr  } 

FaL  You  may; 
But  if  hehad  beene  a  mans  Taylorjhe  would  haue  prick"  d 
you.  Wilt  thou  make  as  many  holes  in  aiv  enemies  Bat- 
taile,as  thou  haft  done  in  a  Womans  petticoce  ? 

Feeble, .  I  will  doe  my  good  will  fir,  you  can  hauc  no 
more,. 

Falfi.  Well  fatd,good  Womans  Taiiour:  Wellfayde 
Couragious  Feeble:  thou  wilt  bee  as  valiant  as  the  wrafh- 
full  Doue,or  moft  magnanimous  Moufe.  Pricke  the  wo- 
mans Taylour  well  Matter  «#^W,  dcepe  Maifter  Sfia& 
law. 

Feeble:  X  would war/  might  haue  gone  lir..< 

FaL  I  would  thou  wert  a  mans  Tailor,tbat  y  might'ft 
mend  him,  and  make  him  fit  ro  goe.  Lcannot  put  him  to 
apriuate  fouldier;  that  is  the  Leader ofib  many  thoit- 
fands.  Let  that  fuffice,moft  Forcible  Feeble f 

Feeble.  ItfliaHfufrTce--. 

Falfi,  lam  bound  to  thce»  reuerend  .Feeble.  Who  is 
thenexc  ? 

Shal.  Peter  Bnlcalfe  of  the  Greene. 

Falfi.  Yea  marry,  letvs  fee  Ttulctlfe. 

Ml.  Heere  fir 

FaL  Truft  mc,a  likelyFcIlow.  Come.prickeme  *BnU 
calfe  till  he  roarc  againe. 

*Bnl.  Oh.good  my  Lord  Captaine. 

Fat.  Whar?do'ft  thouroare  before  th  art  prickr^ 

But.  Oh  fir,I  am  a  difeafed  man. 

Tal.  What  difeafe  haft  thou  ? 

BhL  A  whorfon  cold  fir,  a  cough  fir,  which  I  caoght 
with  Ringing  in  the  Kings  affayres,  vpon  his  Coronation 
day,fir. 

Fat.  Come^houihaltgototheWarresinaGowne: 
we  wilf  haue  away  thy  Coltf,  and  I  will  take  fuch  order, 
that  thy  friends  ftiall  ring  for  thee.  Is  hcertall 7 

Shal.  There  is  two  more  called  then  y  out  number  J 
you  muft  hauebutfoure  heere  fir^andfo Iprayyou  goin. 
with  me  to  dinner. 

FaL  Come,  I  will  goe  drinke  with  you,  but  I  cannot 
tarry  dinner.  I  am  glad  to  feeyou  in  good  troth.  Mallei 
ShalUw, 

ShaL  O  foloha,  doe  you  remember  fince  wee  lay  all 
night  in  the  Windcmilhin  S  Georges  Field. 

jaifiajfe.  No  more  ot  that  good  Maftcr  Shatiob:  No 
more  of  that. 

Shal.  Haf  it  was  a  merry  nighr.  And  is  hne  Kight- 
..srior&ealiue? 

FaL  She  liucs,M.5W/f»'; 
Shal.  She  neucr  couldjyvay  with  me# 
FaL  Ncuer,ncuer :  ftie  would  al way e$  fay ihee  could 
not  abide  M.Shallow. 

ShaL  I  could  anger  her  to  theheart :  ihee  was  tnea  ^ 
Bona-Roba.  Doth  fhe  hold  her  ownc  well. 

FaL  Old.old,  M.  Shallow. 

ShaL  Nay,{he  muft  be  old,  (be  cannot  ichoofcJmt.be 

, gg 

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88  The  ficond 'Tart  of I\ing  Henry  the  Fodrtk 


old :  certaine  (hee's  o,ld :  and  had  Robin  Nigbt-worke  ,  by 
ol  d  Nigbt-worke, before  I  came  to  Clements  nne. 

Si/.  That's  fiftie  fiue  yeercs  agoe.  j 

Sbd,  Hah,  Coufin5//ww,  that  ihou  hajift  fccne  that, 
that  this  Knight  and  I  haue  feene :  hah,  Sir  /«&» ,  faid  I 
well? 

"    Falft? ■  Wee  haue  beard  the  Chymes  at  mid-ni ght ,M  a, 
fter£6«&»*. 

5JW.  Tharwee  haue.that  wee  haue ;  in  faith,Sir  lahn, 
wee  haue  :  our  watch-word  was,Hem-Boyes.  Come, 
let's  to  Dinner ;  come.lct's  co  Dinner :  Oh  the  daye*  thar 
wee  haue  feene.  Comc,comc. 

BkI,  Good  Matter  Corporate  'Bardolfh*  fland  my 
fritnd,  and  heere  is  fourc  Harry  tenne  (hillings  in  French 
Qrowncs  foi  you :  in  very  tn:th,fii,l  had  as  lief  behang'd 
(ir,as  goc :  -and  yet,for  mine  owne  part.fir,!  do  not  care ; 
but  rather,  becaufe  1  amvnwllling,  and  for  mine  owne 
partjhaueardefir'e  to  flay  with  my  friends*  filfe>.fa- 1  did 
jiot  care/or  mine  owne  part,fo  much* 
.,Bard.  Go-too;  ftand  afide. 
Mould.  And  good  Matter  CorporaIlCaptalne,for  my 
Aid  Dames  fake,  ftand  my  friend  :  thee  hath  no  body  to 
doe  any  thing  about  hcr,v\  hen  I  am  gone  \  and  (he  is  old* 
and  cannot  helpe  her  fclre :  you  (bill  haue.  fortie/rf. 
'    "Sard.  Go-too :  ftand  afide. 

Feeble.  I  care  not,  a  man  can  die  bur  once :  wee  owe  A 
death.  I  will  neuer  bcarc  a  bafc  minde :  if  it  be  my  defti- 
>nie,fo:if  itbenot.fo:  no'rnanistoogood  to  feruehis 
Prince :  and  let  ir  goc  which  way  it  will,he  that  did  this 
yccrc,te  quit  for  the  next. . 
*"  Bard.  Well  faid,thou  art  a  good  fellow. 
feeble.  Nay  J  will  beare  no  bale  minde. 
Faijt.  Come  fir,whiehmen  (hall  I  haue  } 
SbaL  Foure  of  which  you  pleafe. 
,    JSurd.  Sir,a  word  with  you;  1  haue  three  pound. to 
free  CMauldiC  and  fall-calfe* 
Falfi.  Go-too:  well, 

SbaL  Cocie,fir  M», winch  fourc  will  you  haue  ? 
Waifi*  Doe  you  chufe  forme. 
Shot*  Marry  then  ,  tJMealdie,  BkR-calfct  feeblel  and 
shadow. 

Falfi.  Matildie^sA  "BttS-CAlfr:  for  you  Mouldie,lhy 
at  home,tilI  you  arc  part  fcruicc ;  and  for  your  pait,2?»//- 
r^.grow  tul  you  come  vnto  it :  1  will  noneof  you. 

SbaL  Sir  lobn$\x  Ubtt^oc  not  your  felfe  wrong,they 
are  your  Ukdycftimen^and  I  would  haue  you  feru'd  with 
thebefl. 

Falj}.  Will  you  tell  me  (M after SU&m)  how  to  chufc 
amant*  Care  I  fortheLJmbe,tlieThewes,  ihe  ftature, 
buike^  and  bi£gc  afiemblance  of  a  man  ?  giue  mec  the 
ipirk  (Mattel SbaRew.)  Where's  tVartl  you  fee  what 
a  ragged  appearance  it  is  :  hee  fhall  charge  you,  and 
difcharge  you,  with  the  motion  of  a  Pewtcrers  Ham. 
tact :  come  oft  andon,  fwifcer  then  hce  that  gibbets  on 
i&eBrcwersSSuckier.  And  this  fame  halfe-fac'd  fellow, 
jShmsmgiVK  me  tbie  man  :  hec  prcfents  no  marke  to  the 
EneiSic  the  fbc.man  may  with  as  great  ayme  leuell  ac 
the  edge  of  a  Pen-knife  j  and  for  a  Rctrait,  how  fwiftly 
will  this  fetSle,  the  Womans  Taylor,  runne  onv  O,  giuc 
me  the  fpare  area,  and  fpare  me  the  great  ones.  Puunc  a 
Calyuer  imcf  9*n*  hmd,Bardotpb. 

Fard.  Hold  J*W,Traucrfe:thus,thus,thuj. 
Fdlft.  Come,manage  me  your  Calyncr :  fo; very  well, 
go-roo.very  good,cxceeding  good.  O.giue  mealwayes 
?£«little,leane,old,cnopt,bald  Shot.  Well  faid  tvarrjhov 
arta  goodScab  s  hold^here  it  a  Tetter  for  thee. 


Shit.  Hee  is  not  his  Craftumafter,  hee  doth  not  doe 
itfight.  1  rcmen.berac  Mile^end.Greenc4wbcm  Lry 
at  Clements  I  hue.  J  was  then  $\trDag<met  in  es&tfavf 
Show :  there  was  a  little  quiuer  fellow,  and  hecwocid 
manage  you  his  Pccce  thus  :  and  hce  would  about* 
and  about,  and  come  you  inland  come  you  in  *  Ral/ 
tah,  tab,  would  hee  fay,  Bownce  would  hce  fay,  aa^ 
away  ogainc  would  hec  goc,&nd  againe  would  he  coins: 
J  (hall  ncucr  fee  fucKa  fellow. 

fdlfi.  Thefe  fellowes  will  doe  well,  Mafic*  Sbtltv. 
Farewell  M  afi  cr  Silence^  I  will  not  vfe  many  wordes  with 
you:  fare  you  welt,  Gentlemen  both:  I  thanta  yoilj 
I  murt  a  dozen  mile  to  night/^Wu^giue  the  Soul<Keri 
Coates.' 

SbaL  JSir  /^»,Heauen  blefle  you, and  ptolper  your 
Affaires,  and  fend  vs  Peace.  As  you  returne,  vifit 
my  houfe.  Let  our  old  acquaintance  be  renewed  s  pe r- 
aducnture  I  will  with  you  to  the  Court 

Falft.  I  would  you  would,Maffer  5£wiflw. 

SbaL  Go-too :  I  haue  (poke  at  a  word*  Fare  tou 
well.  Mx*.\ 

FtilJI.  Fare  you  well  4  gentle  Gentlemen.  On'2fo. 
dotph>  leade  the  men  tway.  As  I  returne,  I  will  fetch  otf 
thefe  Iuftices :  ldoe  fee  the  batrome-of  Iuffice$kfc 
low.  How  fubied  wee  old  men  are  to  this  vice  of  iy* 
ing?  This  fameftaru'd  lullice  hatridone  nothing  but 
prate  to  me  of  the  wildenefle  of  hit  Youth,  ana  the 
Fcatci  hce  hath  done  about  Turnball-ftrecr,  and  euery 
third  word  a  Lye,  ducr  pay'd  to  the  hearer,  then  the 
Turkcs  Tribute.  I  doe  remember  him  at  Ciementtlxm.% 
like  a  man  made  after  Supper,of  a  Cheefe.paring,  Wnea 
hee  was  naked,  hee  was,  forall  the,  world,  lilce  a  forked 
Radifh,  with  a  Head  fantaftically  caru'd  vpon  it  With  t 
Knife.  Hce  was  fo  forlorne,that3ii*  DimenHons  (itt 
any  thickc  fight)  were  inuincible.1  Hce  was  the  wry 
Genius  of  Famine :  hce  came  cuer  in  the  rere-wartlof 
the  Fafliion :  And  now  is  this  Vices  Dagger  become  a 
Squire,  and  talkcs  as-  familiarly  of  tohtt  of  GauntiaS  if 
hce  had  beene  fworne  Brother  co  him  t  and  He  be  fworne 
hee  neuer  faw  him  but  once  in  the  Tilt-yard,and  then  he 
butft  his  Head,  for  crowding  among  tbeMarfhals  men. 
I  faw  it,  and  told  John  of  Gaunt, hce  beat  hts  owne 
Name,  for  you  might  haue  trufs'd  him  and  all  his  Ap^, 
parrcll  into  an  Eele-'skinne.:  the  Cafe  of  a  Treble  Hoc- 
boy  was  a  Manfion  for  him :  a  Court :  and  now  hath 
hec  Land,and  Eceu.es.  Well,  1  will  be  acquainted  with 
him, if  I  returne :  and  it  (hall  goe  hard,  but  I  will  make 
him  a  Philofophers  two  Stones  to  me.  J  If  the  young 
Dace  be  a  Bayc  forthcold  Pike,  I  fee  no  reafon.inthe 
Law  of  Nature,  but  /  may  fnap  ac  him.  Let  tfmclhape, 
and  there  an  end.  Exemt^ 


ActusQmrtus.  Scem^Prima. 


Enter  the  *4rch*biff/opt  {Jftiowbra-jjla&inglj 
tVeflmerland,  Coliude* 

"£//&.  >Wbat  is  this  Forreft  call'd  ? 
Hafi,  Tis  Gualtrce  Forrefl,  and't  flUJ  plealeyBar 
Grace  " 

Tifb.Hetc  fland(my  Lords)and  fend  difcoucrcrs  farsh, 
To  know  the  numbers  of  our  Enemies. 


PART  II. 


THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE     TREASONABLE    PE4Y    OF    RICHARD    IE 

A  most  contagious  treason  come  to  light. 

Henry  V.,  iv,  8. 

AFTER  the  Table  of  Contents  of  this  book,  especially  that  part 
of  it  which  relates  to  the  Cipher  narrative,  had  been  published, 
the  remark  was  made,  by  some  writers  for  the  press:  "Why,  history 
knows  nothing  of  the  events  therein  referred  to."  And  by  this  it 
was  meant  to  imply  that  if  the  history  of  Elizabeth's  reign  did 
not  give  us  these  particulars  they  could  not  be  true.  The  man 
who  uttered  this  did  not  stop  to  think  that  it  would  have  been  a 
piece  of  folly  for  Francis  Bacon,  or  any  other  man,  to  have  labori- 
ously inclosed  in  a  play  a  Cipher  narrative  regarding  things  that 
were  already  known  to  all  the  world.  The  reply  of  the  critics 
would  have  been,  in  the  words  of  Horatio: 

There  needs  no  ghost,  my  Lord,  come  from  the  grave, 
To  tell  us  this. 

A  cipher  story  implies  a  secret  story,  and  a  secret  story  can  not 
be  one  already  blazoned  on  the  pages  of  history. 

But  it  is  indeed  a  shallow  thought  to  suppose  that  the  historian, 
even  in  our  own  time,  tells  the  world  all  that  occurs  in  any  age  pr 
country.     As  Richelieu  says: 

History  preserves  only  the  fieshless  bones 
Of  what  we  were;  and  by  the  mocking  skull 
The  would-be  wise  pretend  to  guess  the  features. 
Without  the  roundness  and  the  glow  of  life, 
How  hideous  is  the  skeleton  ! 
619 


620  THE   CIPHER   NARRATIVE. 

But,  at  the  same  time,  I  admit  that  the  Cipher  narrative,  to  be 
true,  must  be  one  that  coheres,  in  its  general  outlines,  with  the 
well-known  facts  of  the  age  of  Elizabeth;  and  this  I  shall  now 
attempt  to  prove  that  it  does. 

The  Cipher  story  tells  us  of  a  great  court  excitement  over  the 
so-called  Shakespeare  play  of  Richard  II.;  of  an  attempt  on  the 
part  of  the  Queen  to  find  out  who  was  the  real  author  of  the  play; 
of  her  belief,  impressed  upon  her  by  the  reasoning  of  Robert  Cecil, 
Francis  Bacon's  cousin,  that  the  purpose  of  the  play  was  treason- 
able, and  that  the  representation  on  the  stage  of  the  deposition  and 
murder  of  the  unfortunate  Richard  was  intended  to  incite  to  civil 
war,  and  lead  to  her  own  deposition  and  murder.  The  Cipher  also 
tells  us  that  she  sent  out  posts  to  find  and  arrest  Shakspere,  intend- 
ing to  put  him  to  the  torture, —  or  "  the  question,"  as  it  was  called  in 
that  day, —  and  compel  him  to  reveal  the  name  of  the  man  for 
whom,  as  Cecil  alleged,  he  was  but  a  mask;  and  it  also  tells  how 
this  result  was  avoided  by  getting  Shakspere  out  of  the  country 
and  beyond  the  seas. 

What  proofs  have  we  that  the  Queen  did  regard  the  play  of 
Richard  II.  as  treasonable  ? 

They  are  most  conclusive. 

I.     The  Play. 

If  the  reader   will    turn  to    Knight's   Biography  of  Shakspere,  p. 

414,  he  will  find  the  following: 

The  Queen's  sensitiveness  on  this  head  was  most  remarkable.  There  is  a  very 
curious  record  existing  of  "that  which  passed  from  the  Excellent  Majestie  of 
Queen  Elizabeth,  in  her  Privie  Chamber  at  East  Greenwich,  40  Augusti,  1601,  430 
Reg.  sui,  towards  William  Lambarde,"  which  recounts  his  presenting  the  Queen 
his  Pandecta  of  historical  documents  to  be  placed  in  the  Tower;  which  the 
Queen  read  over,  making  observations  and  receiving  explanations.  The  following 
dialogue  then  takes  place: 

William  Lambarde.  He  likewise  expounded  these  all  according  to  their  original 
diversities,  which  she  took  in  gracious  and  full  satisfaction;  so  her  Majesty  fell 
upon  the  reign  of  King  Richard  II.,  saying:  "I  am  Richard  II.,  know  ye  not 
that?" 

IT.  L.  [Lambarde].  Such  a  wicked  imagination  was  determined  and  attempted 
by  the  most  unkind  gentleman,  the  most  adorned  creature  that  ever  your  Majesty 
made. 

Her  Majesty.  He  that  will  forget  God  will  also  forget  his  benefactors:  this 
tragedy  was  played  forty  times  in  open  streets  and  houses.   .   .   . 

The  "  wicked  imagination  "  that  Elizabeth  was  Richard  II.  is  fixed  upon  Essex 
by  the  reply  of  Lambarde,  and  the  rejoinder  of  the  Queen  makes  it  clear  that  the 
"  wicked  imagination"  was  attempted   through  the  performance  of  tne  tragedy  of 


THE    TREASONABLE   PLAY   OF  RICHARD   II.  621 

The  Deposition  of  Richard  II.  "  This  tragedy  was  played  forty  times  in  open 
streets  and  houses."  The  Queen  is  speaking  shL.months  after  the  outbreak  ol 
Essex,  and  it  is  not  improbable  that  the  outdated  play  —  that  performance  which  in 
the  previous  February  the  players  "  should  have  loss  in  playing" — had  been  ren- 
dered popular  through  the  partisans  of  Essex  after  his  fall,  and  had  been  got  up  in 
open  streets  and  houses  with  a  dangerous  avidity. 

But  this  is  not  all. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  Essex  had  returned  from  Ireland, 
having  patched  up  what  was  regarded  by  Elizabeth  as  an  unreason- 
able and  unjustifiable  peace  with' the  rebel  O'Neill,  whom  he  had 
been  sent  to  subdue.     He  was  placed  under  arrest. 

I  again  quote   from   Knight's    Biography  of   Shakspcre,   pp.    413 

and  414: 

Essex  was  released  from  custody  in  the  August  of  i6oo1  but  an  illegal  sentence 
had  been  passed  upon  him  by  commissioners,  that  he  should  not  execute  the  offices 
of  a  Privy  Councilor,  or  of  Earl  Marshal,  or  of  Master  of  the  Ordnance.  The 
Queen  signified  to  him  that  he  was  not  to  come  to  court  without  leave.  He  was  a 
marked  and  a  degraded  man.  The  wily  Cecil,  who  at  this  very  period  was  carry- 
ing on  a  correspondence  with  James  of  Scotland,  that  might  have  cost  him  his 
head,  was  laying  every  snare  for  the  ruin  of  Essex.  He  desired  to  do  what  he 
ultimately  effected,  to  goad  his  fiery  spirit  into  madness.  Essex  was  surrounded  by 
warm  but  imprudent  friends.  They  relied  upon  his  unbounded  popularity,  not 
only  as  a  shield  against  arbitrary  power,  but  as  a  weapon  to  beat  down  the  strong 
arm  of  authority.  During  the  six  months  which  elapsed  between  the  release  of 
Essex  and  the  fatal  outbreak  of  1601,  Essex  House  saw  many  changing  scenes, 
which  marked  the  fitful  temper  and  the  wavering  counsels  of  its  unhappy  owner. 
Within  a  month  after  he  had  been  discharged  from  custody  the  Queen  refused  to 
renew  a  valuable  patent  to  Essex,  saying  that  "  to  manage  an  ungovernable  beast 
he  must  be  stinted  in  his  provender."  On  the  other  hand,  rash  words  that  had 
been  held  to  fall  from  the  lips  of  Essex  were  reported  to  the  Queen.  He  was  made 
to  say,  "  She  was  now  grown  an  old  woman,  and  was  as  crooked  within  as  with- 
out." The  door  of  reconciliation  was  almost  closed  forever.  Essex  House  had 
been  strictly  private  during  its  master's  detention  at  the  Lord  Keeper's.  Its  gates 
were  now  opened,  not  only  to  his  numerous  friends  and  adherents,  but  to  men  of 
all  persuasions,  who  had  injuries  to  redress  or  complaints  to  prefer.  Essex  '  \ 
always  professed  a  noble  spirit  of  toleration,  far  in  advance  of  his  age;  and  he  now 
received  with  a  willing  ear  the  complaints  of  all  those  who  were  persecuted  by  the 
government  for  religious  opinions,  whether  Roman  Catholics  or  Puritans.  He 
was  in  communication  with  James  of  Scotland,  urging  him  to  some  open  assertion 
of  his  presumptive  title  to  the  crown  of  England.  It  was  altogether  a  season  of 
restlessness  and  intrigue,  of  bitter  mortifications  and  rash  hopes.  Between  the 
closing  of  the  Globe  Theater  and  the  opening  of  the  Blackfriars,  Shakspere  was,  in 
all  likelihood,  tranquil  amidst  his  family  at  Stratford. 

The  winter  comes,  and  then  even  the  players  are  mixed  up  with  the  dangerous 
events  of  the  time.  Sir  Gilly  Merrick,  one  of  the  adherents  of  Essex,  was  accused, 
amongst  other  acts  of  treason,  with  "  having  procured  the  outdated  tragedy  of  The 
Deposition  of  Richard  If.  to  be  publicly  acted  at  his  own  charge,  for  the  entertain- 
ment of  the  conspirators." 


622  THE    CIPHER   NARRATIVE. 

In  the  "Declaration  of  the  Treasons  of  the  late  Earl  of  Essex  and  his  Com- 
plices," which  Bacon  acknowledges  to  have  been  written  by  him  at  the  Queen's 
command,  there  is  the  following  statement:  "The  afternoon  before  the  rebellion, 
Merrick,  with  a  great  company  of  others,  that  afterwards  were  all  in  action,  had 
procured  to  be  played  before  them  the  play  of  deposing  King  Richard  II.;  when  it 
was  told  him  by  one  of  the  players,  that  the  play  was  old  and  they  should  have  loss 
in  playing  it,  because  few  would  come  to  it,  there  was  forty  shillings  extraordinary 
given  to  play,  and  so  thereupon  played  it  was." 

In  the  State  Trials  this  matter  is  somewhat  differently  mentioned:  "The 
story  of  Henry  IV.  being  set  forth  in  the  play,  and  in  that  play  there  being  set 
forth  the  killing  of  the  King  upon  a  stage;  the  Friday  before,  Sir  Gilly  Merrick 
and  some  others  of  the  Earl's  train  having  an  humor  to  see  a  play,  they  must  needs 
have  the  play  of  Henry  IV,  The  players  told  them  that  was  stale,  they  could  get 
nothing  by  playing  that;  but  no  play  else  would  serve,  and  Sir  Gilly  Merrick  gives 
forty  shillings  to  Phillips,  the  player,  to  play  this,  besides  whatsoever  he  could 
get." 

Augustine  Phillips  was  one  of  Shakspere's  company,  and  yet  it  is  perfectly 
evident  that  it  was  not  Shakspere's  Richard  II.  nor  Shakspere's  Henry  IV.  that 
was  acted  on  this  occasion.  In  his  Henry  IV.  there  is  no  "killing  of  the  King 
upon  a  stage."  His  Richard  II.,  which  was  published  in  1597,  was  certainly  not 
an  out-dated  play  in  1601. 

But  Knight  fails  to  observe  that  he  has  just  quoted  from  Bacon's 
official  declaration,  written  with  all  the  proofs  before  him,  that  it 
was  "the  play  of  deposing  King  Richard  I/."  And  the  very  fact 
that  there  is  no  killing  of  a  king  in  the  play  of  Henry  IV.,  while 
there  is  such  a  scene  in  the  play  of  Richard  II.,  shows  that  the 
writer  of  the  State  Trials  had  fallen  into  an  error. 

Neither  is  Knight  correct  in  supposing  that  a  play  published  in 
1597  could  not  have  been  an  outdated  play  in  1601.  It  does  not 
follow  that  because  the  play  was  first  printed  in  1597  it  was  first  pre- 
sented on  the  stage  in  that  year.  Some  of  the  Shakespeare  Plays 
were  not  printed  for  twenty  years  after  they  first  appeared,  and  a 
good  many  plays  of  that  era  were  not  printed  at  all.  And  a  play 
may  be  outdated  in  a  year  —  yes,  in  a  month.  And,  moreover,  the 
canny  players  would  be  ready  enough  with  any  excuse  that  would 
bring  forty  shillings  into  their  pockets,  whether  it  was  true  or  not. 

Knight  continues: 

A  second  edition  of  it  [the  play  of  Richard  II]  had  appeared  in  1598,  and  it 
was  no  doubt  highly  popular  as  an  acting-play.  But  if  any  object  was  to  be  gained 
by  the  conspirators  in  the  stage  representation  of  "deposing  King  Richard  II.," 
Shakespeare's  play  would  not  assist  that  object.  The  editions  of  1597  and  1598  do 
not  contain  the  deposition  scene.  That  portion  of  this  noble  history  which  con- 
tains the  scene  of  Richard's  surrender  of  the  crown  was  not  printed  till  1608,  and 
the  edition  in  which  it  appears  bears  in  the  title  the  following  intimation  of  its 
novelty:   "  The  Tragedie  of  King  Richard  the  Second,  with    neio  additions  of  the 


THE    TREASONABLE   PLAY   OF  RL CHARD   LL. 


623 


Parliament  Sceane,  and  the  deposing  of  King  Richard.     As  it  hath  been  lately  acted 
by  the  Kinge's  servantes,  at  the  Globe.     By  William  Shake-speare." 

But  Richard  Grant  White  argues  that,  as  there  appear,  in  the 
quartos  of  1597  and  1598,  the  words,  "A  woeful  pageant  have  we 
here  beheld,"  the  deposition  scene,  which  precedes  these  words  in 
the  play,  must  have  been  already  written,  but  left  out  in  the  printed 
copies.  For,  says  White,  if  the  Abbot  had  not  witnessed  the  depo- 
sition, he  had  not  beheld  "a  woeful  pageant."  Therefore,  the  new 
additions,  referred  to  in  the  title  of  the  quarto  of  1608,  were  addi- 
tions to  the  former  printed  quartos,  not  to  the  play  itself. 

And  if  the  original  play,  before  it  was  printed,  contained  the 
deposition  scene,  why  would  it  not  have  been  acted  ?  The  play 
was  made  to  act ;  the  scene  was  written  to  act.  So  that  it  is  plain, 
beyond  a  question,  that  it  was  Shakespeare's  play  of  Richard  II. 
which  was  mixed  up  in  the  treasonable  events  that  marked  the 
closing  years  of  Elizabeth's  reign.  Around  this  mimic  tragedy  the 
living  tragedy,  in  which  Essex  played  the  principal  part,  revolved. 

And  Knight  makes  this  further  remark: 

In  Shakespeare's  Parliament  scene  our  sympathies  are  wholly  with  King 
Richard.  This,  even  if  the  scene  were  acted  in  1601,  would  not  have  forwarded 
the  views  of  Sir  Gilly  Merrick,  if  his  purpose  were  really  to  hold  up  to  the  people 
an  example  of  a  monarch's  dethronement.  But,  nevertheless,  it  may  be  doubted 
whether  such  a  subject  could  be  safely  played  at  all  by  the  Lord  Chamberlain's 
players  during  this  stormy  period  of  the  reign  of  Elizabeth. 

But  it  must  be  remembered  that  no  man  would  dare,  in  that  age, 
or  in  any  other  age  under  a  monarchy,  to  openly  advocate  or  justify 
the  murder  of  kings;  and  hence  the  writer  of  the  play  puts  many  fine 
utterances  therein,  touching  the  divine  right  of  kings.  But  the 
ignorant  are  taught,  as  Bacon  said,  more  by  their  eyes  than  their 
judgment;  and  what  they  saw  in  the  play  was  a  worthless  king,  who 
had  misgoverned  his  country,  deposed  and  slain.  A  very  suggestive 
lesson,  it  might  be,  to  a  large  body  of  worthy  people  who  thought 
Elizabeth  had  also  misgoverned  her  country,  and  had  lived  too* 
long  already,  and  who  hoped  great  things  for  themselves  from  the 
coming  in  of  King  James. 

Now,  we  will  see  in  the  next  chapter  that  a  certain  Dr.  Hay- 
ward  had  put  forth  a  pamphlet  history,  in  prose,  of  this  same  depo- 
sition, and  had  dedicated  it  to  Essex,  and  that  he  had  been  arrested 
and  was  threatened  with  torture. 


624  THE    CIPHER   NARRATIVE. 

If,  then,  Elizabeth  believed,  as  I  have  shown  she  did,  that  the 
play  of  King  Richard II.  was  treasonable;  that  she  was  represented 
therein  by  the  character  of  King  Richard  II.,  and  that  his  fate  was 
to  be  her  fate  if  the  conspirators  triumphed,  what  more  natural  than 
that  she  should  seek  to  have  Shakspere  arrested  and  locked  up,  and 
submitted  to  the  same  heroic  course  of  treatment  she  contemplated 
for  Dr.  Hayward?  For  certainly  the  offense  of  the  scholar,  who 
merely  wrote  a  sober  prose  history  of  Richard's  life,  for  the  perusal 
of  scholars,  was  infinitely  less  than  the  crime  of  the  man  who 
had  set  those  events  forth,  in  gorgeous  colors,  upon  a  public 
stage,  and  had  represented  the  deposition  and  killing  of  a  king, 
night  after  night,  before  the  very  eyes  of  swarming  and  exulting 
thousands. 

And  if,  as  we  will  show,  the  Queen  thought  that  Hayward 
was  not  the  real  writer  of  his  history,  but  that  he  was  simply  the 
cover  for  some  one  else,  why  may  she  not  have  conceived  the  same 
idea  about  Shakspere  and  his  play  ? 

Why  was  Shakspere  not  arrested  ?  The  Cipher  story  tells  the 
reason. 

And  here  we  note  a  curious  fact.     Judge  Holmes  says: 

So  far  as  we  have  any  positive  knowledge,  the  second  edition  of  the  Richard II., 
which  was  printed  in  1598,  with  the  scene  of  deposing  King  Richard  left  out,  was 
the  first  one  that  bore  the  name  of  William  Shakespeare  on  the  title-page;  and  there 
may  have  been  some  special  reasons  as  well  for  the  publication  of  it  at  that  time 
as  for  a  close  concealment  of  the  real  author's  name.1 

Why  should  Shakespeare's  name  first  appear,  as  the  author  of 
any  one  of  the  Plays,  upon  the  title-leaf  of  a  play  which  was  mixed 
up  with  matters  regarded  as  seditious  and  treasonable?  And  why 
was  the  deposition  scene  left  out,  unless  the  writer  of  the  play  knew 
that  it  was  seditious?  And  if  so,  why  was  such  a  dangerous  play 
published  at  all?  And  observe  the  name  of  the  author  is  given  in 
this  first  play  that  bears  his  name  as  "  Shakespeare"  not  as  the 
man  of  Stratford  always  signed  his  name,  "Shakspere"  Was  it 
because  of  the  treasonable  nature  of  the  work  that  the  real  author 
allowed  Shakspere  this  hole  to  retreat  into  ?  Was  it  that  he  might 
be  able  to  say  :  "/  never  wrote  the  Plays  ;  that  is  not  my  name. 
My  name  is  Shakspere,  not  Shakespeare"  ? 

1  The  Authorship  of  Shak.,  vol.  i,  p.  135. 


THE    TREASONABLE   PLAY   OF  RICHARD   II. 


625 


There  are  many  things  here  the  Cipher  narrative  will  have  to 
explain,  when  it  is  all  unraveled.  Certain  it  is  that  there  are  mys- 
teries involved  in  all  this  business.  It  was  an  age  of  plots  and 
counter-plots. 

Knight  well  says: 

In  her  conversation  with  Lambarde  Elizabeth  uttered  a  great  truth,  which 
might  not  be  unmingled  with  a  retrospect  of  the  fate  of  Essex.  Speaking  of  the 
days  of  her  ancestors,  she  said:  "In  those  days  force  and  arms  did  prevail, 
but  now  the  wit  of  the  fox  is  everywhere  on  foot  so  as  hardly  a  faithful  or  virtuous 
man  may  be  found."  ] 

And,  curiously  enough,  we  here  find  that  not  only  was  one  of 
the  Shakespeare  Plays  mixed  up  with  the  events  which  caused 
Essex  to  lose  his  head  and  sent  Southampton  to  the  Tower,  but  we 
will  see  that  Francis  Bacon  was  also  in  some  way  connected  with 
the  play. 

And  if  we  will  concede  that  there  is  a  probability  that  the  Queen 
might  have  ordered  the  arrest  of  Shakspere,  as  she  ordered  the 
arrest  of  Dr.  Hayward,  the  question  is,  Why  was  he  not  arrested  ? 
If  he  remained  in  England,  surely  he  would  have  been  arrested  if 
the  Queen  had  so  ordered.  And  if  he  had  been  arrested,  we  should 
have  had  some  tradition  of  it,  or  some  record  of  it,  in  the  proceed- 
ings of  courts  or  council.  And  if  he  was  not  arrested  with 
Hayward,  then  he  must  have  fled.  How  did  he  fly  ?  Who 
told  him  to  fly?  Who  warned  him  in  time  to  get  out  of  the 
country? 

All  this  the  Cipher  tells. 

Let  me  put  the  argument  clearly: 

1.  Hayward  wrote  a  pamphlet  history  of  the  deposition 
of  King  Richard  II.  Hayward  was  thrown  into  the  Tower 
and  threatened  with  torture  to  make  him  reveal  the  real 
author. 

2.  Shakspere  was  the  reputed  author  of  a  treasonable  play, 
representing  the  deposition  and  killing  of  Richard  II. ;  a  play  which 
was  regarded  as  so  objectionable  that  the  hiring  of  the  actors  to 
play  it  was  made  one  of  the  charges  against  Essex  which  brought 
his  head  to  the  block. 

3.  Why,  therefore,  was  Shakspere  not  arrested  ? 

1  Knight 's  Pictorial  Shak. —  Biography,  p.  415. 


626  THE    CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 

II.     Bacon    Assigned    to    Prosecute   Essex    for    Having    Had 
Shakspere's    Play  Acted. 

But  this  is  not  all. 

When  the  Qeeen  came  to  prosecute  Essex  for  his  treasons,  the 
Council  assigned  to  Francis  Bacon,  as  his  part,  that  very  hiring  of 
the  actors  to  enact  the  deposition  and  murder  of  King  Richard  II. 
And  what  was  Bacon's  reply  ? 

I  quote  from  Judge  Holmes: 

Nor  was  this  all.  But  when  the  informal  inquiry  came  on  before  the  Lords 
Commissioners,  in  the  summer  of  1600,  Bacon,  in  a  letter  to  the  Queen,  desired 
to  be  spared  from  taking  any  part  in  it  as  Queen's  Counsel,  out  of  consideration  of 
his  personal  obligations  to  his  former  patron  and  friend.  But  the  Queen  would 
listen  to  no  excuse,  and  his  request  was  peremptorily  refused.  It  will  be  borne  in 
mind  that  the  Queen's  object  in  this  inquiry  was  to  vindicate  her  own  course  and 
the  honor  of  the  crown  without  subjecting  Essex  to  the  dangers  of  a  formal  trial 
for  high  treason,  and  that  her  intention  then  was  to  check  and  reprove  him,  but  not 
io  ruin  his  fortunes.  Bacon  made  up  his  mind  at  once  to  meet  the  issues  thus 
intentionally  forced  upon  him,  and  he  resolved  to  show  to  her,  as  he  says,  that  he 
"  knew  the  degrees  of  duties;"  that  he  could  discharge  the  highest  duty  of  the 
subject  to  the  sovereign,  against  all  obligations  of  private  friendship  toward  an 
erring  friend;  wherein,  says  Fuller,  very  justly,  "he  was  not  the  worse  friend  for 
being  the  better  subject;  "  and  that  if  he  must  renounce  either,  it  should  be  Essex, 
rather  than  the  Queen,  who  had  been,  on  the  whole,  personally,  perhaps,  the  better 
friend  of  the  two  to  him  :  —  well  knowing,  doubtless,  that  conduct  is  oftentimes  ex- 
plained equally  well  by  the  basest  as  by  the  loftiest  motives,  and  that  the  latter  are 
generally  the  most  difficult  of  appreciation.  The  next  thing  he  heard  was,  that 
the  Lords,  in  making  distribution  of  the  parts,  had  assigned  to  him,  "by  the  con- 
clusion binding  upon  the  Queen's  pleasure  directly,  nolens  vo/ens,"  that  part  of  the 
charges  which  related  to  this  same  "seditious  prelude";  at  which  he  was  very 
much  annoyed.  And  they  determined,  he  says,  "That  I  should  set  forth  some 
undutiful  carriage  of  my  lord,  in  giving  occasion  and  countenance  to  a  seditious 
pamphlet,  as  it  was  termed,  which  was  dedicated  unto  him,  which  was  the  book 
before  mentioned  of  King  Henry  IV.  Whereupon  I  replied  to  that  allotment,  and 
said  to  their  lordships  that  it  was  an  old  matter,  and  had  no  manner  of  coherence 
with  the  rest  of  the  charge,  being  matters  of  Ireland,  and  thereupon  that  /,  having 
been  wronged  by  bruits  before,  this  would  expose  me  to  them  more;  and  it  would  be 
said  I  gave  in  evidence  mine  own  tales."  What  bruits?  What  tales?  The  Lords, 
evidently  relishing  the  joke,  insisted  that  this  part  was  fittest  for  him,  as  "all  the 
rest  was  matter  of  charge  and  accusation,"  but  this  only  "matter  of  caveat  and 
admonition":  wherewith  he  was  but  "little  satisfied,"  as  he  adds,  "because  I 
knew  well  a  man  were  better  to  be  charged  with  some  faults,  than  admonished  of 
some  others."  Evidently,  here  was  an  admonition  which  he  did  not  like,  and  it  is 
plain  that  he  took  it  as  personal  to  himself.  Nevertheless  he  did  actually  swallow 
this  pill;  for  we  learn  from  other  history  that  on  the  hearing  before  the  Lords 
Commissioners  "the  second  part  of  Master  Bacon's  accusation  was,  that  a  certain 
dangerous  seditious  pamphlet  was  of  late  put  forth  into  print  concerning  the  first 
year  of  the  reign  of  Henry  IV.,  but  indeed  the  end  of  Richard  II.,  and  that  my 
lord  of  Essex,  who  thought  fit  to  be  patron  of  that  book,  after  the  book  had  been 


THE    TREASONABLE   PLAY   OF  RL CHARD    LL. 


627 


out  a  week,  wrote  a  cold,  formal  letter  to  my  lord  of  Canterbury  to  call  it  in  again, 
knowing  belike  that  forbidden  things  are  most  sought  after."1 

But  he  who  reads  the  proceedings  of  this  trial  will  see  that  the 
play  of  Richard  II.  filled  a  much  more  conspicuous  place  than  Dr. 
Hayward's  pamphlet,  and  that  it  was  to  this,  probably,  that  Bacon 
really  alluded  when  he  said  he  had  been  "the  subject  of  bruits," 
and  that  the  public  would  say  "  he  gave  in  evidence  his  own  tales." 
Does  it  not  occur  to  every  intelligent  reader  that  Bacon,  in  this 
covert  way,  really  says:  "It  has  been  reported  that  I  am  the  real 
author  of  that  play  of  Richard II.;  and  now  if  I  prosecute  Essex 
for  having  had  it  played,  it  will  be  said  that  I  am  using  my  own 
composition  for  the  overthrow  of  my  friend"? 

And  it  seems  to  me  that  when  the  whole  of  the  Cipher  story  is 
worked  out,  we  shall  find  that  Bacon  was  completely  in  the  power 
of  Cecil;  that  he  (Cecil)  knew  that  Bacon  was  the  author  of  the  play; 
that  therefore  he  knew  that  Bacon  had  shared  in  the  conspiracy; 
and  that  Bacon  had  to  choose  between  taking  this  degrading  work 
on  his  hands  or  going  to  the  scaffold  with  Essex.  If  such  was  the 
case,  it  was  the  climax  of  Cecil's  revenge  on  the  man  who  had 
represented  him  on  the  stage  as  Richard  III.  It  was  humiliation 
bitterer  than  death. 

III.     "The  Isle  of  Dogs." 

And  we  turn  now  to  another  curious  fact,  illustrative  of  how 
greatly  the  Plays  were  mixed  up  in  public  affairs,  and  showing  the 
spirit  of  sedition  which  at  this  time  pervaded  the  very  air. 

J.  Payne  Collier,  in  his  Annals  of  the  Stage,  shows  that  in  the 
year  1597  an  order  was  given  by  the  Queen's  Council  to  tear  down 
and  destroy  all  the  theaters  of  London,  because  one  Nash,  a  play-writer, 
had,  in  a  play  called  The  Isle  of  Dogs,  brought  matters  of  state  upon 
the  stage;  and  Nash  himself  was  thrown  into  prison,  and  lay  there 
until  the  August  following. 

What  the  seditious  matter  was  that  rendered  The  Isle  of  Dogs  so 
objectionable  to  the  government,  we  do  not  know;  it  must  have 
been  something  very  offensive,  to  cause  a  Queen  who  loved  theat- 
ricals as  much  as  Elizabeth  did  to  decree  the  destruction  of  all  the 
theaters  of  London.     But  all  the  details  will   probably  be  found 

1  Holmes,  The  Authorship  o/Shak.,  pp.  255-7. 


628  THE  CIPHER  NARRA  'FIVE. 

hereafter  in  the  Cipher  story,  together  with  an  explanation  of  the 
causes  which  induced  the  Queen  to  revoke  her  order. 
Collier  says: 

We  find  Nash,  in  May,  1597,  writing  for  the  Lord  Admiral's  players,  then  under 
Philip  Henslowe,  and  producing  for  them  a  play  called  The  Isle  of  Dogs,  which  is 
connected  with  an  important  circumstance  in  the  history  of  the  stage,  viz.,  the 
temporary  silencing  of  that  company,  in  consequence  of  the  very  piece  of  which 
Nash  was  the  author.  The  following  singular  particulars  are  extracted  from  the 
Diary  kept  by  Henslowe,  which  is  still,  though  in  an  imperfect  and  mutilated  state, 
preserved  at  Dulwich  College.     Malone  published  none  of  them: 

Pd  14  of  May,  1597,  to  Edw  Jube,  upon  a  notte  from  Nashe,  twentye  shellinges 
more  for  the  Iylle  of  Dogges,  which  he  is  wrytinge  for  the  companey. 

Pd  this  23  of  August,  1597,  to  Henerey  Porter  to  cary  to  T.  Nashe,  nowe  att 
this  tyme  in  the  flete  for  wrytinge  of  the  Eylle  of  Dogges,  ten  shellinges,  to  be 
payde  agen  to  me  wen  he  cann.     I  saye  ten  shillinges. 

Pd  to  M.  Blunsones,  the  Mr.  of  the  Revelles  man,  this  27  of  August,  1597, 
ten  shellinges,  for  newes  of  the  restraynt  beying  recaled  by  the  lordes  of  the 
Queene's  Counsell. 

Here  we  see  that  in  the  spring  of  1597,  Nash  was  employed  upon  the  play,  and, 
like  his  brother  dramatists  of  that  day,  who  wrote  for  Henslowe's  company, 
received  money  on  account.  The  Isle  of  Dogs  was  produced  prior  to  the  10th  of 
August,  1597,  because,  in  another  memorandum  by  Henslowe  (which  Malone  has 
quoted,  though  with  some  omissions  and  mistakes),  he  refers  to  the  restraint  at 
that  date  put  upon  the  Lord  Admiral's  players. 

On  the  23d  of  the  same  month,  Nash  was  confined  in  the  Fleet  prison,  in  con- 
sequence of  his  play,  when  Henry  Porter,  also  a  poet,  carried  him  ten  shillings 
from  Henslowe,  who  took  care  to  register  that  it  was  not  a  gift;  and  on  the  27th  of 
August  "the  restraint  was  recalled"  by  the  Privy  Council.  We  may  conclude 
also,  perhaps,  that  Nash  was  about  the  same  time  discharged  from  custody. 

In  reference  to  this  important  theatrical  transaction,  we  meet  with  the  following 
memorandum  in  the  Registers  of  the  Privy  Council.  It  has  never  before  been 
printed  or  mentioned: 

A  Letter  to  Richard  Topclyfe,  Thomas  Foivler  and  Ric.  Skevington,  Esqs.,  Doctour 
Fletcher  and  Air.   Wilbraham. 

Uppon  information  given  us  of  a  lewd  plaie  that  was  plaied  in  one  of  the  plaie 
howses  on  the  Bancke  side,  contayninge  very  seditious  and  sclaunderous  matter, 
wee  caused  some  of  the  players  to  be  apprehended  and  corny tted  to  pryson; 
whereof  one  of  them  was  not  only  an  actor,  but  a  maker  of  parte  of  the  said  plaie. 
For  as  muche  as  yt  ys  thought  meete  that  the  rest  of  the  players  or  actours  in  that 
matter  shal  be  apprehended  to  receave  soche  punyshment  as  their  lewde  and 
mutynous  behavior  doth  deserve;  these  shalbe,  therefore,  to  require  you  to 
examine  those  of  the  plaiers  that  are  comytted,  whose  names  are  knoune  to  yow, 
Mr.  Topclyfe;  what  ys  become  of  the  rest  of  theire  fellowes  that  either  had  their 
partes  in  the  devysinge  of  that  sedytious  matter,  or  that  were  actours  or  plaiers  in 
the  same,  what  copies  they  have  given  forth  of  the  said  playe,  and  to  whome,  and 
such  other  pointes  as  you  shall  thincke  meete  to  be  demaunded  of  them;  wherein 
you  shall  require  them  to  deale  trulie,  as  they  will  looke  to  receave  anie  favour. 
Wee  praie  you  also  to  peruse  soch  papers  as  were  founde  in  Nash  his  lodgings, 
which  Ferrys,  a  messenger  of  the  chamber,  shall  delyver  unto  you,  and  to  certifie 
us  the  examynations  you  take.     So,  etc. 

Greenwich,  15th  August,  1597. 

There  is  also  another  entry  at  page  327,  dated  28  July,  1597,  addressed  to 
the  Justices  of  the  Peace  of  Middlesex  and  Surrey,  directing  that,  in  consequence 
of  great  disorders  committed  in  common  play-houses,  and  lewd  matters  handled  on 


THE   TREASONABLE  PLA  Y  OF  RICHARD  II.  629 

the  stages,  the  Curtain  Theater  and  the  theater  near  Shoreditch  should  be  dis- 
mantled, and  no  more  plays  suffered  to  be  played  therein;  and  a  like  order  to  be 
taken  with  the  play-houses  on  the  Bankside,  in  Southwark,  or  elsewhere  in  Surrey, 
within  three  miles  of  London.  In  February,  1597-8,  about  six  months  before  the 
death  of  Lord  Burghley,  are  to  be  observed  the  first  obvious  indications  of  a  dispo- 
sition on  the  part  of  the  government  of  Elizabeth  permanently  to  restrain  theatrical 
representations.  At  that  date,  licenses  had  been  granted  to  two  companies  of 
players  only  —  those  of  the  Lord  Admiral  and  of  the  Lord  Chamberlain  —  "to  use 
and  practise  stage  playes  "  in  order  that  they  might  be  the  better  qualified  to  appear 
before  the  Queen.  A  third  company,  not  named,  had,  however,  played  "by  way 
of  intrusion,"  and  the  Privy  Council,  on  the  19th  February,  1597-8,  sent  orders  to 
the  Master  of  the  Revels  and  to  the  Justices  of  the  Peace  of  Middlesex  and  Surrey 
for  its  suppression.1 

IV.     The  Date  of  the  Cipher  Story. 

I  am  unable  to  fix  with  precision  the  date  of  the  events  nar- 
rated in  the  Cipher  narrative.  They  may  have  been  in  the  spring 
of  1597,  at  the  same  time  the  destruction  of  the  theaters  was  ordered: 
they  may  have  been  later.  I  fall,  as  it  were,  into  the  middle  of  the 
story.  Neither  can  we  be  sure  of  the  year  in  which  the  first  part  of 
Henry  IV.  was  really  printed  by  the  date  upon  it.  We  know  that 
in  the  case  of  the  great  Folio  of  1623  there  have  been  copies  found 
bearing  the  date  of  1622,  and  one,  I  think,  of  1624.  It  would  be 
very  easy  to  insert  an  erroneous  date  upon  the  title-leaf  of  the 
quarto  of  the  1st  Henry  IV,  and  we  have  no  contemporary  record 
to  show  what  was  the  actual  date  of  publication. 

But  I  think  I  have  established  that  the  years  1597,  1598  and  1599 
were  full  of  plots  and  conspiracies  against  the  Queen  and  Cecil, 
and  in  favor  of  King  James  and  Essex;  and  that  the  play  of 
Richard  II.  was  used  as  an  instrumentality  to  play  upon  the  minds 
of  men  and  prepare  them  for  revolution.  I  have  also  shown  that 
the  Queen  and  the  court  were  aware  of  these  facts;  that  the 
arrest  of  Shakspere  as  the  reputed  author  of  the  treasonable  play 
must  have  accompanied  the  arrest  of  Dr.  Hayward,  unless  some 
cause  prevented  it  —  and  that  cause  the  Cipher  narrative  gives  us. 

It  follows  that  the  events  set  forth  in  the  Cipher  story  are  all* 
within  the  reasonable  probabilities  of  history. 

»  The  History  of  English  Dramatic  Poetry  and  A  titials  of  the  Stage,  by  J.  Payne  Collier,  Esq.,       ( 
F.  S.  A.,  pp.  294-8. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE    TREASONABLE    HISTORY    OF   HENRY   IV.,     WRITTEN  BY 

DR.  HA  YWARD. 

My  breast  can  better  brook  thy  dagger's  point 
Than  can  my  ears  thy  tragic  history. 

jd  Henry  VI. ,  z/,  6. 

JUDGE  HOLMES  gives  the  following  interesting  account  of 
the  pamphlet  supposed  to  have  been  written  by  Dr.  John  Hay- 
ward,  with,  it  was  claimed,  an  intent  to  incite  the  Essex  faction  to 
the  overthrow  of  Queen  Elizabeth: 

Her  disposition  toward  Essex  had  been  kindly  and  forgiving,  but  she  was 
doubtful  of  him,  and  kept  a  watchful  eye  upon  his  courses.  As  afterward  it  became 
evident  enough,  all  his  movements  had  reference  to  a  scheme  already  formed  in 
his  mind  to  depose  the  Queen  by  the  help  of  the  Catholic  party  and  the  Irish  rebels. 
He  goes  to  Ireland  in  March,  1599,  an(l  after  various  doubtful  proceedings  and  a 
treasonable  truce  with  Tyrone,  he  suddenly  returns  to  London,  in  October  follow- 
ing, with  a  select  body  of  friends,  without  the  command,  and  to  the  great  surprise 
and  indignation  of  the  Queen;  and  a  few  days  afterward  finds  himself  under  arrest, 
and  a  quasi-prisoner  in  the  house  of  the  Lord  Keeper.  During  this  year  Dr.  Hay- 
ward's  pamphlet  appeared.  It  was  nothing  more  than  a  history  of  the  deposing  of 
King  Richard  II.,  says  Malone.  It  was  dedicated  to  the  Earl  of  Essex,  without 
the  author's  name  on  the  title-page;  but  that  of  John  Hay  ward  was  signed  to  the 
dedication.  This  Hayward  was  a  Doctor  of  Civil  Law,  a  scholar,  and  a  distin- 
guished historian  of  that  age,  who  afterward  held  an  office  in  Chancery  under 
Bacon.  This  pamphlet  followed  on  the  heels  of  the  play,  and  it  may  have  been 
suggested  by  the  popularity  of  the  play  on  the  stage,  or  by  the  suppression  of  the 
deposing  scene  in  the  printed  copy. 

According  to  Mr.  Dixon,  "it  was  a  singular  and  mendacious  tract,  which, 
under  ancient  names  and  dates,  gives  a  false  and  disloyal  account  of  things  and 
persons  in  his  o^n  age;  the  childless  sovereign;  the  association  of  defense;  the 
heavy  burden  of  taxation;  the  levy  of  double  subsidies;  the  prosecution  of  an  Irish 
war,  ending  in  a  general  discontent;  the  outbreak  of  blood;  the  solemn  deposition 
and  final  murder  of  the  Prince."  Bolingbroke  is  the  hero  of  the  tale,  and  the  exist- 
ence of  a  title  to  the  throne  superior  to  that  of  the  Queen  is  openly  affirmed  in  it. 
A  second  edition  of  the  Richard  IT.  had  been  printed  in  1598,  under  the  name  of 
Shakespeare,  but  with  the  obnoxious  scene  still  omitted;  and  it  is  not  until  1608,  in 
the  established  quiet  of  the  next  reign,  that  the  omitted  scene  is  restored  in  print. 
It  is  plain  that  during  the  reign  of  Elizabeth  it  would  have  been  dangerous  to  have 
printed  it  in  full;  nevertheless,  it  had  a  great  run  on  the  stage  during  these  years. 

Now,  Camden  speaks  of  both  the  book  of  Hayward  and  the  tragedy  of  Richard 
II.  He  states  that,  on  the  first  informal  inquiry,  held  at  the  Lord  Keeper's  house, 
in  June,  1600,  concerning  the  conduct  of  Essex,  besides  the  general  charges  of  dis- 

630 


THE    TREASONABLE  HISTORY   OF  HENRY  IV.  631 

obedience  and  contempt,  "they  likewise  charged  him  with  some  heads  and  articles 
taken  out  of  a  certain  book,  dedicated  to  him,  about  the  deposing  Richard  II." 
This  was  doubtless  Hayward's  book.  But  in  his  account  of  the  trial  of  Merrick 
(commander  at  Essex'  house),  he  says  he  was  indicted  also,  among  other  things, 
"  for  having  procured  the  outdated  tragedy  of  Richard  II  to  be  publicly  acted 
at  his  own  charge,  for  the  entertainment  of  the  conspirators,  on  the  day  before  the 
attack  on  the  Queen's  palace."  "  This,"  he  continues,  "  the  lawyers  construed  as 
done  by  him  with  a  design  to  intimate  that  they  were  now  giving  the  representa- 
tion of  a  scene,  upon  the  stage,  which  was  the  next  day  to  be  acted  in  reality  upon 
the  person  of  the  Queen.  And  the  same  judgment  they  passed  upon  a  book 
which  had  been  written  some  time  before  by  one  Hay  ward,  a  man  of  sense  and 
learning,  and  dedicated  to  the  Earl  of  Essex,  viz.:  that  it  was  penned  on  purpose 
as  a  copy  and  an  encouragement  for  deposing  the  Queen."  He  further  informs  us 
that  the  judges  in  their  opinion  "produced  likewise  several  instances  from  the 
Chronicles  of  England,  as  of  Edward  II.  and  Richard  II.,  who,  being  once  be- 
trayed into  the  hands  of  their  subjects,  were  soon  deposed  and  murdered."  And 
when  Southampton  asked  the  Attorney-General,  on  his  trial,  what  he  supposed 
they  intended  to  do  with  the  Queen  when  they  should  have  seized  her,  Coke 
replied:  "The  same  that  Henry  of  Lancaster  did  with  Richard  II.:  .  .  .  when  he 
had  once  got  the  King  in  his  clutches,  he  robbed  him  of  his  crown  and  life."  This 
account  of  Camden  may  be  considered  the  more  reliable  in  that,  as  we  know  from 
manuscript  copy  of  his  Annals,  which  (according  to  Mr.  Spedding)  still  remain  in 
the  Cottonian  Library,  containing  additions  and  corrections  in  the  handwriting  of 
Bacon,  it  had  certainly  passed  under  his  critical  revision  before  it  was  printed  in 
1627.  And  this  may  help  us  to  a  more  certain  understanding  of  the  allusions 
which  Bacon  himself  makes  to  those  same  matters  in  his  Apology  and  in  his 
account  of  the  trial  of  Merrick;  for,  while  in  the  latter  he  expressly  names  the 
tragedy  of  Richard  II,  in  the  former,  as  also  in  the  Apophthegms,  the  book  of  Dr. 
Hayward  only  is  mentioned  by  name,  and  there  is,  at  the  same  time,  a  covert 
(yet  very  palpable)  allusion  in  them  both  to  the  tragedy  also,  and  to  his  personal 
connection  with  it.1 

And  we  find  Bacon  referring  again  to  this  same  book  of  Dr. 
Hayward,  in  his  Apology.  After  telling'  how  he  wrote  a  sonnet  in 
the  name  of  Essex,  and  presented  it  to  the  Queen,  with  a  view  to 
bringing  about  a  reconciliation  with  the  great  offender,  he  adds: 

But  I  could  never  prevail  with  her,  though  I  am  persuaded  she  saw  plainly 
whereat  I  leveled;  and  she  plainly  had  me  in  jealousy,  that  I  was  not  hers  entirely, 
but  still  had  inward  and  deep  respect  toward  my  Lord,  more  than  stood  at  that  time 
with  her  will  and  pleasure.  About  the  same  time  I  remember  an  answer  of  mine 
in  a  matter  which  had  some  affinity  with  my  Lord's  cause,  which,  though  it  grew 
from  me,  went  after  about  in  others'  names.  For  her  Majesty  being  mightily 
incensed  with  that  book  which  was  dedicated  to  my  Lord  of  Essex,  being  a  story  * 
of  the  first  year  of  King  Henry  IV. ;  thinking  it  a  seditious  prelude  to  put  into  the 
people's  heads  boldness  and  faction,  said  she  had  an  opinion  that  there  was  treason 
in  it,  and  asked  me  if  I  could  not  find  any  places  in  it  which  might  be  drawn 
within  case  of  treason.  Whereto  I  answered:  For  treason,  surely  I  found  none; 
but  for  felony,  very  many.  And  when  her  Majesty  hastily  asked  me  wherein,  I 
told  her  the  author  had  committed  very  apparent  theft;  for  he  had  taken  most  of 

1  The  Ajdhorship  of  Shakespeare  —  Holrr.CF.  vol.  i,  pp.  243-6. 


632 


THE    CIPHER   NARRATIVE. 


the  sentences  of  Cornelius  Tacitus  and  translated  them  into  English,  and  put  them 
into  his  text.1 

Judge  Holmes  shows  that  this  jest  did  not  apply  to  Dr.  Hay- 
ward's  book,  but  that  it  does  apply  to  the  play  of  Richard  II,  which 
is  full  of  suggestions  from  Tacitus.  But  Bacon  did  not  want  to 
touch  too  closely  upon  the  play;  although  one  can  readily  see 
that  if  the  Queen  was  thus  moved  against  a  mere  pamphlet,  she 
must  have  been  much  more  incensed  against  that  popular  dramatic 
representation,  which  had  been  acted  "more  than  forty  times  in 
houses  and  the  public  streets,"  as  she  told  Lambarde,  and  which 
showed,  in  living  pictures,  the  actual  deposition  and  murder  of 
her  prototype,  Richard  II. 

Judge  Holmes  seems  to  think  that  the  words,  "a  matter  which 
had  some  affinity  with  my  Lord's  cause,  which,  though  it  grew  from 
me,  went  after  about  in  others'  names,"  meant  that  the  pamphlet  or 
play  "grew  from  him;"  but  Mr.  Spedding  claims  that  it  was  the 
"answer"  which  "grew  from  him  and  went  after  about  in  others' 
names,"  and  the  sentence  seems  to  be  more  reasonably  subject  to 
this  construction.  Bacon  would  hardly  have  dared  to  thus  boldly 
avow  that  he  wrote  the  pamphlet  or  play,  although  as  a  pregnant  jest 
he  may  have  constructed  a  sentence  that  could  be  read  either  way. 

Judge  Holmes  continues: 

So  capital  a  joke  did  this  piece  of  wit  of  his  appear  to  Bacon,  that  he  could  not 
spare  to  record  it  among  his  Apophthegms,  thus: 

58.  The  book  of  deposing  King  Richard  II.  and  the  coming  in  of  Henry  IV., 
supposed  to  be  written  by  Dr.  Hayward,  who  was  committed  to  the  Tower  for  it, 
had  much  incensed  Queen  Elizabeth,  and  she  asked  Mr.  Bacon,  being  of  her 
learned  counsel,  whether  there  was  any  treason  contained  in  it?  Mr.  Bacon, 
intending  to  do  him  a  pleasure,  and  to  take  off  the  Queen's  bitterness  with  a  merry 
conceit,  answered,  "  No,  Madam,  for  treason  I  cannot  deliver  an  opinion  that  there 
is  any,  but  very  much  felony. 'I  The  Queen,  apprehending  it,  gladly  asked,  How? 
and  wherein?  Mr.  Bacon  answered,  "Because  he  hath  stolen  many  of  his  sen- 
tences and  conceits  out  of  Cornelius  Tacitus." 

The  designation  here  given  to  the  book  comes  much  nearer  to  a  correct  naming 
of  the  play  than  it  does  to  the  title  of  Dr.  Hayward's  pamphlet,  and  the  suggestion 
that  the  Doctor  was  committed  to  the  Tower  for  only  being  supposed  to  be  the 
author,  and  that  he,  in  his  answer,  intended  to  do  the  Doctor  a  pleasure,  looks  very 
much  like  an  attempt  at  a  cover;  and  is,  to  say  the  least,  a  little  curious  in  itself. 
That  Dr.  Hayward  had  translated  out  of  Tacitus  was,  of  course,  a  mere  pretense; 
but  that  the  play  drew  largely  upon  the  "sentences  and  conceits  of  Cornelius 
Tacitus,"  will  be  shown  to  be  quite  certain.2 

And  Bacon  alludes  to  this  matter  again,  in  his  Apology,  as  follows: 

1  Holmes,  The  A  uthorship  o/Shak.,  p.  250.  2  Ibid.,  p.  252. 


ROBERT  DEVEREUX,  EARL  OF  ESSEX. 


or  THt 

UNIVERSITY 


THE    TREASONABLE   HISTORY  OE  HENRY  IV.  633 

And  another  time,  when  the  Queen  could  not  be  persuaded  that  it  was  his 
writing  whose  name  was  to  it,  but  that  it  had  some  more  mischievous  author;  and 
said,  with  great  indignation,  that  she  would  have  him  racked  to  produce  his  author, 
I  replied:  "  Nay,  Madam,  he  is  a  doctor,  never  rack  his  person,  but  rack  his  style; 
let  him  have  pen,  ink  and  paper,  and  help  of  books,  and  be  enjoined  to  continue 
the  story  where  it  breaketh  off,  and  I  will  undertake,  by  collating  the  styles,  to 
judge  whether  he  were  the  author  or  no." 

Now,  all  these  things  go  to  show  that  there  was  a  storm  in  the 
court;  that  there  were  suspicions  of  treasonable  motives  on  the 
part  of  some  man  or  men  in  writing  what  were,  on  their  face, 
harmless  pamphlets  or  plays;  that  the  Queen  was  enraged,  and 
wanted  to  know  who  were  the  real  authors. 

So  much  does  history  (or  a  few  brief  glimpses  of  history  in  the 
trial  of  Essex  and  the  Apophthegms  of  Bacon)  afford  us;  and  the 
Cipher  narrative  takes  up  the  story  where  history  leaves  it.  But  it 
will  be  seen  that  that  narrative  is  perfectly  consistent  in  all  its  parts 
with  these  historical  events. 

II.     The  Capias  Utlagatum. 

But,  it  will  be  said,  did  Shakspere  ever  fly  the  country  ?  Could 
he  have  done  so  without  the  fact  being  known  to  us  ?  Would  he 
not  have  been  arrested  on  his  return  ?  Could  he  have  ended  his 
days  peacefully  at  Stratford,  if  he  had  committed  any  offense 
against  the  laws  ? 

I  grant  you  that  if  he  had  been  proclaimed  as  a  fugitive  from 
justice,  we  should  have  heard  of  it,  either  from  the  court  records  or 
tradition.  But  if  he,  an  obscure  actor,  had  wandered  away  and 
after  a  time  had  come  back  again,  it  is  not  likely  any  notice  would 
have  been  taken  of  it  that  would  have  reached  us.  The  man  was, 
in  the  eyes  of  his  contemporaries,  exceedingly  insignificant;  and 
hence  the  absence  of  all  allusions  to  his  comings  or  goings.  Hence 
we  have  his  biographers  arguing  that  he  must  have  gone  with  his 
company  to  Scotland,  and  even  Germany,  while  there  is  not  the 
slightest  testimony  that  he  did  or  did  not.  In  fact,  his  whole  life 
is  veiled  in  the  densest  obscurity.  As  William  Henry  Smith  says,  the 
only  fact  about  him  of  which  we  are  positive  is  the  date  of  his  death. 

But  suppose  that  Shakspere  and  the  play  of  Richard  II.  and 
Francis  Bacon  were  all  simply  incidents  of  a  furious  contest 
between  the  Cecil  faction  and  the  Essex  faction  to  rule  England; 
suppose  they  were  mere  pawns  on  the  great  checker-board  of  court 


634  THE    CIPHER   NARRATIVE. 

ambition.  Then  we  can  understand  that  at  one  stage  of  the  game 
Essex'  star  may  have  been  obscured  and  Cecil's  in  the  ascendant; 
and  Cecil  may  have  filled  the  ears  of  the  Queen  with  just  such  rep- 
resentations as  are  set  forth  in  the  Cipher  story;  and  in  her  rage  the 
Queen  may  have  sent  out  posts  to  arrest  Shakspere  and  his  fol- 
lowers; and  the  Council  may  at  the  same  time  have  issued  the 
order,  quoted  in  the  last  chapter,  to  tear  down  all  the  play-houses 
in  London. 

But  Essex  was  the  Queen's  favorite;  he  was  young  and  hand- 
some, and  she  loved  young  and  handsome  men;  in  the  last  years  of 
her  life  she  enriched  one  young  man  simply  because  he  was  hand- 
some. Their  quarrel  may  have  been  made  up,  and  Essex  may,  in 
the  rosy  light  of  renewed  confidence,  have  made  light  of  Cecil's 
charges;  and  the  Queen  may  have  relented  and  revoked  the  order 
for  the  destruction  of  the  Curtain  and  the  Fortune,  and  agreed  to 
let  Shakspere  return  unmolested. 

Or,  facts  may  have  come  out  which  showed  that  Bacon  was  the 
real  author  of  the  Plays;  there  may  have  been  a  scene  and  a  con- 
fession; he  may  have  apologized  and  denied  any  treasonable  intent, 
for  it  was  difficult  to  prove  treason  in  a  play  which  simply  repeated 
historical  events,  larded  with  platitudes  of  loyalty;  and  he  may 
have  been  forgiven,  and  yet  never  again  fully  trusted  by  the  Queen. 
He  may  have  described  his  own  condition  in  the  words  which  he 
puts  into  the  mouth  of  Worcester,  in  the  play  of  ist  Henry  IV.: 

It  is  not  possible,  it  cannot  be, 

The  King  would  keep  his  word  in  loving  us, 

He  will  suspect  us  still,  and  find  a  time 

To  punish  this  offense  in  others'  faults. 

Suspicion  all  our  lives  shall  be  stuck  full  of  eyes; 

For  treason  is  but  trusted  as  the  fox, 

Who,  ne'er  so  tame,  so  cherished  and  locked  up, 

,Will  have  a  wild  trick  of  his  ancestors. 

Look  how  we  can,  or  sad  or  merrily, 

Interpretation  will  misquote  our  looks.1 

Certain  it  is  there  was  some  cause  that  kept  Francis  Bacon 
down  for  many  years  despite  all  his  ambition  and  ability. 

When  the  entire  Cipher  story  is  worked  out  we  shall  doubtless 
have  the  explanation  of  many  facts  in  Bacon's  life  which  now  seem 
inexplicable. 

1  Jst  Henry  VI.,  v,  2. 


THE    TREASONABLE   HISTORY   OE  HENRY   IV.  635 

But  we  have  a  piece  of  historical  evidence  which  goes  far  to  con- 
firm the  internal  narrative  in  the  Plays. 

If  the  reader  will  turn  back  to  page  292  of  this  work,  he  will 
find  a  copy  of  a  letter  addressed  by  Bacon  to  his  cousin  Robert 
Cecil,  in  1601,  complaining  of  some  insults  put  upon  him  in  open 
court  by  his  old  enemy,  Mr.  Attorney-General  Coke.  I  quote  from 
the  letter  the  following: 

Mr.  Attorney  kindled  at  it  and  said:  "Mr.  Bacon,  if  you  have  any  tooth 
against  me  pluck  it  out,  for  it  will  do  you  more  hurt  than  all  the  teeth  in  your 
head  will  do  you  good."  I  answered  coldly,  in  these  very  words.  "  Mr.  Attorney, 
I  respect  you;  I  fear  you  not;  and  the  less  you  speak  of  your  own  greatness,  the 
more  will  I  think  of  it." 

He  replied:  "  I  think  scorn  to  stand  upon  terms  of  greatness  toward  you,  who 
are  less  than  little,  less  than  the  least;  "  and  other  such  strange  light  terms  he  gave  me, 
with  such  insulting  which  cannot  be  expressed.  Herewith  stirred,  yet  I  said  no 
more  but  this:  "  Mr.  Attorney,  do  not  depress  me  so  far;  for  I  have  been  your 
better,  and  may  be  again,  when  it  please  the  Queen."  With  this  he  spake,  neitner 
I  nor  himself  could  tell  what,  as  if  he  had  been  born  Attorney-General,  and  in 
the  end  bade  me  not  meddle  with  the  Queen's  business,  but  mine  own.  .  .  . 
Then  he  said  it  were  good  to  clap  a  capias  utlegatum  upon  my  back  !  To  which  I  only 
said  he  could  not,  and  that  he  was  at  fault;  for  he  limited  up  an  old  scent. 

He  gave  me  a  number  of  disgraceful  words  besides,  which  I  answered  with  silence.1 

Upon  reading  this,  I  said  to  myself,  What  is  a  capias  utlegatum  ? 
Wherein  does  it  differ  from  any  ordinary  writ?  And  I  proceeded 
to  investigate  the  question.  I  found  that  the  old  law  authorities 
spell  the  word  a  little  differently  from  Mr.  Spedding:  he  has  it,  in 
the  letter,  "utkgatum;  "  the  proper  spelling  seems  to  have  been 
"utlegatum." 

What  does  it  mean? 

It  is  derived  from  the  Saxon  utlaghe,  the  same  root  from  which 
comes  the  word  outlaw. 

Jacobs  says: 

Outlaw.  Saxon,  utlaghe;  Latin,  utlagatus.  One  deprived  of  the  benefit  of  the 
law,  and  out  of  the  King's  protection.  When  a  person  is  restored  to  the  King's 
protection  he  is  inlawed  again. - 

And  what  is  outlawry.  It  means  that  the  person  has  refused  to, 
appear  when  process  was  issued  against  him;  that  he  has  secreted 
himself  or  fled  the  country.     I  quote  again  from  Jacobs: 

Outlawry.  Utlagaria.  The  being  put  out  of  the  lata.  The  loss  of  the  benefit  of 
a  subject,  that   is,  of  the  King's  protection.     Outlawry  is   a  punishment   inflicted 

]  Spedding's  Life  and  Works,  vol.  iii,  2  Jacobs'  Law  Dictionary,  vol.  iv,  p.  454. 

p.  2.     London :     Longmans. 


636  THE    CIPHER   NARRATIVE. 

for  a  contempt  in  refusing  to  be  amenable  to  the  justice  of  that  court  which  hath 
authority  to  call  a  defendant  before  them;  and  as  this  is  a  crime  of  the  highest 
nature,  being  an  act  of  rebellion  against  that  state  or  community  of  which  he  is  a 
member,  so  it  subjects  the  party  to  forfeitures  and  disabilities,  for  he  loses  his 
liberam  legem,  is  out  of  the  King's  protection,  etc.] 

And  the  capias  utlagatum  was  issued  where  a  party  who  had  thus 
refused  to  appear — who  had  fled  or  secreted  himself  —  returned  to 
his  domicile. 

I  again  quote  from  Jacobs'  Law  Dictionary: 

Capias  Utlagatum.  Is  a  writ  that  lies  against  a  person  who  is  outlawed  in  any 
action,  by  which  the  sheriff  is  commanded  to  apprehend  the  body  of  the  party  out- 
lawed, for  not  appearing  upon  the  exigent,  and  keep  hini  in  safe  custody  till  the  day 
of  return,  and  then  present  him  to  the  court,  there  to  be  dealt  with  for  his  con- 
tempt; who,  in  the  Common  Pleas,  was  in  former  times  to  be  committed  to  the 
Fleet,  there  to  remain  till  he  had  sued  out  the  King's  pardon  and  appeared  to  the 
action.  And  by  a  special  capias  utlagatum  (against  the  body,  lands  and  goods  in 
the  same  writ)  the  sheriff  is  commanded  to  seize  all  the  defendant's  lands,  goods 
and  chattels,  for  the  contempt  to  the  King;  and  the  plaintiff  (after  an  inquisition 
taken  thereupon,  and  returned  into  the  exchequer)  may  have  the  lands  ex- 
tended and  a  grant  of  the  goods,  etc.,  whereby  to  compel  the  defendant  to  appear; 
which,  when  he  doth,  if  he  reverse  the  outlawry,  the  same  shall  be  restored 
to  him.2 

Now,  then,  when  the  Attorney-General,  Coke,  threatened  Bacon 
with  a  capias  utlagatum,  he  practically  charged  him  with  being  an 
outlaw;  with  having  refused  to  appear  in  some  proceeding  when 
called  upon  by  the  government's  law  officers;  with  being,  in  short, 
out  of  the  Queen's  protection;  with  having  forfeited  all  his  goods 
and  chattels. 

But  we  know  that  Bacon  never  fled  the  country;  that  he  always 
had  real  estate  which  could  have  been  seized  upon  if  he  had  done 
so.  What,  then,  did  Coke  mean  ?  It  was  a  serious  charge  for  one 
respectable  attorney  to  make  against  another. 

Anciently  outlawry  was  looked  upon  as  so  horrid  a  crime  that  any  one 
might  as  lawfully  kill  a  person  outlawed  as  he  might  a  wolf  or  other  noxious 
animal.3 

But  suppose  A  employs  B  to  commit  some  act  in  the  nature  of 
a  crime,  but  evidence  cannot  be  obtained  against  A  unless  B  is 
taken  and  compelled  to  testify  against  A;  and  suppose,  under  these 
circumstances,  A  induces  B  to  fly  the  country.  Now,  if  it  can  be 
shown  that  there  was  some  connection  between  A  and  the  flight 
of  B,  would  not  the  outlawry  of  B  attach  to  A,  his  principal? 

1  Jacobs'  Law  Dictionary,  vol.  iv,  p.  454.  2  Ibid.,  pp.  394,  395.  3  Ibid.,  p.  455. 


THE    TREASONABLE   HISTORY  OF  HENRY  IV.  637 

Jacobs  says: 

4thly.  That  it  seems  the  better  opinion  that  where  there  are  more  than  one 
principal,  the  exigent  shall  not  issue  till  all  of  them  are  arraigned;  and  herein  it  is 
said  by  Hale  that  if  A  and  B  be  indicted  as  principals  in  felony,  and  C  as  acces- 
sory to  them  both,  the  exigent  against  the  accessory  shall  stay  till  both  be  attainted 
by  outlawry  or  plea;  for  that  it  is  said  if  one  be  acquitted  the  accessory  is  dis- 
charged, because  indicted  as  accessory  to  both,  therefore  shall  not  he  be  put  to  answer 
till  both  be  attaint;  but  hereof  he  adds  a  dubitatur,  because,  though  C  be  access- 
ory to  both,  he  might  have  been  indicted  as  accessory  to  one,  because  the  felonies 
are  in  law  several;  but  if  he  be  indicted  as  accessory  to  both,  he  must  be  proved  so. 
2  Hawk.  P.  C,  c.  27,  §  132  —  2  Hale1:,  History  P.  C,  200-201.  If  one  exigent  be 
awarded  against  the  principal  and  accessory  together,  it  is  error  only  as  to  the 
latter.  /  Term  Rep.  K.  B.,  521.  In  treason  all  are  principals;  therefore,  process 
of  outlawry  may  go  against  him  who  receives,  at  the  same  time,  as  against  him 
that  did  the  fact.     /  Hales  History  P.  C,  238. ! 

Now,  then,  if  Shakspere  fled  the  country  to  escape  arrest  on 
the  charge  of  writing  a  treasonable  play,  and  Bacon  was  the  prin- 
cipal in  the  offense,  Bacon  could  not  have  been  proceeded  against, 
under  these  rulings,  until  Shakspere  was  arraigned:  hence,  in  some 
sense,  it  might  be  claimed  by  Coke  that  Bacon  was  an  outlaw  by 
the  act  of  his  accessory.  And  thus  we  can  understand  Coke's 
threat  to  issue  a  capias  utlagatum  against  Bacon. 

And  it  will  be  observed  that  Bacon  understands  what  Coke 
referred  to.  There  was  no  surprise  expressed  by  him.  He  knew 
there  was  some  past  event  which  gave  color  to  Coke's  threat,  but 
he  defied  him.     His  answer  was: 

To  which  I  only  said  he  could  not,  and  that  he  was  at  fault;  for  he  hunted  up  an 
old  scent. 

And  Bacon  tells  us  Coke  gave  him  "  a  number  of  disgraceful 
words  besides,"  but  he  is  careful  not  to  tell  what  they  were.  And 
it  will  be  observed  that  while  Bacon  very  often  refers  in  his  letters 
to  bruits  and  scandals  which  attack  his  good  name,  he  never  stops 
to  explain  the  nature  of  them.  Did  they  refer  to  the  Shakespeare 
Plays  ? 

And  observe,  too,  how  he  lays  this  matter  before  Cecil.  I  reaW 
between  the  lines  of  the  letter  something  like  this: 

You  know  the  agreement  and  understanding  was  that  my  connection  with  the 
Plays  was  to  be  kept  secret,  and  here  you  have  told  it,  or  some  one  has  told  it,  all 
to  my  mortal  enemy,  Coke;  and  he  is  blurting  it  all  out  in  open  court.  I  appeal 
to  you  for  protection;  you  must  stop  him. 

1  Jacobs'  Law  Dictionary,  vol.  iv,  p.  no. 


638  THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 

If  this  be  not  the  correct  interpretation  of  the  letter,  why  should 
Bacon  complain  to  his  enemy,  Cecil,  about  something  his  other 
enemy,  Coke,  said  against  him  concerning  some  threat  to  dig  up  an 
old  matter  and  clap  a  writ  of  outlawry  on  his  back  ? 

It  seems  to  me,  however,  that  all  these  historical  facts  form  a 
very  solid  basis  for  the  Cipher  narrative  which  follows. 


CHAPTER    III. 

THE    CIPHER  EXPLAINED. 

Give  me  the  ocular  proof. 

Othello,  ///,  j. 

I  AM  aware  that  nine-tenths  of  those  who  read  this  book  will 
turn  at  once  to  that  part  of  it  which  proves  the  existence  of  a 
Cipher  in  the  Shakespeare  Plays.  That  is  the  all-important  ques- 
tion: that  is  the  essence  and  material  part  of  the  work. 

Is  there  or  is  there  not  a  Cipher  in  the  Plays  ?  A  vast  gulf  sepa- 
rates these  two  conclusions.  Are  the  Plays  simply  what  they  are 
given  out  to  be  by  Heminge  and  Condell,  untutored  outpourings 
of  a  great  rustic  genius;  or  are  they  a  marvelously  complicated 
padding  around  a  wonderful  internal  narrative  ? 

I  am  sorry  to  see  that  some  persons  seem  to  think  that  this 
whole  question  merely  concerns  myself,  and  that  it  is  to  be  an- 
swered by  sneers  and  personal  abuse.  I  am  the  least  part,  the  most 
insignificant  part,  of  this  whole  matter. 

The  question  is  really  this:  Is  the  voice  of  Francis  Bacon  again 
speaking  in  the  world  ?  Has  the  tongue,  which  has  been  stilled  for 
two  hundred  and  sixty  years,  again  been  loosened,  and  is  it  about 
to  fill  the  astonished  globe  with  eloquence  and  melody? 

If  it  were  announced  to-morrow  that  from  the  grave  at  Stratford 
there  were  proceeding  articulated  utterances,  —  muffled,  if  you 
please,  but  telling,  even  in  fragments,  a  mighty  and  wonderful 
story, —  how  the  millions  would  swarm  until  all  the  streets  and  lanes 
and  fields  and  farms  of  Stratford  were  overflowed  with  an  excited 
multitude;  how  the  foremost  ranks  would  sink  upon  their  kneesj 
around  the  privileged  persons  who  were  at  the  open  tomb;  how 
every  word  would  be  repeated  backward,  from  man  to  man,  with 
reverent  mien  and  bated  breath,  to  be,  at  last,  flashed  on  the 
wings  of  the  lightning  to  all  the  islands  and  continents;  to  every 
habitation  of  civilized  man  on  earth. 

639 


640 


THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 


I  ask  all  just-minded  men  to  approach  this  revelation  in  the 
same  spirit.  Abuse  and  insults  may  wound  the  individual:  they 
cannot  help  the  untruth  nor  hurt  the  truth. 

I.     The  Cipher  a  Reality. 

That  the  Cipher  is  there;  that  I  have  found  it  out;  that  the  nar- 
rative given  is  real,  no  man  can  doubt  who  reads  this  book  to 
the  end.  There  may  be  faults  in  my  workmanship;  there  are  none 
in  the  Cipher  itself.  All  that  I  give  is  reality;  but  I  may  not  give  all 
there  is.  The  difficulties  are  such  as  arise  from  the  wonderful  com- 
plexity of  the  Cipher,  and  the  almost  impossibility  of  the  brain 
holding  all  the  interlocking  threads  of  the  root-numbers  in  their 
order.  Some  more  mathematical  head  than  mine  may  be  able  to 
do  it. 

I  would  call  the  attention  of  those  who  may  think  that  the 
results  are  accidental  to  the  fact  that  each  scene,  and,  in  fact,  each 
column  and  page,  tells  a  different  part  of  the  same  continuous  story. 
In  one  place,  it  is  the  rage  of  the  Queen;  in  another,  the  flight  of 
the  actors;  in  another,  Bacon's  despair;  in  another,  the  village 
doctor;  in  another,  the  description  of  the  sick  Shakspere;  in 
another,  the  supper,  etc. —  all  derived  from  the  same  series  of  num- 
bers used  in  the  same  order. 

II.     The  Nicknames  of  the  Actors. 

In  the  Cipher  narrative,  the  actors  are  often  represented  by 
nicknames,  probably  derived  from  the  characters  they  usually  played. 
And  Henry  Percy  is  sometimes  called  Hotspur,  because  that  was 
the  title  given  to  the  great  Henry  Percy,  of  Henry  IV.  's  time. 

It  is  an  historical  fact  that  Francis  Bacon  had  a  servant  by  the 
name  of  Henry  Percy.  His  mother  alludes  to  him,  in  one  of  her 
letters,  as,  "that  bloody  Percy."  His  relations  to  Bacon  were  very 
close.  He  seems  to  have  had  charge  of  all  Bacon's  manuscripts  at 
the  time  of  his  death.  It  is  possible  Bacon  may  have  intended,  at 
one  time,  to  authorize  the  publication  of  an  avowal  of  his  author- 
ship of  the  Plays.     He  said  in  the  first  draft  of  his  will: 

But  toward  the  durable  part  of  memory,  which  consisteth  in  my  writings,  I  re- 
quire my  servant  Henry  Percy  to  deliver  to  my  brother  Constable   all  my  manu- 


THE  CIPHER  EXPLAINED.  641 

script  compositions,  and  the  fragments  also  of  such  as  are  not  finished;  to  the  end 
that  if  any  of  them  be  fit  to  be  published,  he  may  accordingly  dispose  of  them. 
And  herein  I  desire  him  to  take  the  advice  of  Mr.  Selden,  and  Mr.  Herbert,  of  the 
Inner  Temple,  and  to  publish  or  suppress  what  shall  be  thought  fit} 

It  is  also  evident  that  Bacon  held  Henry  Percy  in  high  respect. 
In  his  last  will  he  says: 

I  give  to  Mr.  Henry  Percy  one  hundred  pounds.2 

He  was  not  a  mere  servant;  he  was  "Master  Henry  Percy." 
Did  this  tender  and  respectful  feeling  represent  Bacon's  gratitude 
to  Henry  Percy  for  invaluable  services  in  a  great  crisis  of  his  life  ? 

We  see  exemplified  the  habit  of  the  actors  in  assuming  the  names 
of  the  characters  they  acted  on  the  stage,  in  Shakspere's  remark  in 
the  traditional  jest  that  has  come  down  to  us:  "  William  the  Con- 
queror comes  before  Richard  III.;"  representing  himself  as  Wil- 
liam the  Conqueror,  and  Burbage  by  the  name  of  his  favorite  role, 
the  bloody  Duke  of  Gloster. 

As  illustrating  still  further  how  the  names  of  the  actors  became 
identified  with  the  names  of  the  characters  they  impersonated,  I 
would  call  attention  to  the  following  fact: 

Bishop  Corbet,  writing  in  the  reign  of  Charles  I.,  and  giving  a  description  of 
the  battle  of  Bosworth,  as  narrated  to  him  on  the  field  by  a  provincial  tavern- 
keeper,  tells  us  that  when  the  perspicuous  guide 

Would  have  said,  King  Richard  died, 
And  called,  a  horse  !  a  horse  !  he  Burbage  cried.3 

III.     Queen  Elizabeth's  Violence. 

It  may  be  objected  by  some  that  the  scene  in  which  the  Queen 
beats  Hayward  was  undignified  and  improbable;  but  he  who  reads 
the  history  of  that  reign  will  find  that  Queen  Elizabeth  was  a 
woman  of  the  most  violent  and  man -like  temper.  We  find  it 
recorded  that  she  boxed  Essex'  ears,  and  that  he  half-drew  his 
sword  upon  her,  and  swore  "  he  would  not  take  such  treatment 
from  Henry  VIII.  himself,  if  he  were  alive."  And  Rowland  White 
records: 

The  Queen  hath  of  late  used  the  fair  Mrs.  Bridges  with  words  and  blows  of 
anger. 

1  Spedding,  Life  and  Works,  vol.  vii,  p.  540.  3  Halliwell-Phillipps,  Outlines,  p.  96. 

2  Ibid.,  p.  542. 


642 


THE  CIPHER  NARRA  TIVE. 


Mrs.   Bridges  was  one  of  the  Queen's  maids-of-honor  who  had 
offended  her. 

IV.     The   Language  of  the   Period. 


I  would  touch  upon  one  other  preliminary  point  before  coming 
to  the  Cipher  story.  Some  persons  may  think  that  the  sentences 
which  I  give  as  parts  of  the  internal  narrative  sound  strangely,  and 
are  strained  in  their  construction;  but  it  must  be  remembered  that 
the  English  of  the  sixteenth  century  was  not  the  English  of  the 
nineteenth  century.  The  powers  of  our  tongue  have  been  vastly 
increased.  It  is  curious  to  note  how  many  words,  now  in  daily  use, 
cannot  be  found  at  all  in  the  Shakespeare  Plays.  Here  are  some  of 
them: 


Actually, 

Dejection, 

Mob, 

Admission, 

Despicable, 

Occupied, 

Alternate, 

Director, 

Pauper, 

Alternately, 

Disappointment, 

Petitioning, 

Amuse, 

Disappoint, 

Pledged, 

Amusement. 

Disgust, 

Popularity, 

Amusing, 

Earnings, 

Position, 

Announce, 

Effort, 

Precarious, 

Announcement, 

Efforts, 

Production, 

Apologize, 

Entitled, 

Prominent, 

Artful, 

Era, 

Promote, 

Assert, 

Exclusively, 

Rapid, 

Assort, 

Exertions, 

Rapidly, 

Attack, 

Exhausted, 

Rebuff, 

Aware, 

Exorbitant, 

Recent, 

Brutal, 

Failure, 

Reduce, 

Cargo, 

Fatigue, 

Ridicule, 

Clenches, 

Farce, 

Risk, 

Completely, 

Fees, 

Series, 

Concede, 

Fiendish, 

Shrubbery, 

Concession, 

Flog, 

Starvation, 

Coffee, 

Flogged, 

State  (meaning  to  declare). 

Confinement, 

Fun, 

Statement, 

Conflagration, 

Funny, 

Stating, 

Connect, 

Grasping, 

Surround, 

Connected, 

Humiliation 

Surrounding, 

Connection, 

Inability, 

Tea, 

Considerable 

Income, 

Tobacco, 

Constructed, 

Indebtedness, 

Treated, 

Correctly, 

Intense, 

Treatment, 

Decided, 

Interfere, 

Valuable, 

Declaration, 

Interference, 

Various. 

Degradation, 

Lineage, 

THE  CIPHER  EXPLAINED.  643 

To  illustrate  the  difference  in  the  style  of  expression,  between 

that  day  i,nd  this,  let  us  take  this  brief  letter,  written  by  Bacon  in 

1620: 

I  went  to  Kew  for  pleasure,  but  I  met  with  pain.  But  neither  pleasure  nor 
pain  can  withdraw  my  mind  from  thinking  of  his  Majesty's  service.  And  because 
his  Majesty  shall  see  how  I  was  occupied  at  Kew,  I  send  him  these  papers  of  Rules 
for  the  Star-Chamber,  wherein  his  Majesty  shall  erect  one  of  the  noblest  and  dur- 
ablest  pillars  for  the  justice  of  this  kingdom  in  perpetuity  that  can  be;  after  by  his 
own  wisdom  and  the  advice  of  his  Lords  he  shall  have  revised  them,  and  estab- 
lished them.  The  manner  and  circumstances  I  refer  to  my  attending  his  Majesty. 
The  rules  are  not  all  set  down,  but  I  will  do  the  rest  within  two  or  three  days. 

Or  take  this  sentence  from  a  letter  written  by  Bacon,  in  1594,  to 
the  Lord  Keeper  Puckering: 

I  was  wished  to  be  here  ready  in  expectation  of  some  good  effect;  and  therefore 
I  commend  my  fortune  to  your  Lordship's  kind  and  honorable  furtherance.  My 
affection  inclineth  me  to  be  much  your  Lordship's;  and  my  course  and  way,  in  all 
reason  and  policy  for  myself,  leadeth  me  to  the  same  dependence;  hereunto  if 
there  shall  be  joined  your  Lordship's  obligation  in  dealing  strongly  for  me  as  you 
have  begun,  no  man  can  be  more  yours. 

I  need  not  say  that  no  person  to-day  would  write  English  in  that 
fashion.  And  that  we  do  not  so  write  it  is  partly  due  to  Bacon  him- 
self, because,  not  only  in  the  Plays,  but  in  his  great  philosophical 
works,  he  has  infinitely  polished  and  perfected  our  language.  He 
studied,  in  the  Promus,  the  "elegancies"  of  speech;  in  the  Plays  he 
elaborated  "the  golden  cadence  of  poesy;"  '  and  in  The  Advancement 
of  Learning  he  gave  us  many  passages  that  are  perfectly  modern  in 
their  exquisite  smoothness  and  rhythm. 

If  the  Cipher  sentences  are  quaint  and  angular,  the  reader  will 
therefore  remember  that  he  is  reading  a  dialect  three  hundred  years 
old. 

V.     Our  Fac-similes. 

Since  the  discussion  arose  about  my  discovery  of  the  Cipher  in 
the  Plays,  one  of  those  luminous  intellects  which  occasionally 
adorn  all  lands  with  their  presence,  and  which,  I  am  happy  to  say, 
especially  abound  in  America,  has  made  the  profound  observation 
that  probably  I  had  doctored  the  Plays  of  Shakespeare,  and  changed 
the  phraseology,  so  as  to  work  in  a  pretended  Cipher ! 

That   rasping  old  Thersites  of  literature,    Carlyle,  said,   in    his 

lLoTes  Labor  Lost,  iv,  2. 


644  THE   CIFHER  NARRA  TIVE. 

acrid  and  bowie-knife  style:  "  England  contains  twenty-seven  mil- 
lions of  people,  —  mostly  fools"  Now,  while  I  have,  as  we  say  in  the 
law,  "no  knowledge  or  information  sufficient  to  form  a  belief"  as 
to  the  truth  or  falsity  of  this  observation,  touching  the  English  peo- 
ple, I  can  vouch  for  it  that,  to  some  extent,  Carlyle's  remark  applies 
with  great  force  to  my  native  country.  And,  therefore,  to  meet  the 
observation  of  the  luminous  intellect  first  referred  to,  and  prevent  it 
being  taken  up  and  echoed  and  re-echoed  by  multitudinous  other 
luminous  intellects,  as  is  their  wont,  I  have  requested  my  publishers 
to  procure  facsimiles  of  the  pages  of  the  Folio  under  consideration 
in  my  book,  copied  by  the  sun  itself,  from  the  pages  of  one  of  those 
invaluable  copies  of  the  original  Folio  of  1623  which  still  exist  among 
us.  And  consequently  Messrs.  Peale  &  Co.  proceeded  to  New  York, 
and,  upon  application  to  Columbia  College,  which  possesses  the  most 
complete  copy,  I  am  informed,  in  the  United  States,  they  were  per- 
mitted, through  the  kindness  and  courtesy  of  the  officers  of  the  Col- 
lege, to  photograph  the  original  pages,  (pages  that  might  have  been 
at  one  time  in  the  hands  of  Francis  Bacon  himself),  directly  onto  the 
plates  on  which  they  were  engraved.  The  great  volume  was 
sent  every  day,  in  the  care  of  an  officer  of  the  College,  to  the  ar- 
tists' rooms,  and  the  custodian  was  instructed  never  to  permit  it  to 
be  taken  out  of  his  sight  for  a  single  instant,  so  precious  is  it 
esteemed.  And  we  have  the  certificate  of  Mr.  Melvil  Dewey, 
Chief  Librarian  of  Columbia  College,  to  the  fidelity  of  the  fac- 
similes now  presented  in  this  volume.  They  are,  of  course,  re- 
duced in  size,  to  bring  them  within  the  compass  of  my  book,  but 
otherwise  they  are  exact  and  faithful  reproductions  of  the  original. 
The  numbers  given  on  their  margins,  and  the  underscoring  in 
red  ink  of  every  tenth  word,  were  printed  on  them  subsequently, 
to  enable  the  critical  to  satisfy  themselves  that  the  words  actually 
occupy  the  numerical  places  on  the  pages  which  I  assert  they  do. 
Here  is  the  certificate  referred  to: 


THE  CIPHER  EXPLAINED. 


645 


Columbia  College  Library 

Meivn.  Dkwey.  Chief  Libn.  Madison  Ay.  t  49*  St. 


-<JJ2^p 


New   York.     -<J*4d    /"J 


7 


VU  lA^U^O        COO     A Out/  /d^vvUyt^Aj  /     Jryirv^    tm> 
S?UL  p  (ULC4      >V£/U/  ^%JtU^yaJ>^       tsy^dbdls 

Certificate  of  the  Librarian  of  Columbia  College. 


646  THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 

VI.     Another  Brilliant  Suggestion. 

But  another  of  those  luminous  intellects  (whose  existence  is  a 
subject  of  perpetual  perplexity  to  those  who  reverence  God)  has 
made  the  further  suggestion  that,  granted  there  is  a  Cipher  in  the 
Flays,  Bacon  put  it  there  to  cheat  Shakspere  out  of  his  just  rights 
and  honors  !  Bacon, — says  this  profound  man, — was  a  scoundrel; 
he  was  locked  up  in  the  Tower  for  bribery  (the  same  Tower  in 
which  Mr.  Jefferson  Brick  insisted  Queen  Victoria, always  resided, 
and  ate  breakfast  with  her  crown  on);  and  being  in  Caesar's  Tower, 
and  having  nothing  else  to  do,  this  industrious  villain  took  Shak- 
spere's  Plays  and  re-wrote  them,  and  inserted  the  Cipher  in  them, 
in  which  he  feloniously  claimed  them  for  himself. 

But  as  Bacon  was  only  in  the  Tower  one  night,  the  perform- 
ance of  such  a  work  would  be  a  greater  feat  of  wonder  than  any- 
thing his  admirers  have  ever  yet  claimed  for  him. 

But  if  any  answer  is  needed  to  this  shallowness,  it  is  found  in 
the  fact  that  the  original  forms  of  the  Shakespeare  Plays,  where 
they  have  come  down  to  us,  as  in  the  case  of  the  first  copy  of  The 
Merry  Wives,  Hamlet,  Henry  V.,  etc.,  as  they  existed  before  they 
were  doubled  in  size  and  the  Cipher  injected  into  them,  are  very 
meager  and  barren  performances;  and  that  it  is  in  the  Plays,  after 
Bacon  had  inserted  the  Cipher  story  in  them  (that  night  in  the  Tower), 
that  the  real  Shakespearean  genius  is  manifested. 

And  if  any  further  answer  were  needed  it  will  be  found  in  the 
revelations  of  the  Cipher  itself.  It  will  be  seen  that  in  many  places 
almost  every  word  is  a  Cipher  word.  If  I  might  be  permitted,  in  so 
grave  a  work  as  this,  to  recur  to  the  style  of  the  rostrum,  I  would 
cite  an  anecdote: 

A  father  had  a  very  troublesome  son,  —  not  to  say  vicious,  but 
very  vivacious.  The  boy  was  taken  sick.  A  doctor  was  sent  for. 
The  doctor  applied  a  mustard-plaster.  The  father  held  a  light 
for  him. 

"  Doctor,"  said  the  fond  parent,  "  while  you  are  at  it,  could  you 
not  put  a  plaster  on  this  young  gentleman  that  would  draw  the 
d 1  out  of  him  ?  " 

The  doctor,  who  knew  the  boy  well,  replied,  "  I  fear,  my  dear 
sir,  if  I  did  so,  there  would  be  nothing  left  of  the  boy." 


THE  CIPHER  EXPLAINED.  647 

• 
And  so  I  would  say  that,  if  you  take  out  of  the  Plays  the  Bacon- 
ian Cipher,  there  will  be  nothing  left   for  the  man  of  Stratford  to 
lay  claim  to. 

And  here  I  would  remark  that  it  is  sorrowful  —  nay,  pitiful  — 
nay,  shameful  —  to  read  the  fearful  abuse  which  in  sewer-rivers 
has  deluged  the  fair  memory  of  Francis  Bacon  in  the  last  few 
months,  in  these  United  States,  since  this  discussion  arose;  —  let  loose 
by  men  who  know  nothing  of  Bacon's  life  except  what  they  have 
learned  from  Macaulay's  slanderous  essay.  If  Bacon  had  been  a 
common  malefactor,  guilty  of  all  the  crimes  in  the  calendar,  and 
was  still  alive,  and  still  persecuting  mankind,  they  could  scarcely 
have  attacked  him  more  brutally,  viciously,  savagely  or  vindictively. 
It  teaches  us  all  a  great  lesson:  —  that  no  man  should  ever  here- 
after complain  of  slanders  and  unjust  abuse,  when  such  torrents  of 
obloquy  can  be  poured,  without  stint,  by  human  beings,  over  the  good 
name  of  one  of  the  greatest  benefactors  of  the  human  race.  And 
it  suggests  that  if  the  Darwinian  theory  be  true,  that  we  are 
descended  from  the  monkeys,  then  it  would  appear  that,  in  some 
respects,  we  have  not  improved  upon  our  progenitors,  but  possess 
traits  of  baseness  peculiarly  and  exclusively  human. 

VII.     The  Method   of  the  Cipher. 

I  have  stated  that  there  are  live  root-numbers  for  this  part  of 
the  narrative.  These  are  505,  506,  513,  516,  523.  These  are  all  nwdi- 
ficatipns  of  one  number. 

I  have  also  stated  that  these  numbers  are  modified  by  certain 
other  numbers,  which  appear  on  page  73  and  page  74,  to-wit:  on 
the  last  page  of  the  first  part  of  King  Henry  IV.,  and  the  first  page 
of  the  second  part  of  King  Henry  IV.  These  numbers  I  have 
given  on  pages  581,  etc.,  ante. 

In  the  working  out  of  the  Cipher,  505  and  523  cooperate   with  1 

each  other:  that  is,  at  first  part  of  the  story  is  told  by  505;  then  it, 
interlocks  with  523;  or  a  number  due  to  523  alternates  with  a 
number  due  to  505.  The  number  506,  as  will  be  shown,  is  separ- 
ately treated.  The  numbers  513  and  516  go  together,  just  as  505 
and  523  do.  Afterwards  a  number  which  is  a  product,  we  will  say, 
of  505,  goes  forward,  separating  from  the  523  products,  and  is  put 


648  THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 


• 


through  its  own  modifications,  as  will  be  explained  hereafter,  and 
the  same  is  true  of  the  products  of  523. 

In  the  order  of  the  narrative  the  words  growing  out  of  513  and 
516  precede  the  words  growing  out  of  505  and  523. 

The  first  "modifiers"  used  are  218  and  219,  and  197  and  198;  then 
follow  30  and  50.  These  are  the  modifiers  found  in  the  second 
column  of  page  74;  then  follow  the  modifiers  found  on  page  73. 

iWhere  the  count  begins  from  the  beginning  of  a  scene,  it  also 
runs  from  the  end  of  the  same  scene.  \Where  it  begins  to  run  from 
a  scene  in  the  midst  of  an  act,  it  is  carried  to  the  beginnings  and 
ends  of  that  scene  and  of  all  the  other  scenes  in  that  act.  I  Where  it 
\y  begins  from  a  page  alone,  it  is  confined  to  that  page,  or  to  the 
column  next  but  one  thereafter,  and  moves  only  in  one  direction. 
Where  the  Cipher  runs  from  the  beginning  of  a  scene  and  goes  for- 
ward, it  will  also  to  a  certain  extent  move  backward. 

The  numbers  acquired  by  working  one  page  become  root-num- 
bers, and  are  carried  forward  or  backward  to  other  pages. 

Thus,  if  we  commence  with  the  root-number  505,  in  the  first 
column  of  page  75,  we  find  two  subdivisions  in  that  column,  due  to 
the  break  in  the  narrative  caused  by  the  words  of  the  stage  direc- 
tion: "Enter  Morton"  There  are  193  words  in  the  upper  subdi- 
vision, and  253  in  the  lower.  If  we  deduct  these  from  505  and  523, 
for  instance,  we  have  these  results: 


5o5  5o5  523  S23 

193  ^53  193  253 

312  252  330  270 

Now,  these  numbers,  we  will  see,  are  carried  forward  and  back- 
ward, in  due  order,  and  yield,  according  to  the  page  or  column 
to  which  they  are  applied,  different  parts  of  the  Cipher  story.  But 
as  these  numbers  would  soon  exhaust  the  number  of  pages,  col- 
umns, scenes  and  fragments  of  scenes  to  which  they  could  be  ap- 
plied, they  are  in  turn  modified  again,  as  already  stated,  by  the 
modifiers  on  pages  73  and  74.  Thus,  30  and  50  deducted  from  312 
make  the  new  root-numbers  282  and  262;  treated  the  same  way,  523 
produces  the  root-numbers  300  and  '280;  and  these  new  root-num- 
bers, like  the  others,  are  carried  entirely  through  both  the  first  and 
second  parts  of  Henry  IV. 


THE  CIPHER  EXPLAINED. 


649 


And  the  reader  will  observe  that  the  order  in  which  these  num- 
bers progress  is  regular  and  orderly.  For  instance,  the  above 
numbers,  282,  262,  300,  280,  will  work  out  an  entirely  different  part 
of  the  story  from  the  numbers  derived  by  deducting  the  first  col- 
umn of  page  74,  with  its  modifications,  from  505  and  523.  And  the 
order  is  in  the  historical  order  of  the  narrative. 

For  instance,  if  we  commence  on  the  first  column  of  page  75, 
and  work  forward,  the  story  that  comes  out  is  about  the  Queen 
sending  out  the  soldiers  to  find  Shakspere  and  his  fellows,  and  the 
flight  of  the  terrified  actors.  This  is  all  produced  by  505,  506,  513, 
516,  523,  modified  first  by  those  two  fragments  of  that  first  column 
of  page  75,  to-wit,  193  and  253;  and  these,  in  turn,  modified  by  the 
modifying  numbers  in  the  second  column  of  page  74,  to-wit,  50,  30, 
218,  198,  or  49,  29,  219  and  197,  accordingly  as  we  count  from  the 
last  word  of  one  fragment  or  the  first  word  of  the  next.    • 

And  this  story,  so  told,  it  will  be  seen,  is  different  from  and  sub- 
sequent in  order  to  the  story  told  by  commencing  to  work  from  the 
last  column  of  page  74,  instead  of  the  first  column  of  page  75,  which 
relates  to  the  Queen's  rage,  the  beating  of  Hayward,  etc.  While,  if 
we  commence  at  the  first  column  of  page  74,  the  story  told  is  about 
the  bringing  of  the  news  to  Bacon. 

VIII.     The  Story  Reduced  to  Diagrams. 

For  instance,  let  me  represent  the  flow  of  the  story,  from  the 
fountain  of  one  column  into  the  pool  of  another,  by  diagrams;  the 
reader  remembering  that  the  story  always  grows  out  of  those  same 
root-numbers,  505,  506,  513,  516,  523,  modified  always,  in  the  same 
order,  by  the    same  modifiers,  30,  50,   198,  218,  27,  62,  90,  79,  etc. 


1  st  col.,  p.74. 

2d  C0l.,  p.74. 

2d  col.,  p.74. 

ist  col.,  p. 75. 

The  count 

The  story 

The  count 

The  Queen's 

originating 

of  Bacon 

originating 

rage,  her 

on  this 

receiving 

here  tells 

beating 

Column 

the  news. 

f 

the  story 

Hayward, 

tells - 

of- 

etc. 

650 


THE  CIPHER  NARRA  TIVE. 


1  st  col.,  p. 75. 

2d  col.,  p. 75. 

2d  col.,  p. 75. 

1  st  col.,  p. 76. 

The  count 

Sending  for 

The  count 

How  Bacon 

originating 

Shakspere, 

originating 

was 

here  tells 

the  flight 

here  tells 

overwhelmed 

the  story 

of  the 

the  story 

with  the 

of- 

actors,  etc. 

of- 

news,  etc. 

1st  col.,  p.76. 

2d  col.,  p.76. 

2d  col.,  p.76. 

1  st  col.,  p. 77. 

The  count 

The  bringing 

The  count 

The  doctor's 

originating 

of  Bacon's 

originating 

treatment 

here  tells 

body  home, 

here  tells 

of  the 

the  story 

and  sending 

the  story 

case,  etc. 

of- 

for  the 
doctor. 

of- 

But  it  will  be  said  that  we  have  a  break  here,  between  Bacon  be- 
ing overwhelmed  with  the  bad  news,  and  the  carrying  home  of  his 
body  after  he  had  taken  poison.  Yes,  but  the  missing  part  of  the 
story  is  told  by  going  backward  instead  of  forward  in  the  same  due 
and  regular  order. 

That  is  to  say,  we  take  the  root-numbers  produced  by  modifying 
5°5,  5o6>  5T3>  5l6  and  523  by  J93  and  253  (first  column  of  page  75), 
and  we  carry  those  root-numbers  backward  to  the  first  column  of 
page  73,  and  we  work  out  the  directions  of  the  Queen  as  to  how 
Shakspere  was  to  be  treated  when  arrested,  how  he  was  to  be  of- 
fered rewards  to  reveal  the  real  author  of  the  Plays,  etc.;  and  it 
also  tells  how  the  Queen  expressed  her  disbelief  in  Bacon's  guilt, 
and  denounced  his  cousin  Cecil  for  his  lies  and  slanders  concerning 
him. 

And  when  we  take  the  root-numbers  produced  by  the  modifying 
numbers  found  in  the  first  column  of  page  74,  and  which  told  of  how 
the  news  was  brought  to  Bacon,  the  same  numbers  so  produced 
are   carried    backward  to  the  next  page,  and,  working   backward 


THE  CIPHER  EXPLAINED. 


651 


and  forward,  they  tell  that  which  follows  in  due  order,  to-wit, 
the  conversation  between  Bacon  and  his  brother  Anthony,  in  which 
Anthony  urges  him  to  fly.     Thus: 


1  st  col., p. 74. 


The  Queen's 
orders  as  to 
Shakspere's 
treatment, 
etc. 


And  again 


1  st  col.,  p. 75. 


The  numbers 
originating 
here,  carried 
back,  would 

.  tell  -  / 


1st  col.,  p-73-  2d  col.,  p. 73. 


The 

conversation 

of  the 

brothers. 


*-«*. 


1st  col.,  p. 74. 


The  numbers 
originating 
here  arei£ 
carried 
backward 
and  tell—. 


While  Bacon's  taking  the  poison  is  told  partly  on  page  76  and 
partly  on  page  72,  the  finding  of  the  body  is  told  in  the  second 
column  of  page  72,  and  carried  by  tke  root-numbers  so  created 
forward  to  page  76.  The  same  rule  applies  to  all  the  narrative 
which  I  have  worked  out:  the  story  radiates  from  that  common  1 
center,  which  I  have  called  "  The  Heart  of  the  Mystery,  "  the  dividing 
line  between  the  first  and  second  parts  of  the  play  of  Henry  IV. 

Many  have  supposed  that  the  Cipher  story  was  made  by  jump- 
ing about  from  post  to  pillar,  picking  out  a  word  here  and  a  word 
there;  but  the  above  diagrams  will  show  that  it  is  nothing  of  the  ^/ 
kind.  It  moves  with  the  utmost  precision  and  the  most  microscopic 
accuracy,  from  one  point  of  departure  to  another,  carrying  the  num- 
bers created  by  that  point  of  departure  with  it.     And  the  cunning 


652  THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 

with  which  the  infolding  play  is  adjusted  to  the  requirements  of 
the  infolded  story  is  something  marvelous  beyond  all  parallel  in  the 
achievements  of  the  human  mind.  One  of  the  difficulties  I  found 
in  tracing  it  out  was  this  very  exactness:  the  difference  of  a  column 
would  make  the  greatest  difference  in  the  story  told,  and  hence,  if  I 
was  not  very  careful,  I  would  have  two  different  parts  of  the  narra- 
tive running  into  each  other. 

IX.     A  Cipher  of  Words,  not  Letters. 

One  thing  that  must  be  understood  is  this,  that  the  Cipher  is 
not  one  of  letters,  but  of  words.  This  renders  it,  in  one  sense,  the 
more  simple.  There  is  no  translating  of  alphabetical  signs  into 
aaaab,  abbaa,  abaaby  etc.,  as  in  Bacon's  biliteral  cipher,  which  Mr. 
Black  and  Mr.  Clarke  sought  to  apply  to  the  inscription  on  Shak- 
spere's  tombstone.  The  words  come  out  by  the  count,  and  all  of 
them. 

To   illustrate   the  Cipher  in   this   respect,   we  will   suppose   the 

reader  was  to  find  in  an  article,  referring  to  the   cipher-writings  of 

the  middle  ages,  a  sentence  like  this  : 

For  there  can  be  no  doubt  whatever,  that  if  it  be  examined  closely,  there  is 
reason  to  believe  that  a  cunningly  adjusted  and  concealed  cipher  story,  and  one 
not  of  alphabetical  signs,  but  of  words,  may  be  found  hidden,  not  only  in  books, 
but  letters  of  those  ages,  of  which  the  very  intricate  key  is  lost.  It  may  be  re- 
vealed by  some  laborious  student  in  the  future,  but  for  the  present  age  all  the  great 
stories  told  therein,  in  cryptogram,  are  hopelessly  buried. 

Now,  the  reader  might  suppose  this  sentence  to  be  just  what  it 
appears  to  be  on  its  surface.  But  if  we  arrange  the  words  numer- 
ically, placing  the  proper  number  over  each  word,  and  then  pick 
out  every  fifth  word,  we  will  find  that  they  form  together  this  sen- 
tence: 

No  ;  it  is  a  cipher  of  7vords,  not  letters,  which  is  revealed  in  The  Great  Crypto- 
gram. 

Now,  the  Cipher  in  the  Plays  is  on  the  same  principle,  only  more 
complicated:  —  the  internal  words  hold  an  arithmetical  relation  to 
the  external  sentence,  and  you  have  but  to  count  the  words  to  elim- 
inate the  story.  But,  instead  of  the  number  being,  as  in  the  above 
sentence,  5,  it  is  one  which  is  the  product  of  multiplying  a  certain 
number  in  the  first  column  of  page  74  with  another:  this  number 
being  in  turn  put  through  various  modifications. 


THE  CIPHER  EXPLAINED.  653 

X.     How  the  Cipher  was  Made. 

But  it  may  be  asked:  In  what  way  was  the  Cipher  narrative 
inserted  in  the  Plays? 

Bacon,  as  I  suppose,  first  wrote  out  his  internal  story.  Then  he 
determined  upon  the  mechanism  of  the  Cipher.  It  was  necessary  to  \/ 
use  some  words  many  times  over;  but  it  would  not  do  to  pepper  the 
text  with  significant  words.  Hence,  such  words  as  shake  and  speare 
and  plays  and  volume  and  suspicion  had  to  be  so  placed  that  they  would 
sometimes  fit  the  Cipher  counting  down  the  column,  and  sometimes 
fit  it  counting  up  the  column  ;  and  the  necessities  of  this  work 
determined  the  number  of  words  in  a  column  or  subdivision  of  a 
column;  and  hence  the  fact,  which  I  have  already  pointed  out, 
that  some  columns  contain  nearly  twice  as   many  words  as  others. 

And  here  I  would  note  that  the  word  please,  in  Elizabeth's  time, 
was  pronounced  as  the  Irish  peasant  pronounces  it  to-day,  that  is  to 
say,  as  place;  and  it  will  be  seen  that  Bacon  uses  please  to  represent 
plays.  And  very  wisely,  since  the  word  plays,  recurring  constantly, 
would  certainly  have  aroused  suspicion.  The  word  her  was  then 
pronounced  like  hair,  even  as  the  Irish  brogue  would  now  give  it ; 
and,  to  avoid  the  constant  use  of  her,  in  referring  to  Queen  Eliza- 
beth, as  her  Grace,  her  Majesty,  etc.,  Bacon  uses  the  word  here,  which 
also  had  the  sound  of  hair.  This  is  shown  in  the  pun  made  by 
Falstaff,  in  the  first  part  of  Henry  IV.,  act  i,  scene  2,  where,  speak- 
ing to  Prince  Hal,  he  says: 

That  were  it  here  apparent,  that  thou  art  heir  apparent. 

In  fact  it  may  be  assumed  that  in  that  age  in  England  the 
vowels  had  what  might  be  called  the  continental  sound,  that  is  to 
say,  the  a  had  the  broad  sound  of  ah,  and  the  e  the  sound  of  a. 
Thus,  reason  was  pronounced  ray  son,  as  we  see  in  another  of  Fal- 
staff's  puns,  which  would  be  unintelligible  with  the  present  pro- 
nunciation of  the  word: 

» 

Give  you  a  reason  on  compulsion  ?  If  reasons  were  as  plenty  as  blackberries,  I 
would  give  no  man  a  reason  on  compulsion.1 

Here  Falstaff  antagonizes  raisins  with  blackberries. 

In  fact,  the  Cipher  will  give  us,   for  the   entertainment  of  the 

1 1st  Henry  IV.,  ii,  3. 


654  THE  CIPHER  NARRA  TIVE. 

curious,  so  to  speak,  a  photograph,  or  rather  phonograph,   of  the 
exact  sound  of  the  speech  of  Elizabeth's  age. 

But,  having  written  his  internal  story  and  decided  upon  the 
mechanism  of  his  Cipher,  Bacon  had  to  arrange  his  modifiers  so 
that  they  would  enable  him  to  use  the  same  words  more  than 
once.  And  it  will  be  seen  hereafter  that  the  50  on  the  second  col- 
umn of  page  74  is  duplicated  by  the  50  at  the  bottom  of  column 
1  of  page  76,  so  that  such  words  as  lift  him  up,  and  wipe  his  face, 
etc.,  may  be  used  in  describing  the  keepers  caring  for  the  body  of 
the  wounded  Shakspere,  and  also  of  the  lifting  up  of  the  body  of 
Bacon  after  he  had  taken  the  poison. 

Now,  having  constructed  his  Cipher  story,  he  applies  his  mechan- 
ism to  it,  and  he  determines  that  in  column  2,  we  will  say,  of 
page  75,  the  word  ?nen  shall  be  the  221st  word  down  the  column,  and 
the  word  turned  the  221st  word  up  the  column;  then,  in  their 
proper  places,  he  puts  the  words  turned,  their,  backs,  and,  fled,  in,  the, 
greatest,  fear,  swifter,  than,  arrows,  fly,  toward,  their,  aim;  and  then  he 
constructs  that  part  of  the  play  so  that  it  will  naturally  bring  in 
these  words.  But  as  the  Cipher  words  are  very  numerous,  he  is 
constrained  to  describe  something  in  the  play  kindred  to  the  story 
told  by  the  Cipher.  Thus,  this  flight  of  the  actors  is  couched  in  a 
narrative  of  the  flight  of  Hotspur's  soldiers  from  the  battle-field  of 
Shrewsbury,  after  he  was  slain.  And,  as  Hotspur  was  Harry  Percy 
and  Harry  Percy  was  Bacon's  servant,  whenever  there  is  a  necessity 
to  name  the  servant  in  the  interior  story,  the  name  of  the  Earl  of 
Northumberland's  heroic  and  fiery  son  appears  in  the  external 
story.  So  when  the  doctor  appears,  in  column  1  of  page  77,  to 
prescribe  for  Bacon,  after  he  took  the  poison,  we  have  Falstaff  tell- 
ing the  Chief  Justice  all  the  symptoms  of  apoplexy. 

This  apoplexy  is,  as  I  take  it,  a  kind  of  lethargy,  a  sleeping  of  the  blood,  a  hor- 
son  tingling.  ...  It  hath  its  original  from  much  grief,  from  study  and  per- 
turbation of  the  brain.1 

And  a  little  further  down  the  same  column  we  have  disease,  physi- 
cian, minister,  potion,  patient,  prescriptions,  dram,  scruple;  all  of  which 
words,  as  we  will  see  in  the  Cipher  story,  besides  sick,  and  belly,  and  dis- 
comfort, axi&  grows,  in  the  same  column,  and  hotter,  and  ratsbane,  and 

1  2d  Henry  fl\,  i,  3. 


THE    CIPHER   NARRATIVE.  655 

mouth,  in  the  preceding  column,  are  used  to  tell  the  story  of  Bacon's 
sickness  and  his  treatment  by  the  physician. 

In  the  same  way,  when  Percy  visits  Stratford  and  labors  with 
Shakspere  to  induce  him  to  fly  to  Scotland  until  the  dangers  of 
the  time  are  past,  Shakspere's  wife  and  daughter  being  present, 
one  aiding  Percy  and  the  other  opposing  him,  the  story  is  told  in 
scene  3  of  act  ii  of  the  second  part  of  Henry  IV.,  page  81  of  the 
Folio;  and  this  short  scene  is  an  account  of  the  effort  of  Northum- 
berland's wife  and  daughter  to  persuade  him  to  fly  to  Scotland,  un- 
til the  dangers  of  the  time  are  past.  It  must  have  been  very  diffi- 
cult to  construct  this  scene,  for  the  shorter  the  scene  the  more  the 
Cipher  words  are  packed  into  it,  until  almost  every  word  is  used 
both  in  the  play  narrative  and  the  Cipher  narrative. 

In  the  same  way  it  has  been  noted  recently,  by  some  one,  that 
the  names  of  the  characters  in  Loves  Labor  Lost,  the  scene  of  which 
is  laid  in  France,  are  the  names  of  the  generals  who  conducted 
tlie_great  war  raging  in  France  during  Bacon's  visit  to  that  country; 
and  no  doubt  there  is  a  Cipher  story  in  this  play,  relating  to  these 
historical  events,  as  Bacon  perhaps  witnessed  them,  in  which  it  was 
necessary  to  use  the  names  of  these  generals;  and  by  this  cunning 
device  Bacon  was  able  to  do  so  repeatedly  without  arousing  suspi- 
cion. And  the  name  of  Armado,  the  Spaniard,  in  the  same  play, 
was  doubtless  a  cover  for  references  to  the  great  Spanish  Armada. 
And,  as  a  corroboration  of  this,  we  find  the  word  Spain's,  rare  word 
in  the  Plays,  used  twice  in  Love's  Labor  Lost,  and  the  word  Spaniard 
also  used  twice  in  this  play,  while  it  occurs  but  four  times  in  all  the 
other  plays  in  the  Folio.  And  the  word  great,  which  would  natur- 
ally be  associated  with  Armada,  which  was  spoken  of  usually  as  the 
Great  Armada,  occurs  in  Love's  Labor  Lost  twenty-four  times,  while  in 
the  comedy  of  The  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona  it  occurs  but  seven 
times;  in  The  Merchant  of  Venice  but  seven  times;  and  in  All's  J  Veil 
that  Ends  Well  but  four  times.  » 

XI.     How  the  Cipher  is  Worked  Out. 

If  the  reader  will  turn  to  page  76  of  the  fac-si?niles,  being  page 
76  of  the  original  Folio,  and  the  third  page  of  the  second  part  of 
King  Henry  IV.,  and  commence  to  count  at  the  bottom  of  the  scene, 


656 


THE  CIPHER  EXPLAINED. 


to-wit,  scene  second,  and  count  upward,  he  will  find  that  there  are 
just  448  words  (exclusive  of  the  bracketed  words,  and  counting  the 
hyphenated  words  as  single  words)  in  that  fragment  of  scene  second 
in  that  column.  Now,  then,  if  we  deduct  448  from  505,  the  remaind- 
er is  57,  and  if  he  will  count  down  the  next  column,  forward,  (second 
of  page  76),  the  reader  will  find  that  the  57th  word  is  the  word 
her.  That  is  to  say,  the  word  her  is  the  505th  word  from  the  end 
of  scene  second;  and  the  reader  will  remember  that  505  is  one  of 
the  Cipher  root-numbers. 

Now,  I  have  stated  that  one  of  the  modifying  numbers  was  30. 
Let  us  take  505  again  and  deduct  30;  the  remainder  is  475.  If, 
instead  of  starting  to  count  from  the  end  of  the  second  scene  in 
the  first  column  of  page  76  we  count  from  the  end  of  the  first  sub- 
division of  the  corresponding  column  (one  page  backward),  to-wit, 
the  first  column  of  page  75,  we  will  find  thatin  that  first  subdivision 
there  are  193  words;  and  that  number  deducted  from  505  leaves  as 
a  remainder  282.  Now,  if  the  reader  will  count  down  the  next  col- 
umn forward,  just  as  we  did  in  the  former  case,  he  will  find  that 
the  282d  word  is  Grace;  the  two  countings  together  making  the 
combination  "  her  Grace"     Thus: 


1  st  col.,  p. 75^ 

/ 

/  ' 

l 

1 

1 

5°5 

30 

1 

475 

iQ3-  .' 

193 

282 

^  2  d  col 

,P-75- 

\ 

\ 

■¥ 

282     = 

Grace 

1  st  col.,  p. 76.  ^- 


-2d  col.,  p. 76. 


V 

57  -   Her 


Now  let  us  go  a  step  farther.  We  have  seen  that  Grace  was 
produced  by  deducting  from  505  the  modifying  number  30.  The 
other  modifying  number,  in  this  connection,  is  50,  to-wit,  the  num- 
ber of  words  in  the  first  subdivision  of  column  2  of  page  74  •  as 
30  represents  the  number  of  words  in  the  last  subdivision  of  the 
same  column.  We  have  seen  that  her  was  the  fifty-seventh  word 
in    the   second  column   of  page   76.     Now  let   us  deduct   50  from 


THE  CIPHER  EXPLAINED. 


657 


505,  and  again  start  from  the  same  point  of  departure,  the  end  of 
scene  second,  second  column  of  page  76:  505  less  50  leaves  455. 
If  we  deduct  from  455  the  448  words  in  that  fragment  of  the  scene, 
we  have  as  a  remainder  7;  and  if  we  again,  as  in  the  former  instance, 
count  down  the  next  column,  we  find  that  the  seventh  word  is  the 
word  is.  (The  same  result  is  reached  by  deducting  50  from  that  fifty- 
seventh  word,  her,  the  remainder  being  7.)  Now  we  have:  Her  Grace 
is.     Her  grace  is  what  ? 

Let  us  go  back  again  to  the  former  starting-point,  that  193d 
word  in  the  first  column  of  page  75.  We  again  use  the  root-num- 
ber 505,  but  this  time  we  deduct  50  from  it,  as  in  the  last  instance, 
instead  of  30,  and  again  we  have  455.  Now,  if  we  deduct  193  from 
455>  or>  in  other  words,  if  we  count  the  193  words,  the  remainder  to 
make  up  455  is  262;  and  if  we  again  count  down  the  next  column 
forward,  the  262d  word  is  the  word  furious.  "Her  Grace  is  furious.'' 
Thus  : 


Here  it  will  be  observed  that  the  difference  between  57  and  7  is 
50,  and  the  difference  between  282  and  262  is  20,  the  difference  be- 
tween 30  and  50. 

But  if  her  Grace  is  furious,  what  has  she  done  ? 

We  have  seen  that  her  was  the  505th  word  from  the  end  of  the 
scene;  and  grace  the  605th  word  from  the  beginning  of  the  second  1 
subdivision  of  column  1  of  page  75,  counting  upwards;  and  is  the 
505th  word  from  the  end  of  the  scene,  less  50;  and  furious  the  505th 
word  from  the  beginning  of  the  second  subdivision  of  column  1  of 
page  75,  counting  upwrards  again,  less  50.  But  what  is  the  505th 
word  from  the  same  last-named  starting-point  ?  There  are  193  words 


658  THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 

in  column  1  of  page  75  above  the  said  second  subdivision:  if  there- 
fore we  deduct  193  from  505,  the  remainder  is  312;  that  is  to  say, 
the  312th  word  in  the  second  column  of  page  75  is  the  505th  from 
the  top  of  the  second  subdivision  of  column  1  of  page  75.  What 
is  the  312th  word  ?  Turn  to  Xhe  facsimile  of  page  75,  and  you  will 
see  that  the  312th  word  is  sent,  in  the  sentence  "  and  hath  sent 
out."  But  where  is  the  out,  which  is  necessary  to  make  the 
phrase  sent  out?  Again  we  deduct  50  from  312,  and  we  have  left 
262:  —  262,  you  will  remember,  was,  —  counting  down  column  2  of 
page  75,  —  the  word  furious.  Now  let  us  count  262  words  upward 
from  the  end  of  scene  2d,  just  as  we  did  to  obtain  the  words  her 
and  is;  and  we  will  find  that  the  262d  word  is  the  187th  word,  to- 
wit:  out.  But  there  are  two  words  lacking  to  complete  the  sen- 
tence,— "  Her  grace  is  furious  and  hath  sent  out."  Where  are  these? 
If  we  will  again  take  312,  and  count  upward  from  the  end  of  the 
scene,  we  will  find  that  the  312th  word  is  the  137th  word,  and; 
and  now  take  the  same  common  root,  505,  which  has  produced 
all  these  words,  but,  instead  of  counting  from  the  beginning  of  the 
second  subdivision  of  column  1  of  page  75  upward,  count  from 
that  point  downward:  there  are  254  words  in  this  second  subdivis- 
ion of  column  1;  this  deducted  from  505  leaves  251.  Now  sup- 
pose we  go  again  to  that  end  of  scene  2,  from  which  we 
derived  her,  is,  and  and  out,  but  count  downward  instead  of  upward, 
just  as  we  did  to  get  that  remainder  251,  and  the  result  will  be 
that  after  counting  the  50  words  in  that  fragment  of  scene  3  in 
the  first  column  of  page  76,  we  will  have  201  words  left,  and  if  we 
go  up  the  preceding  column  (2d  of  page  75),  we  will  find  that  the 
251st  word  is  the  word  hath,  —  the  308th  word  in  the  second 
column  of  page  75.  Here,  then,  we  have,  all  growing  out  of 505,  alter- 
nating regularly: 

"Her  Grace  is  furious  and  hath  sent  out" 
Can  any  one  believe  that  this  is  the  result  of  accident?  If  so,  let 
them  try  to  create  a  similar  sentence,  in  the  same  way,  with  num- 
bers not  cipher  numbers.  Take  the  number  500,  for  instance,  and 
count  from  the  same  points  of  departure,  in  the  same  order  that 
we  have  used  in  the  previous  instance,  and  they  will  have  as  a  result, 
instead  of  the  above  coherent  sentence,  the  words: 

Sow  —  vail —  of —  soon  —  restrain  —  sent —  king  —  one. 


THE  CIPHER  EXPLAINED.  659 

Now  let  the  reader,  by  the  exercise  of  his  ingenuity,  try  to  make 
a  sensible  sentence  out  of  these  words,  twisting  them  how  he  will. 

I  do  not  at  this  time  give  the  regular  narrative,  but  simply 
some  specimens  to  explain  the  way  in  which  the  Cipher  moves. 
The  narrative  will  be  given  in  subsequent  chapters. 

Let  me  give  another  specimen,  growing,  in  part,  out  of  the  same 
starting-points,  and  being  in  itself  part  of  the  same  story.  We 
have  seen  that  505  less  30,  one  of  the  modifiers,  was  475,  and  that 
475  less  193,  the  upper  subdivision  of  column  1  of  page  75,  pro- 
duced 282,  the  word  grace.  Now  let  us  try  the  same  475,  but  count 
down  the  said  first  column  of  page  75,  from  the  same  starting-point, 
instead  of  up.  There  are  254  words  in  the  second  subdivision  of 
page  75;  254  deducted  from  475  leaves  221,  and  the  221st  word  in 
the  next  column  (second  of  75)  is  the  word  men;  and  if  we  count 
up  the  column  it  is  turned,  the  288th  word;  thus: 

508 

221 

2~87 +  1  =  288. 
But  if  we  recur  to  the  upper  subdivision  again,  that  is,  if  we 
deduct  from  475,  193  instead  of  245,  we  have  the  same  282  which 
produced  grace.  But  here  we  come  upon  another  feature  of  the 
rule  which  runs  all  through  the  Cipher:  If  the  reader  will  look  at 
column  1  of  page  75,  he  will  see  that  in  the  upper  subdivision 
there  are  ten  words  in  brackets  and  five  hyphenated  words.  Now, 
there  are  four  ways  of  counting  the  words  of  the  text:  (1)  Count- 
ing the  words  of  the  text,  exclusive  of  the  bracket-words,  and 
regarding  the  hyphenated  words  or  double  words  as  one  word;  (2) 
counting  all  the  words  of  the  text,  including  the  bracket  words,  and 
treating  the  hyphenated  word  as  two  or  three  words,  as  the  case 
may  be;  (3)  counting  in  the  bracket-words  without  the  hyphenated 
words,  and  (4)  the  hyphenated  words  without  the  bracket-words. 
The  first  two  modes  of  counting  were  exemplified  in  the  instance 
which  I  gave  in  chapter  V.,  page  571,  ante,  where  the  words  found 
and  out  were  reached  by  counting  first  836  words,  in  the  first 
mode  of  counting,  and  then  900  words  by  the  second  mode  of 
counting;  the  count  departing,  as  in  these  instances,  from  two 
different  pages,  succeeding  each  other,  to-wit:  pages  74  and  75; 
while  here  it  is  pages  75  and  76. 


66o 


THE  CIPHER  NARRA  TIVE. 


If,  now,  we  start  with  any  Cipher  number,  say,  475,  which  is 
505  less  30,  from  the  beginning  of  the  second  subdivision  of  the  first 
column  of  page  75,  and  count  upward,  we  will  find  that  there  are  to 
the  top  of  the  column  193  words, plus  to  words  in  brackets  and  5 
words  hyphenated,  making  a  total  of  208;  and  this  deducted  from 
475  leaves  a  remainder  of  267,  instead  of  282.  And  we  will  find 
that  the  267th  word,  counting  down  the  second  column  of  page  75, 
is  the  word  had.  Here  we  have:  "men  had  turned."  But  if  we 
carry  that  267  up  that  column  we  have 

508 
267 
241-1-1  =  242. 

But  there  are  in  this  count  three  hyphenated  words;  if  we  count 
these  in,  then  the  267th  word  is  the  245th  word  on  the  column, 
our.     Now  we  have:  u  our  men  had  turned." 

Let  us  recur  again  to  505  and  again  deduct  30,  and  again  we 
have  475  as  a  remainder;  then  deduct  193  from  it,  as  before,  and 
the  remainder  is  again  282;  now  let  us  go  to  the  beginning  of  the 
next  scene,  in  the  first  column  of  page  76;  that  scene  begins  with 
the  449th  word,  and  if  we  count  the  number  of  words  below  that 
word,  we  will  find  there  are  49;  we  deduct  49  from  282  and  we  have 
left  233,  and  the  233d  word,  going  down  the  same  column,  in 
which  all  the  other  words  have  been  found,  is  the  word  their.  And 
if  we  recur  to  the  alternating  number  221  and  go  up  the  same 
column  again,  but  count  in  the  hyphenated  words,  we  have  as  the 
221st  word,  the  290th  word,  backs. 

Here,  then,  we  have  the  following: 


505-30=475—193=282—15  b  &  /*=267  up  the  column  +  h  =245 

505—30=475—254=221  down 

505—30=475—193=282—15  b  &  /fc=267  up 

505—30=475—254=221  down 

505—30=475—193=282—49  up 

505—30=475—254=221  down 
505—30=475—193=282  up 

It  will  be  observed  that  our,  the  first  word  above,  was  obtained 
by  counting  in  the  hyphenated  words  in  the  column,  as  we  passed 
over  them  in  the  count;   this  is  expressed  by  the  sign   "  -4-  h;n  and 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

h  =245 

75:2     Our 

=221 

75:2     men 

=267 

75:2     had 

=288 

75:2  turned 

=233 

75:2    their 

h  =290 

75:2  backs 

h  =280 

75:2     and 

THE    CIPHER  EXPLAINED. 


661 


the  word  backs  was  obtained,  also,  in  the  same  way;  and  the  word 
ana7  was  obtained  in  like  manner,  and  in  each  case  we  have  this 
represented,  as  above,  by  the  sign  "  -f-  /i."  I  would  here  explain 
that  "245  75:2  —  our,"  in  the  above  table,  signifies  that  our  is  the 
245th  word  in  the  second  column  of  page  75;  in  this  way  the  reader 
can  count  every  word  and  identify  it  for  himself. 

Observe  how  regularly  the  root-numbers  alternate,  as  to  their 
movement  after  leaving  the  original  point  of  departure,  every  other 
word  going  up  from  the  first  word  of  the  second  subdivision  of  page 
75,  while  the  intervening  words  move  downward;  thus,  we  have  193 
—  254 — 193  —  254 —  193  —  254 —  193;  and  hence,  counting  from  these 
points  of  departure,  we  have  the  alternations  of  up,  down,  up,  down, 
up,  down,  up.  And  every  word  of  the  sentence  begins  in  the  first 
column  of  page  75  and  is  found  in  the  second  column  of  page  75; 
and  observe  also  how  the  numbers  of  the  words  alternate:  282  — 
221  —  282  —  221  —  282  —  221 — 282;  the  sentence  is  perfectly  sym- 
metrical throughout;  and  every  word  is  the  475th  word  from  pre- 
cisely the  same  point  of  departure. 

Can  any  one  believe  that  this  is  the  result  of  accident?  If  ,so, 
let  them  produce  something  like  it  in  some  composition  where  no 
cipher  has  been  placed. 

The  above  table,  presented  in  a  diagram,  will  appear  something 
like  this: 


A 


2nd  col., p. 75. 


st  col., p. 76. 


XII.     Another  Proof  of  the  Cipher. 

And  here  I  would  pause  for  a  moment,  to  call  attention  to  a  fact 
which  shows  the  wonderfully  complex  nature  of  the  Cipher,  and 
which  deserves  to  be    remembered    with    that    instance,   given   in 


662  THE  CIPHER  NARRA  'FIVE. 

Chapter  V.  of  Book  II.,  where  the  same  words  found  and  out 
were  used,  in  two  different  stories,  by  two  different  sets  of  cipher- 
numbers,  to-wit:  ii  X  76  =  836  and  12X75  =  900;  the  same  words  be- 
ing 836  from  two  points  of  departure  by  excluding  the  bracketed 
words  and  counting  the  hyphenated  words  as  single  words,  and  900 
from  the  same  points  of  departure  by  counting  in  the  bracketed 
words  and  counting  the  hyphenated  words  as  double  words. 
Now,  in  the  second  column  of  page  75  the  262d  word  is  furious. 
This  is  a  word  repeatedly  used  to  describe  the  rage  of  the  Queen, 
and  hence  we  find  the  number  of  words  in  the  column  and  the 
number  of  bracketed  and  hyphenated  words  cunningly  adjusted 
to  produce  it  by  several  different  counts.  Thus:  505  —  50=455; 
this,  less  193  (the  number  of  words  above  the  second  subdivision  of 
column  1  of  page  75),  makes  262 — furious.  But  now,  if  we 
deduct  from  262  the  15  bracket  and  hyphenated  words  in  those  193. 
words  —  in  other  words,  if  we  count  them  in  —  as  we  have  done 
in  the  other  instances  given  above  —  we  have  247 ;  and  247  down  the 
page  is  a  very  significant  word,  in  connection  with  the  Queen  being 
furious,  the  word  fly;  but  if  we  count  up  the  column,  the  247th 
word  is  again  the  same  202d  word,  furious!  And  if  we  take 
another  root-number,  516,  and  deduct  254  from  it,  that  is,  count 
down  from  the  top  of  that  same  second  subdivision  in  column  1 
of  page  75,  we  again  have  262,  the  same  word  furious.  And  if 
we  go  up  the  column,  instead  of  down,  the  262d  word  is  again  that 
significant  word,  fly.  And  if  we  take  still  another  root-number, 
513,  and  deduct  254  from  it,  as  above,  we  have  as  a  remainder  259, 
and  if  we  carry  this  down  the  column  we  reach  the  significant  word 
prisoner,  and  if  we  go  up  the  column,  counting  in  the  bracketed 
and  hyphenated  words,  we  find  that  the  259th  word  is  again  the 
same  262d  word,  furious. 

Let  the  incredulous  reader  verify  these  countings,  and  he  will 
begin  to  realize  the  tremendous  nature  of  the  Cipher,  its  immen- 
sity and  the  incalculable  difficulty  of  unraveling  it;  and  he  will  be 
rather  disposed  to  thank  me  for  the  work  I  have  performed,  and  to 
help  me  to  perfect  it,  where  that  work  is  imperfect,  than  to  meet 
me,  as  I  have  been  met,  with  insults  and  denunciation. 


THE   CIPHER   EXPLAINED.  663 

XIII.     Why  Bacon  Made  the  Cipher. 

But  the  astonished  world  may  ask:  Why  would  any  man  per- 
form the  vast  labor  involved  in  the  construction  of  such  a  Cipher? 
Why,  I  answer,  have  men  in  all  ages  performed  great  intellectual 
feats  ?  What  is  poetry  but  fine  thoughts  invested  in  a  sort  of 
cipher-work  of  words?  To  obtain  the  precise  balance  of  rhythm, 
the  exact  enumeration  of  syllables  and  the  accurate  accordance  of 
rhyme,  implies  an  ingenuity  and  adaptiveness  of  mind  very  much 
like  that  required  to  form  a  cipher;  so  that,  in  one  sense,  a  cipher 
work,  like  the  Plays,  is  a  higher  form  of  poetry.  And  nature  itself 
may  be  said  to  be  a  sort  of  Cipher  of  which  we  have  not  as  yet 
found  the  key.  Montaigne  says:  "Nature  is  a  species  of  enig- 
matic poesy."  But  I  may  go  a  step  farther,  and  argue  that  all 
excessive  mental  activity,  such  as  Bacon  exhibited,  even  in  his 
acknowledged  works,  is  abnormal,  and  in  some  respects  a  depart- 
ure from  the  sane  standard.  The  normal  man  is  a  happy  well- 
conditioned  creature,  with  good  muscles  and  a  sound  stomach, 
whose  purpose  in  life  is  to  eat,  sleep  and  raise  children,  and  who 
doesn't  care  a  farthing  what  anybody  may  think  of  him  a  thousand 
years  after  his  death.  Anything  above  and  beyond  this  is  imposed 
on  man  by  the  Creator,  for  his  own  wise  ends.  The  great  geniuses 
of  mankind  have  been  simply  a  long  line  of  heavily-burdened, 
sweating,  toiling  porters,  who  bore  God's  precious  gifts  to  man 
from  the  spiritual  world  to  the  material  shore. 

And  like  an  ass,  whose  back  with  ingots  bows, 
Thou  bear'st  thy  heavy  burden  but  a  journey, 
Till  death  unloads  thee. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  Bacon  probably  enjoyed  the  exercise  of 
his  own  vast  ingenuity,  just  as  children  enjoy  the  working-out  of 
riddles;  just  as  the  musician  takes  pleasure  in  the  sound  of  his  own 
instrument;  just  as  the  athlete  delights  in  the  magnificent  play  of  his 
own  muscles.  And  he  probably  had  the  Shakespeare  Cipher  in  his 
mind  when  he  said, 

The  labor  we  delight  in  physics  pain; 
and 

To  business  that  we  love  we  rise  betime, 
And  go  to  *t  with  delight. 


664  THE    CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 

We  can  imagine  him,  shut  up  in  the  hermitage  of  St.  Albans, 
poor,  downcast,  powerless;  annoyed  by  debts;  the  whole  force  of 
the  reigning  powers  in  the  state  bent  to  his  suppression;  with 
every  door  of  possibility  apparently  closed  in  his  face  forever;  his 
heart  raging  within  him  the  while  like  a  caged  lion.  We  can  im- 
agine him,  I  say,  rising  betimes  to  go  to  the  task  he  loved,  the 
preparation  of  the  inner  history  of  his  times,  in  cipher,  and  the  crea- 
tion of  an  intellectual  work  which,  apart  from  the  merits  of  poetry 
or  drama,  must,  he  knew,  live  forever,  when  once  revealed,  as  one  of 
the  supreme  triumphs  of  the  human  mind;  as  one  of  the  wonders  of 
the  world. 

XIV.     The  Cipher  Continued. 

We  have  worked  out  the  sentence,  Our  men  turned  their  backs  and. 
Let  us  proceed. 

We  have  heretofore,  in  counting  down  column  i,  page  75,  de- 
ducted 254  words,  that  being  the  number  of  words  below  the  193d 
word,  the  end  of  the  first  subdivision  in  the  column.  But  if  we 
count  from  the  first  word  of  the  second  subdivision  there  are,  below 
that  wordy  in  the  column,  253  words.  We  shall  see  hereafter  that 
this  subtle  distinction,  as  to  the  starting-points  to  count  from,  runs 
all  through  the  Cipher.  Now,  if  we  again  take  that  root-number 
505,  and  deduct  253,  we  have  as  a  remainder  252;  but  if  we  count 
in  the  bracket  and  hyphenated  words  in  that  subdivision,  (15),  we 
will  have  as  a  remainder  237;  and  the  237th  word  in  column  2  of 
page  75  is  the  word  fled,  which  completes  the  sentence,  Our  men 
turned  their  backs  and  fled. 

We  saw,  in  the  first  instance,  that  her  Grace  is  furious  and  hath  sent 
out;  we  come  now  to  finish  that  sentence.  What  was  it  she  sent 
out?  As  we  have  counted  downward  all  the  words  below  the  first 
word  of  the  second  subdivision  of  column  1  of  page  75,  so  we  count 
upwards  all  the  words  above  the  last  word  in  the  first  subdivision. 
There  are  in  that  first  subdivision  193  words;  hence  192,  the  num- 
ber of  the  words  above  the  last  word,  becomes,  in  the  progress  of 
the  Cipher,  a  modifier,  just  as  we  have  seen  253  to  be.  Let  us 
again  take  the  root-number  505,  from  which  we  have  worked  out 
thus  far  all  the  words  given,  and  after  deducting  from  it  the  modi- 
fier 50,  we  have  left  455,  which,  it  will  be  remembered,  produced  the 


THE    CIPHER   EXPLAIXED. 


665 


words  furious,  is,  hath  and  out.  If  from  455  we  deduct  192,  we  have 
as  a  remainder  263,  and  if  we  carry  this  up  the  next  column  (2d  of 
75),  we  find  that  the  263d  word  is  the  246th  word,  soldiers.  Her 
Grace  is  furious  and  hath  sent  out  soldiers. 

But  what  kind  of  soldiers  ?  Up  to  this  point  every  word  has 
flowed  out  of  505;  now,  the  Cipher  changes  to  523,  the  root-num- 
ber which  I  have  said,  under  certain  conditions,  alternated  with 
505.  Again  we  deduct  the  number  192,  (which  produced  soldiers), 
from  523,  and  we  have  as  a  remainder  331;  we  carry  this  up  the 
next  column,  as  usual,  and  the  331st  word  is  the  178th  word,  troops. 
Again  we  take  505  and  go  down  the  column,  instead  of  up,  that  is, 
we  deduct  254,  as  in  the  former  instances,  and  we  have  as  a  re- 
mainder 251;  or  if  we  count  in  the  bracket  and  hyphenated  words, 
236;  we  go  up  the  second  column  of  page  75,  and  the  236th  word  is 
of,  the  273d  word  in  the  column.  Here,  then,  we  have:  Her  Grace  is 
furious  and  hath  sent  out  troops  of  soldiers,  and  Our  men  turned  their 
backs  and  fled. 

Now  we  turn  again  to  the  interlocking  number  523,  and,  after  de- 
ducting the  modifier  50,  which  leaves  473,  counting  up  the  column, 
we  have  as  a  remainder  280,  or,  counting  in  the  bracketed  and  hy- 
phenated words,  which  formerly  produced  hath  {hath  turned),  and  the 
265th  word  is  the  word  well,  the  first  part  of  the  hyphenated  word 
well-laboring j  but  as  the  265th  was  obtained  by  counting  in  the 
hyphenated  words  in  193,  we  therefore  count  the  hyphenated  words 
separately,  and  that  gives  us  well.  Now,  if  we  count  505  from  the 
beginning  of  scene  3,  column  1,  page  76,  down  the  50  words  in 
that  fragment  of  scene,  and  forward  and  down  the  next  column, 
we  find  the  505th  word  to  be  the  455th  word  in  the  second  column 
of  page  86,  to-wit,  the  word  horsed.  Here,  then,  we  have  sent  out 
troops  of  soldiers  well  horsed.  In  that  day  they  used  the  word  horsed 
where    we    would  employ   the    expression    mounted;  thus,    Macbeth 

speaks  of  * 

Pity,  like  a  naked,  new-born  babe, 
Horsed  on  the  sightless  couriers  of  the  air. 

And  at  the  top  of  the  first  column  of  page  75  we  have: 

My  lord,  Sir  John  Umfreville  turned  me  back 
With  joyful  tidings;  and  (being  better  horsed) 
Out-rode  me. 


666  THE   CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 

But  how  did  our  men  fly  ?  We  have  seen  that  505  minus  30  pro- 
duced 475,  and  this  minus  254  left  221,  and  that  221,  down  the  sec- 
ond column  of  page  75,  was  men,  and  up  the  same  column  was 
turned  (our  men  turned  their  backs).  Now  let  us  carry  221  up  the  same 
column  again,  but  count  in  the  bracketed  and  hyphenated  words 
in  the  space  we  pass  over,  and  we  will  find  that  the  221st  word  is 
the  296th  word,  in.  Again  let  us  take  505,  deduct  193,  and  we  have 
left  312;  now  let  us  go  again  to  the  beginning  of  the  next  scene, 
as  we  did  to  find  the  word  their,  and  deduct,  as  before,  49,  carry- 
ing the  remainder  (263)  up  the  second  column  of  page  75,  but 
counting  in  the  three  additional  hyphenated  words,  and  we  will 
find  the  263d  word  to  be  the  249th  word  from  the  top,  the.  Again 
let  us  recur  to  505,  and,  counting  down  the  same  first  column  of 
page  75,  from  the  usual  starting-point,  254  words,  we  have  left  as 
before  251  words;  or,  counting  in  the  bracketed  and  hyphenated 
words,  236;  and  if  we  count  down  the  next  column,  counting  in 
the  bracketed  words,  the  236th  word  is  the  216th  word,  greatest. 
And  if  we  again  take  505,  and  count  up  from  the  end  of  the  first 
subdivision  of  the  first  column  of  page  75,  counting  in  the  brack- 
eted and  hyphenated  words,  as  we  did  in  the  last  instance,  we 
have  297,  which  carried  down  the  next  column  produces  the  word 
fear. 

505—30=475—254=221.    508—221+6  &  h  on  col.— 
505—  193— 312— 49=263— 508— 263+/*= 

505  254=251—15  b  &  /z=236— 20  3=216. 

505  193=312—15  b  &  /;=297. 

Observe  again  the  symmetry  of  this  sentence:  it  all  grows  out 
of  505;  it  is  all  found  in  the  second  column  of  page  75;  the  count 
all  begins  at  the  same  point  in  the  first  column  of  page  75,  and  it 
regularly  alternates:  254 — 193  —  254 — 193;  —  2*21 — 312  —  251  — 
312;  two  words  go  up  the  column  together,  and  two  words  go 
down  the  column  together.  Can  any  one  believe  that  this  is  the 
result  of  accident  ? 

We  now  have :    Our  men  turned  their  backs  and  fled  in  the  greatest  fear. 

We  go  a  step  farther.  We  recur  to  the  interlocking  number 
523  and  again  deduct  from  it  the  modifier  30,  which  leaves  493;  we 
count  down  from   the  beginning  of  the  second  subdivision,  to-wit, 


Page  and 

Word. 

Column. 

296 

75:2            in 

249 

75:2          the 

216 

75:2     greatest 

297 

75:2          fear 

THE   CIPHER  EXPLAINED.  667 

deduct  254,  and  we  have  239  left;  and  the  239th  word  in  the  next 
column  is  swifter.  We  take  523  again,  but  deduct  this  time  the 
other  modifier,  50,  instead  of  30,  and  we  have  473  left.  We  count 
up  the  column,  this  time,  instead  of  down,  and,  deducting  193  from 
473,  we  have  280  left,  or,  counting  in  the  15  bracketed  and  hyphen- 
ated words  in  that  first  subdivision,  we  have  265  left  (the  same 
number  that  produced  we//);  and  this,  carried  down  the  next  col- 
umn, counting  in  the  bracketed  and  hyphenated  words,  produces 
the  word  then,  the  243d  word  in  the  second  column  of  page  75.  And 
the  reader  will  observe  that  in  the  text  then  is  constantly  used  for 
than.     Here,  in  column  2  of  page  74,  we  have: 

That  arrows  fled  not  swifter  toward  their  aim 
Then  did  our  soldiers  (aiming  at  their  safety) 
Fly  from  the  field. 

We  recur  again  to  505,  and,  counting  down  the  column, —  that  is, 
deducting  254, —  we  have  251  left,  and  counting  in  the  15  bracketed 
and  hyphenated  words,  we  have  236  words  left;  we  go  down  the 
next  column,  and  we  find  that  the  236th  word  is  arrows.  Again 
we  take  505,  and  deduct  the  modifier  50,  leaving  455,  and,  alter- 
nating the  movement,  we  go  up  from  the  beginning  of  the  second 
subdivision,  that  is,  we  deduct  193  from  455,  and  we  have  left  262, 
(the  number  which  produced  furious).  We  carry  this  up  the  next 
column,  and  the  262d  word  is  the  word  fly.  And  if  we  again  take 
the  root-number  523,  and  count  down  the  first  column  of  page  75, 
that  is,  deduct  254,  we  have  269  left;  and  if  we  count  up  the  next 
column,  this  brings  us  to  the  word  toward,  the  240th  word.  We 
take  the  root-number  523  again,  and,  counting  up  the  column,  we 
deduct  193,  which  leaves  330;  we  carry  this  down  the  first  column 
of  page  76,  counting  in  18  bracketed  and  hyphenated  words,  and 
the  330th  word  is  the  312th  word,  their.  And  this  illustrates  the  ex- 
quisite cunning  of  the  adjustment  of  the  brackets  and  hyphens  to 
the  necessities  of  the  Cipher:  this  same  312th  word  was  the  word 
their  which  became  part  of  turned  their  backs;  it  resulted  from  de- 
ducting 193  from  the  root-number  505,  which  left  312;  now  we  find 
that  193  deducted  from  another  root-number,  523,  leaves  330,  and  as 
there  are  precisely  18  bracketed  and  hyphenated  words  above  it  in 
the  column,  the  330th  word  lights  upon  the  same  312th  word  their. 

Thus: 


1  w 


VNr 


668  THE    CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 

505—193=312  down  column  1,  page  76     312  76:1       their 

523— 193=330— 18  b  &  h  "  "        "     "       "     312  76:1       their 

One  has  but  to  compare  this  with  the  marvelous  adjustments 
shown  on  pages  571,  572  and  573,  ante,  whereby  the  same  words, 
found  Bind  out,  are  made  to  do  double  duty,  by  two  different  modes 
of  counting,  (the  difference  between  836  and  900,  the  two  root-num- 
bers employed,  being  precisely  equal,  as  in  this  case,  to  the  number 
of  bracketed  and  hyphenated  words  in  the  text,  between  the 
words  themselves  and  the  starting-point  of  the  count),  to  realize 
the  extraordinary  nature  of  the  compositions  we  call  the  Shake- 
speare Plays. 

And  observe  again,  in  this  last  group  of  words,  how  regularly 
254  and  193  alternate:  254—193  —  254  —  193  —  254  —  193;  and 
two  groups  of  523  each  alternate  with  two  groups  of  505  each, 
thus:  523,  523,  505,  505,  523,  523,  505. 

But  to  continue:  We  recur  to  505  again;  deduct  from  it  again 
the  modifier  30;  this  leaves  us  475;  deduct  from  this  193  plus  the 
bracketed  and  hyphenated  words  inclosed  in  the  193  words,  and  we 
have  left  267;  we  advance  up  the  next  column,  and  the  267th  word 
is  the  242d  word,  aim. 

Here,  then,  we  have  the  sentence: 

Our  men  turned  their  backs  and  fled  in  the  greatest  fear,  swifter  than 
arrows  fly  toward  their  aim. 

I  might  go  on  and  fill  out  the  rest  of  the  narrative,  but  that  will 
be  done  in  a  subsequent  chapter.  This  at  least  will  explain  the 
mode  in  which  the  Cipher  is  worked  out. 

While  it  may  be  objected  that  I  have  not  the  different  para- 
graphs in  their  due  and  exact  order  in  the  sentences  I  have  given, 
or  may  give,  hereafter,  no  reasonable  man  will,  I  think,  doubt  that 
these  results  are  not  due  to  accident;  that  there  is  a  Cipher  in  the 
Plays,  and  a  Cipher  of  wonderful  complexity.  And  I  shall  hope 
that  the  ingenuity  of  the  world  will  perfect  any  particulars  in 
which  my  own  work  may  be  imperfect;  even  as  the  complete  work- 
ing-out of  the  Egyptian  hieroglyphics  was  not  the  work  of  any 
one  man,  or  of  any  half-dozen  men,  or  of  any  one  year,  or  of  any 
ten  years. 

There  is,  of  course,  a  species  of  incredulity  which  will  claim 
that    all    this   wonderful   concatenation    of  coherent    words  is   the 


THE    CIPHER   EXPLAINED.  669 

result  of  chance;  just  as  there  was  a  generation,  a  century  or  two 

ago,  which,  when  the  fossil  forms  of  plants  and  animals  were  first 

noticed  in  the  rocks,  (misled  by  a  preconceived  notion  as  to  the  age 

of  the  earth),  declared  that  they  were  all  the  work  of  chance;    that 

the  plastic  material  of  nature  took  these  manifold  shapes  by  a  series 

of  curious  accidents.     And  when  they  were  driven,  after  a  time, 

from  this  position,  the  skeptics  fell  back  on  the  theory  that  God 

had  made  these  exact  imitations  of  the  forms  of  living  things,  and 

placed  them  in  the  rocks,  to  perplex  and  deceive  men,  and  rebuke 

their  strivings  after  knowledge. 

With  many  men  the  belief  in  the  Stratford  player  is  a  species  of 

religion.     They  imbibed  it  in  their  youth,  with  their  mother's  milk, 

and  they  would  just  as  soon   take  the   flesh  off   their  bones  as  the 

prejudices   out  of  their  brains.     Ask   them   for  any   reason,  apart 

from  the  Plays  and  Sonnets,  (the  very  matters  in  controversy),  why 

they  worship  Shakspere;  ask  them  what  he  ever  did  as  a  man  that 

endears  him  to  them;  what  he  ever  said,  in  his  individual  capacity, 

that  was  lofty,  or  noble,  or  lovable;  and  they  are  utterly  at  loss  for 

an  answer;  there  is  none.     Nevertheless  they  are  ready  to  die  for 

him,  if  need  be,  and   to  insult,  traduce  and  vilify  every  one  who 

does   not  agree  with  them  in  their  unreasoning  fetish  worship.     It 

reminds  me  of  an  observation  of  Montaigne: 

How  many  have  been  seen  patiently  to  suffer  themselves  to  be  burnt  and 
roasted  for  opinions  taken  upon  trust  from  others,  and  by  them  not  at  all  under- 
stood. I  have  known  a  hundred  and  a  hundred  women  (for  Gascony  has  a  certain 
prerogative  for  obstinacy)  whom  you  might  sooner  have  made  eat  fire  than  forsake 
an  opinion  they  had  conceived  in  anger. 

And  a  remarkable  feature,  not  to  be  overlooked,  is,  that  not 
only  do  a  few  numbers  produce  some  of  the  twenty-nine  words  in 
these  sentences,  b u t_the^prjQ d u c e  them  all.  Thus  nearly  all  come 
out  of  505,  towards  the  last  intermixed  with  523;  and  we  derive 
from  312  sent,  out,  soldiers,  fly,  furious,  fear,  their;  while  from  221  we 
get  men,  turned,  backs,  in;  and  251  gives  greatest,  arrows,  etc.  It 
seems  to  me  that  if  the  reader  were  to  write  down  these  words,  just 
as  I  have  given  them,  and  submit  them  to  any  clear-headed  person, 
and  tell  him  they  were  parts  of  a  story,  he  would  say  that  they  evi- 
dently all  related  to  some  narrative  in  which  soldiers  were  sent  out, 
that  somebody  was  furious,  and  some  other  parties  were  in  the 
greatest  fear  and  had  turned  their  backs  to  fly. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

BACON  HEARS  THE  BAD  NEWS. 

Yet  the  first  bringer  of  unwelcome  news 
Hath  but  a  losing  office;  and  his  tongue 
Sounds  ever  after  as  a  sullen  bell 
Remembered  knolling  a  departing  friend. 

2d  Henry  IV.y  f,  2. 

THE  Cipher  grows  out  of  a  series  of  root-numbers.  Before  we 
reach  that  part  of  the  story  which  is  told  by  the  root-numbers 
5°5>  513>  5J6  and  523,  there  is  a  long  narrative  which  leads  up 
to  it,  and  which  is  told  by  another  series  of  numbers,  which  grow 
in  due  and  regular  order  out  of  the  primal  root-number,  which  is 
the  parent  of  505,  513,  516  and  523.  They  start  at  "The  Heart  of 
the  Mystery"  the  dividing  line  between  the  first  and  second  parts  of 
Henry  IV.  and  progress  in  regular  order,  forward  and  backward, 
moving  steadily  away  from  that  center,  as  the  narrative  proceeds, 
until  they  exhaust  themselves  on  the  first  page  of  the  first  part 
and  the  last  page  of  the  second  part  of  the  play.  Then  the  primal 
number  is  put  through  another  arithmetical  progression,  and  we 
reach  the  numbers  I  have  named,  505,  513,  516  and  523,  and 
these  give  us  that  part  of  the  story  which  is  now  being  worked  out. 
And  to  tell  that  story  we  begin,  properly,  with  the  very  beginning, 
at  "  The  Heart  of  the  Mystery"  in  the  first  column  of  the  second 
part  of  the  play  of  King  Henry  IV. 

And  here  I  would  observe  that  as  the  Cipher  flows  out  of  the  first 
column  of  page  74  its  mode  of  progression  is  different  from  the 
Cipher  referred  to  in  the  last  chapter,  for  that  grew  out  of  the  first 
column  of  page  75,  which  is  broken  into  two  parts  by  the  stage 
direction  "Enter  Morton;"  and  hence  the  root-numbers  were  mod- 
ified at  one  time  by  subtracting  the  upper  half,  and  at  another  time 
by  subtracting  the  lower  half;  that  is  to  say,  by  counting  up  from 

670 


BACON  HEARS    THE  BAD  NEWS. 


671 


"Enter  Morton"  or  counting  down.  But  the  first  column  of  page 
74  has  no  such  break  in  it;  it  is  solid;  and  hence  the  root-numbers 
sooner  exhaust  themselves.  And  this  perhaps  was  rendered  neces- 
sary by  the  fact  that  there  are  but  248  words  in  the  second  column 
of  page  74,  while  there  are  508  words  in  the  second  column  of  page 
75.  There  would  have  been  great  difficulty  in  packing  as  many 
Cipher  words  into  248  words  as  into  508  words.  Hence  the  dif- 
ferent Cipher  numbers  interlock  with  each  other  more  frequently, 
and  in  a  short  space  we  find  all  the  Cipher  numbers  (except  506, 
which  has  a  treatment  peculiar  to  itself  and  apart  from  the  others) 
brought  into  requisition. 

The  former  Cipher  numbers,  to  which  I  have  alluded,  ended 
with  some  brief  declaration  from  Harry  Percy  of  the  evil  tidings; 
and  the  first  words  spoken  by  Bacon  are  based  on  the  hope  that 
there  may  be  some  mistake,  that  the  news  may  not  be  authentic. 
He  inquires:  " Saw  you  the  Earl '?  How  is  this  derived?"  "The  Earl," 
of  course,  means  the  Earl  of  Essex,  and  the  head  of  the  conspiracy. 
And  here  I  would  also  explain,  that  just  as  we  sometimes  modified 
505  and  523,  in  the  examples  given  in  the  last  chapter,  by  counting 
the  words  above  the  first  word  of  the  second  subdivision  of  column  1 
of  page  75,  to-wit,  193;  and  sometimes  the  words  above  the  last  word 
of  the  first  subdivision,  to-wit,  192:  so  with  this  first  column  of  page 
74,  if  we  count  down  the  column  there  are  284  words,  exclusive  of 
bracketed  and  the  additional  hyphenated  words,  but  if  we  count  up 
the  column  we  will  find  that  the  number  of  words  above  the  last  word 
of  the  column  is  but  283,  exclusive  of  bracketed  words  and  the  ad- 
ditional hyphenated  words.  And  this  the  reader  will  perceive  is  a 
necessary  distinction,  otherwise  counting  up  and  down  the  column 
would  produce  the  same  results;  and  as  the  Cipher  runs  from  the  begin- 
nings and  ends  of  scenes,  and  as  the  "Induction"  is  in  the  nature  of  a  first 
scene  (for  the  next  scene  is  called  "Scena  Secunda  "),  it  follows  that 
we  must  adopt  the  same  rule  already  shown  to  exist  as  to  193,  254, 
etc.,  and  which  we  will  see  hereafter  runs  all  through  the  Cipher, 
in  both  plays.  And  these  subtle  distinctions  not  only  show  the 
microscopic  accuracy  of  the  work,  but  illustrate  at  the  same  time 
the  difficulty  of  deciphering  it. 

I  place  at  the  head   of  the  column  the  root-numbers  and  their 


672  THE  CIPHER  NA  RKA  TI VE. 

modifications;  and  the  reader  will  note  that  every  word  of  the  co- 
herent narrative  which  follows  is  derived  from  one  or  the  other  of 
these  numbers,  modified  by  the  same  modifiers,  30  and  50,  which 
we  found  so  effective  on  page  75,  together  with  the  other  modifiers, 
197,  198,  218  and  219,  which  are  also  found,  as  we  have  already  ex- 
plained, in  the  second  column  of  page  74. 

I  would  also  call  attention  to  the  fact  that  just  as  we,  in  the  pre- 
ceding chapter,  sometimes  counted  in  the  bracketed  and  additional 
hyphenated  words  in  the  subdivisions  of  column  1  of  page  75,  and 
sometimes  did  not:  so  in  this  case,  sometimes  we  count  in  the  brack- 
eted and  additional  hyphenated  words  in  column  1  of  page  74,  and 
sometimes  we  do  not.  And  as  in  the  former  instance  we  indicated 
it  by  the  marks  " — 15  b&h,"  there  being  15  bracketed  and  hyphen- 
ated words  in  both  those  subdivisions,  so  in  the  following  examples 
we  indicate  it  by  the  marks  " — 18  b  &h,"  there  being  18  bracketed 
and  additional  hyphenated  words  in  column  1  of  page  74.  Where 
the  figures  '*  21  b"  or  "  22  b  &  h"  occur,  they  refer  to  the  brack- 
eted words  or  the  bracketed  and  additional  hyphenated  words  in 
the  same  column  in  which  the  words  are  found. 

I  would  call  attention  to  the  significant  words  in  the  narrative 
that  flow  out  of  the  modifiers;  for  instance,  523  —  284  =  239,  from; 
less  50=  iSg,  gentleman;  less  30=  209 — 21  b==  188,  a;  less  30=158, 
whom;  505 — 284  =  221,  I;  less  50=171,  derived;  less  30=191,  bred; 
505  —  284  =  221  —  21  b  in  column  =  200,  these;  523  —  284=239  — 
21  b  in  column  =  2i8,  news;  while  523  —  283  =  240,  me;  — 50  = 
190,  well;  — 30=210,  /.  Here  in  two  root-numbers,  alternated 
with  the  modifiers  50  and  30,  we  produce  the  significant  words: 
/,  derived,  these,  news,  from,  a,  well,  bred,  gentleman,  whom,  I.  Surely, 
all  this  cannot  be  accidental? 

Suppose  instead  of  these  root-numbers,  505  and  523,  we  take 
any  other  numbers,  say  500  and  450,  and  apply  them  in  the  same 
way,  and  in  £he  same  order,  as  in  the  above  sentence;  and  we  will 
have  as  a  result  the  following  words:  came,  the,  a,  name,  listen, you, 
fortunes,  Monmouth,  the,  that,  after.  Not  only  do  these  words  make 
no  sense  arranged  in  the  same  order  as  in  the  above  coherent  sen- 
tence, but  it  is  impossible  to  make  sense  out  of  them,  arrange  them 
how  you  will.     You  might  put  together:  after  that  Monmouth  ca?ne; 


BACO-N  HEARS  THE  BAD  NEWS. 


673 


but  the  remaining  words  will  puzzle  the  greatest  ingenuity;  and 
then  comes  the  question:  Who  is  Monmouth,  and  what  has  he  to 
do  with  any  story  that  precedes  or  follows  this?  But  505,  523, 
etc.,  not  only  produce  a  coherent  narrative  on  this  page,  but  on 
all  the  other  pages  examined,  and  the  story  on  one  page-  is  a  part  of 
the  story  on  all  the  other  pages. 

I.     The  Narrative. 


523 

284 


239 


523 


516 

284 


240 


232 


516 

283 


233 


513 

284 


229 


513 

283 


230 


505 

284 

221 


505 
283 

222 


Page  and 

Word.  Column. 

523— 284=239— 51=188— 20  £&  £=168.  168  74:2  How 

505— 284=221— 51=170-1  £=169.  169  74:2  is 

523— 284=239— 50=189— 19  £=1  70.  170  74:2  this 

505—284=221—50=171.  171  74:2  derived? 

523— 283=240— 18  b  &  £=222— 50=172.  172  74:2  Saw 

505—283=222—30=192—19=173.  173  74:2  you 

523—283=240.     248—240=8+1=9.  9  74:2  the 

505—284=221—167=54.  54  74:2  Earl? 

523— 284=239— 7  h  (74: 1)=232.  232  74:2  No, 

505—284=221.  221  74:2  I 

523—284=239—18  b  &  h  (74:1)=221— 50=171.  171  74:2  derived 

505—284=221—21  £=200.  200  74:2  these 

523—284=239—21  £=218.  218  74:2  news 

505—284=221—219=2.     248—2=246+1=247.  247  74:2  from 

523—284=239—30=209—21  £=188.  188  74:2  a 

523-283=240—50=190.  190  74:2  well 

505—284=221—30=191.  191  74:2  bred 

523—284=239—50=189.  189  74:2  gentleman 

505—283=222—29=193.  193  74:2  of 
523—284=239—18  b  &  £=221—50=171.     248—171= 

77+1=78+15=93.  93  74:2  good 

505—284=221—167=54.     248—54=194+1=195  195  74:2  name 

523—284=239—30=209.  209  74:2  whom 

505—284=221—18  b  &  £=203—19  £=184.  (184)  74:2  my 

523— 284=239^18  b&  £=221— 1  £=220.  220  74:2  lord 

505—284=221—218=3.  3  74:2  the 

523—284=239.     248—239=9+1=10.  10  74:2  Earl 

516— 284=232— 21  £=211.  211  74:2  sent 

513—283=230—50=180—19=161.  161  74:2  to 

516—284=232.     248—232=16+1=17.  17  74:2  tell 

523—283=240.     248—240=8+1=9+30=39.  39  74:2  your 

523—284=239.     248—239=9+1=10+30=40.  40  74:2  Honor 

505—284=221—168=53.  53  74:2  the 


674 


THE  CIPHER  NARRA  TIVE. 


This  168  is  the  middle  subdivision  of  column  2  of  page  74.  It  runs  from  50  to 
218,  as  is  shown  in  the  diagram,  on  page  580,  ante;  it  contains  21  bracketed  words 
and  one  additional  hyphenated  word;  its  modifications  will  appear  further  on.  From 
50  to  218  there  are  168  words;  from  51  to  218  there  are  167. 


505—283=222—21  £—201. 
516—584=232—30=202.     248—202=46+1=47. 
513=284=229. 

505—283=222—198=24—4  £ +/z=20. 
513—284=229—22  £  &  /*=207. 

The  word  servant  had  anciently  the  sense  of  follower  or  subordinate.  Hora- 
tio, although  a  gentleman,  and  a  scholar  with  Hamlet  at  Wittenberg,  called  him- 
self the  servant  of  Hamlet: 

Hamlet.      Horatio,  or  do  I  forget  myself  ? 

Horatio.     The  same,  my  lord,  and  your  poor  servant  ever. 

Hamlet.  Sir,  my  good  friend, 

I'll  change  that  name  with  you. 


Word. 
201 

Page  and 
Column. 

74:2 

news. 

47 

74:2 

He 

229 

74:2 

is 

20 

75:1 

a 

207 

74:2 

servant 

516— 284=232— 18  b  &  /*=214—  21  £=193. 
505—284=221—30=191.     193—191=2+1=3. 


193 
3 


74:2 
75:1 


of 

Sir 


4 

75:1 

John 

161 

75:1 

Travers, 

24 

75:1 

by 

Here  the  Cipher,  as  it  begins  to  exhaust  the  possibilities  of  column  2  of  page 
74,  overflows  upon  the  next  column  through  the  channel  of  the  subdivisions  of  74:2. 
That  is  to  say,  instead  of  counting  221  down  that  column,  we  commence  to  count 
at  the  bottom  of  the  second  subdivision.  This  gives  us  to  the  bottom  of  the  column 
thirty  words,  which,  deducted  from  the  221,  leaves  us  191,  and  this,  carried  up  from 
the  bottom  of  the  first  subdivision  of  the  next  column,  gives  us  the  word  Sir. 

523—283=240—50=190.     193—190=3+1=4. 

505—284=221—30=191—30=161. 

505—283=222—198=24. 

The  198  here  is  one  of  the  modifiers  in  the  second  column  of  page  74;  that  is 
to  say,  from  the  top  of  the  second  subdivision  of  the  column  to  the  top  of  the  col- 
umn there  are  50  words,  and  from  the  bottom  of  the  first  subdivision  to  the  bottom 
of  the  column  there  are  198  words;  and  from  the  top  of  the  second  column  to  the 
bottom  of  the  column  there  are  197  words. 

516— 284=232— 18  £&/*=214.     248—214=34+1=35.  35  74:2            the 

516— 284=232— 30=202— 7 /fc=195.  195  74:2          name 

516—284=233—50=183.     248—183=60.  66  74:2             of 

523—284=239—50=189.     193—189=4+1=5.  5  75:1  Umfreville. 

This  189  is  the  middle  subdivision  168  plus  the  21  bracketed  words  contained 
therein,  making  together  189. 

513—283=230—2  /fc=228. 
513—284=229. 
513—273=230. 

516—284=232—30=202—20  b  &  /fr=182. 
516—283=233—50=183.     248—183=65+1= 
66+15  £=81 


228 

74:2 

He 

229 

74:2 

is 

230 

74:2 

furnished 

182 

74:2 

with 

81 


74:2 


all 


BACON  HEARS  THE  BAD  NEWS. 


675 


Word. 

516—283=233—50=183—19  4—174.  174 

516—283=233  233 

516—283=233—30=203.     248—203=45+1=46  46 

516—283=233—30=203—50=153.  248—153=95+1=  96 
513—284=229—30=199.     248—199=49  +  1=50.  50 

516—284=232—30=  202  202 

516— 283=233— 30=203— 248— 203=43+ 1=46+2  h=  48 
516—284=232—30=202—197=5.     18  4  &  h  —5= 

13+1=14.  14 


Page  and 

Column. 

84:2 

the 

74:2 

certainties, 

74:2 

and 

74:2 

will 

74:2 

answer 

74:2 

for 

74:2 

himself, 

74:1 


when 


This  last  count  needs  a  little  explanation.  In  the  former  instances  there  was 
always,  after  counting  in  all  the  words  in  column  1  of  page  74,  a  remainder 
which  was  carried  over  to  the  next  column,  or,  through  the  subdivision  in  the 
second  column  of  page  74,  overflowed  into  the  first  column  of  page  75.  But  sup- 
pose there  is,  after  deducting  the  modifier,  no  remainder  to  be  thus  carried  to  the  next 
column,  then  we  must  look  for  the  word  in  the  first  column  of  page  74,  by  moving 
up  or  down  that  column.  And  this  is  what  is  done  in  this  instance.  I  might  state 
the  matter  thus:  516 — 30=486 — 197=289.  Now,  we  are  about  to  carry  289  up  the 
first  column  of  page  74;  but  there  are  18  4  &  h  in  that  column,  which  added  to  284 
makes  a  total  in  the  column  of  words  of  all  kinds  of  302;  —  now,  if  we  deduct  288 
from  302  we  have  i3  +  i=i4=w^«.  We  find  the  same  course  pursued  to  obtain 
the  word  of  on  the  eighth  line  below. 

505—283=222—198=24.     193—24=169+1=170. 
505—284=221.     248— 221=27+1=28+24  4+/&=52. 
505—284=221.     248—221=27+1=28. 
523—284=239—218=21.     248—21=227+1=228. 
513—284=229—198=31. 
505—283=222—198=24+4  4+/fc=20. 
523—284=239—218=21. 
516—284=232—30=202—18  4+ /*=184— 198=14. 

284—14=270—1+3  4=274. 
516—284=232—30=202=197=5.  248—5=243+1= 
516—284=232—30=202—7  //  (74:1)=195. 
505—283=222—30=192. 

505—284=221—168=53.    248—53=195+1=196+14= 
505—284=221—168=53—248—53=195+1=196 

+2  4+/&=198. 
523—283=240. 

505—283=222—22  4+/&=200. 
523—283=240—22  4+//=218. 
505—284=221—167=54—7  h  284=47.  248—47= 

201  +  1=202. 
505—284=221—18  4  &  /^=203. 


505—283=222—197=25.     193—25=168+1= 
505—283=222—197=25.     193+25=218. 


=169. 


170 

75:1 

he 

52 

74:2 

comes 

28 

74:2 

here. 

328 

74:2 

He 

31 

74:2 

is 

20 

75:1 

a 

21 

74:2 

gentleman 

274 

74:1 

of 

244 

74:2 

good 

195 

74:2 

name, 

192 

74:2 

and 

=197 

74:2 

freely 

198 

74:2 

rendered 

240 

74:2 

me 

200 

64:2 

these 

218 

74:2 

news 

202 

74:2 

for 

203 

74:2 

true. 

169 

75:1 

He 

218 

75:1 

left 

We  have  just  seen  that  the  root-number  was  carried  upward  from  the  top  of 
the  second  subdivision  in  column  2  of  page  74  and  thence  to  the  next  column. 
Here  we  see  that  the  root-number  is  also  carried  downward  from  the  same  point, 
by  deducting  197, the  number  of  words  from  that  point  to  the  bottom  of  the  column. 


676 


THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

214 

75:1 

the 

212 

75:1 

Strand 

15 

75:1 

after 

25 

75:1 

me, 

246 

75:1 

but, 

(13) 

75:1 

being 

523—284=239—218=21.     193+21=214. 
523—284=239—218=21.     193+21=214—2  A— 312. 
523—284=239—30=209—30=179.     193—179= 

14+1=15. 
505—283=222—197=25. 

505—284=221—18  4  &  7^=203—50=153+193=246. 
505—284=221—30=191.    193— 191=2+1=3+4= 

Here  we  come  to  an  example  that  is  often  found  in  the  Cipher,  where  the  count 
ends  in  a  word  in  a  bracketed  sentence.  It  is  difficult  to  explain  in  figures  the  re- 
sult; the  critical  reader  will  have  to  count  for  himself  up  or  down  the  column,  as 
the  case  may  be,  and  he  will  ascertain  that  my  count  is  correct.  Where  the 
number  of  the  word  is  inclosed  in  brackets,  as  in  the  above  "  (13)  75:1,"  it  signi- 
fies that  it  is  not  the  13th  word  by  the  ordinary  count,  but  the  13th  word  counting 
in  the  words  in  a  bracketed  sentence,  and  that  the  word  itself  is  in  such  a  sentence. 

523-283=240—50=190.     193—190=3+1=4+4=      (14)         75:1         better 

The  accuracy  of  this  count  can  only  be  demonstrated  by  counting  from  193, 
inclusive,  upwards,  counting  in  the  bracketed  words,  but  not  the  hyphenated  words; 
and  the  190th  word  will  be  found  to  be,  by  actual  count,  the  word  better. 


523—284=239- 

505—283=222. 

505—284=221— 

505—284=221 

523—284=239 

523—284=239— 

505—284=221 

523—284=239 

1=55. 
505—284=221 
523—283=240 
505—284=221—: 
505—284=221 
505—284=221— 

3  b  &  1  h  exc 


50=189.     193—189=4+1=5+4= 

224&/fc=199. 

168=53— 7  7*=46. 

218=21—4=17. 

218=21—3  4=18. 

198=23—4  4  &  7/=19. 

50=189—50=139.     193—139=54+ 

50=171.     193—171=22+1=23. 
50=190—30=160. 
219=2.     447— 2+/fc=(446). 
50=171.     193—171=22+1=23+3  b- 
50=171.     193—171=22+1=23+ 
=27. 


(15) 

75:1 

horsed, 

222 

74:2 

over-rode 

199 

74:2 

me. 

46 

74:2 

He 

17 

75:1 

came 

18 

75:1 

spurring 

19 

75:1 

head, 

55 

75:1 

and 

23 

75:1 

stopped 

160 

75:1 

by 

(446) 

75:1 

me 

=  26 

75:1 

to 

27 


75:1        breathe 


Here  we  count  in  the  bracketed  words  and  the  additional  hyphenated  words 
not  included  in  bracket  sentences.  This  is  indicated  by  the  sign  "  4  & /i  exc,"  mean- 
ing, count  in  the  bracket  words  and  the  hyphenated  words  exclusive  of  those  in 
brackets.  The  expression  "came  spurring  head"  means  came  spurring  with 
headlong  speed.  It  was  the  customary  expression  of  the  day  and  is  found  in  the 
text. 

505—283=222—50=172.     193—172=21  + 1=22+ 

6  4  &  /&— 28. 
523—284=239—30=209—30=179. 
516—283=233—50=183. 
516—283=233—50=183+193=376. 
513—283=230—30=200—15  b  &  7z=185. 
51 3— 283=230— 50=180. 
523—283=240—30=210. 


28 

75:1 

his 

179 

75:1 

horse. 

183 

75:1 

Upon 

376 

75:1 

my 

185 

75:1 

life 

180 

75:1 

he 

210 

75:1 

looks 

BACON  HEARS  THE  BAD  NEWS. 


'677 


505—283=222—30=192. 
523—283=240— 30=210— 10  0+2  h  exc.=198. 
505—283=222—50=172. 
505—284=221—18  b  &  ^=203—30=173. 
523—284=239—219=20.     193—20=173+1=174. 
516—284=232—50=182—14  b  &  /;==168. 
523—283=240— 50=190— 14  b  &  /&=176. 
505—284=221—30=191—14  b  &  A— 177. 
51 6—283=233—30=203 
523—284=239—50=189  —10  £-179. 

523—283=240—50=190  —10  £=180. 

505—284=221—30=191  —10  0=181. 

516—283=233—30=203—30=173—10  0=163. 
523—283=240—30=210  —10  0=200. 

505—283=222—198=24  —3  0=21 . 

523—283=239—30=209—30=179—10  0=169. 

Observe  here  how  a  whole  series  of  words  has  in  each  case  the  mark  "io0," 
showing  that  the  brackets  have  been  counted  in  in  every  instance;  while  above  it  is 
a  group  of  words  marked  **  14  0  &  h,"  where  both  the  bracketed  words  and  the 
additional  hyphenated  words  have  in  each  case  been  counted  in.  The  10  b  is  only 
varied,  in  the  first  series,  once,  where  it  becomes  "  3  0,"  because  there  are  but 
three  bracketed  words  before  the  Cipher  word  is  reached,  while  in  the  other  cases 
there  are  10. 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

192 

75:1 

more 

198 

75:1 

like 

172 

75:1 

some 

173 

174 

75:1 
75:1 

hilding 
fellow 

168 

75:1 

who 

176 

75:1 

had 

177 

75:1 

stolen 

203 

75:1 

the 

179 

75:1 

horse 

180 

75:1 

he 

181 

75:1 

rode-on 

163 

75:1 

than 

200 

75:1 

a 

21 
169 

75:1 
75:1 

gentleman; 
he 

516—284=232—30=202.     447—202=245+1=246.        246 
523—284=239—50=189.  189 

523—284=239—30=209.  209 

513—284=229—50=179.  447—179=268+1=269+8  0  277 
516—283=233—30=203—30=173.  447—173=274+ 

1=275.  275 


75:1 

doth 

75:1 

look 

75:1 

so 

75:1 

dull, 

75:1       spiritless 


I  would  here  call  attention  to  another  curious  fact.  We  see  in  the  above  that 
173,  counting  down  the  column,  is  hilding  (or  skulking  —  hiding),  while  up  the 
column  it  is  spiritless,  —  the  275th  word;  —  and  if  we  count  in  the  bracket  words  it 
is  tvoe-begone.  While  we  will  find  hereafter  that  when  we  take  523  and  count  from 
the  top  of  the  second  column  of  page  74,  downwards,  248  words,  we  have  275  words 
left,  and  the  275th  word  is  the  same  word,  spiritless,  and  if  we  go  up  the  column  it 
is  the  same  word,  hilding.  This  is  another  of  the  many  proofs,  like  ilfound-out,,f 
that  the  words  are  many  times  cunningly  adjusted  to  do  double  duty. 

513—283=230—30=200—30=170.     193+170=363.      363  75:1  and 

516—283=233—30=203—30=173.     447—173=274+ 1 

=275+80=283. 
523—284=239—30=209—30=1 79—1  //=1 78. 
513—284=229—50=179. 
523—283=240—30=210—30=180. 
523—284=239—30=209—50=159. 
523—284=239—50=189—50=139. 
523—284=239—50=189—50=139.     193—139=  54 

+  1=55+6  0  &  //=61  61  75:1  was 


283 

75:1 

woe-begone. 

178 

75:1 

The 

179 

75:1 

horse 

180 

75:1 

he 

159 

75:1 

rode 

139 

75:1 

upon 

297 

75:1 

half 

383 

75:1 

dead 

45 

75:1 

from 

-  18 

75:1 

spurring. 

130 

75:1 

My 

403 

75:1 

instinct 

202 

75:1 

tells 

438 

75:1 

me 

172 

75:1 

some 

396 

75:1 

thing 

382 

75:1 

is 

678  1  HE  CIPHER  NA  RRA  TI VE. 

Page  and 
Word.       Column, 

523— 284=239— 30=209— 30=179.     193—179=14+ 

1=15+8  £=(23).  (23)  75.1     sore-spent 

523—284=239—50=189—50  (74:2)— 139.     193—139= 

54+1—66.  55  75:1  and 

523—283=240—30=210—30=180.     193—180=13+ 

1=14+8  £=(22).  (22)  75:1         almost 

523—284=239—30=209—50=159.     447—159=288+ 

1=289+8  £—297. 
523—283=240—50=190.     193+190=383. 
513—284=229—50=179—30=149.  "  193—149= 

44+1=45. 
516—283=233—50=183.     193—183=10+1=11+7  b- 
523—283=240—50=190—50=140—10  £— 1 30. 
523—284=239—30=209.     194+209=403. 
513—284=229—218=11.     193+11=204—2  /&=202. 
513—283=230—198=32—22=10.     447—10=437 + 1= 
516—284=232—50=182—10  £=172. 
516—283=233—30=203.     193+203=396. 
523—284=239—50=189.     193+189=382. 
513—283=230—198=32—22  £—10.     447—10=437+ 

1=438+2  £=440.  440  75:1        wrong. 

Here  the  "  22  £  "  represents  the  22  bracketed  words  in  the  198;  that  is,  from  the 
end  of  the  first  subdivision  of  column  2  of  page  74  to  the  bottom  of  the  column  there 
are  22  words  in  brackets. 

513—283=230—30=200—30=170.  170  75:1  He 

513—283=230—198=32.  32  75:1  asked 
513—283=230—218=12.     447—12=435+1=436+ 

2  £=438.  438  75:1  me 
513—283=230—30=200—30=170—14  b  &  7^=156+ 

1=157.  157  75:1  the 

523— 284=239— 198=41— 7  £=34.  34  75:1  way 

523—283=240—50=190.  190  75:1  here; 

513—283=230—218=12.  12  75:1  and 

505—283=222—198=24.     447—24=423  +  1=424.  424  75:1  I 

Here  we  begin  to  call  into  requisition  the  modifiers  in  the  first  column  of  page 
73;  heretofore,  the  modifiers  we  have  used  have  been  altogether  those  in  the  second 
column  of  page  74;  hereafter,  in  this  part  of  the  story,  we  will  find  those  of  the 
first  column  of  page  73  coming  more  and  more  into  use,  until  all  the  words  grow 
out  of  505,  523,  516  and  513,  less  284,  modified  by  the  modifying  numbers  in  col- 
umn 1  of  page  73,  to-wit,  28,  62,  90,  142  and  79. 

The  reader  is  asked  to  observe  that  every  one  of  the  last  seventy-five  words  is 
found  in  the  first  column  of  page  75,  while  the  preceding  part  of  the  story  was  all 
found  in  the  second  column  of  page  74;  and  the  reader  can  see  for  himself  that  this 
part  of  the  story  follows  the  other  in  natural  historical  order. 

523—284=239—198=41—9  b  &  A— 83.  32 

516—283=233—50=183—28=155.  193—155=38+1=  39 
513—283=230—30=200.  193+200=393— 8  £=385.  385 
513—283=230—50=180.  180 

523—284=239—50=189.     447—189=258+1=259.       259 


75:1 

asked 

75:1 

him 

75:1 

what 

75:1 

he 

75:1 

is 

BACON  HEARS  THE  BAD  NEWS. 


679 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

437 
190 

75:1 
75:1 

doing 
here, 

12 

75:1 

and 

385 

75:1 

what 

373 

75:1 

are 

=101 

75:1 

the 

11 
407 

75:1 
75:1 

tidings 
from 

51 3—284=229—218=1 1 .     447—1 1=436 + 1=437. 
513—283=230—30=200—10  £=190. 
516—284=232—50=182.     193—182=11  +  1=12. 
505—283=222—30=192.     193+192=385 
513—283=230—50=180.     193+180=373. 
516—283=233—50=183—90=93.     193—93=100+1= 
513—284=229—218=11. 

523—284=239—198=41.     447—41=406+ 1=407. 
523—283=240—50=190—90=100.     447—100=347+ 

1=348.  348  75:1  the 

505— 283=222— ,50=172.     447—172=275+1=276+ 

10£&/*=286.  286  75:1       Curtain? 

The  "Curtain  Play-house"  was  probably  the  meeting-place  of  Harry  Percy, 
Umfreville  and  the  other  young  men.  To  Percy  it  must  have  been  a  regular  resort, 
for  it  is  probable  he  was  the  intermediary  between  Bacon  and  Shakspere. 

505—284=221—50=171—90=81—50=31.  31  75:1  He 
516—284=232—30=202—50=152.     193—152=41  + 

1=42+6 />&  //=48.  48  75:1  told 

516—284=232—30=202.    193—202=6  +  1=7.  7  75:1  me 

This  needs  a  little  explanation:  it  is  difficult  to  state  it  in  figures  in  the  same 
way  as  the  other  examples.  We  have  202  to  carry  up  the  first  subdivision  of  75:1, 
but  there  are  only  193  words  in  that  subdivision,  which  would  leave  a  remainder  of 
9;  but  suppose  we  add  in  the  b  &  h  words,  we  then  have  in  the  subdivision  not  193 
but  193  +  15=208;  now  if  we  deduct  202  from  208,  we  have:  208 — 202=6+1=7. 
75:1,  vie,  as  above. 

523—284=239—50=189—62=127.  127  75:1  that 

505—283=222—50=172—90=82=30—52.     193+ 

52=245—2=243. 
505—284=221—50=171—90=81—30=51.      193+51= 
513— 284=229— 50=179— 50=129— 10  £=119. 
51 6—284=232—50=182—62=1 20. 
505—284=221—50=171—50=121. 
505—283=222—50=172—50=122. 
505—283=222—50=172—50=122.   193—122=71+1= 
505—284=221—50=171—1  A— 170. 
513—284=229—50=179—50=129.     193—129=64+ 

1=65+1/^=66.  66  75:1  gave 

505— 283=222— 50=1 72.     1 93—1 72=21  + 1=22 + 

3  £=25. 
523—283=240—30=210—198=12.  193+12=205—2  h. 
516—283=233—30=203—10  6=193. 

We  return  now  to  the  second  column  of  page  74,  and  we  learn  what  the  news 
was  that  Percy  received  from  Umfreville.  And  here  we  have  a  testimony  to  the 
reality  of  the  Cipher  which  should  satisfy  the  most  incredulous. 

The  reader  will  remember  that  I  gave  on  page  580,  ante,  a  diagram  of  what  I 
called  The  Heart  of  the  Mystery,  in  which  I  showed  that  this  part  of  the  Cipher 
originated  out  of  certain  root-numbers,  505,  506,  513,  516,  523,  modified,  first  by  the 


243 

75:1 

our 

=244 

75:1 

party 

119 

75:1 

had 

120 

75:1 

met 

121 

75:1 

ill 

122 

75:1 

luck; 

■  72 

75:1 

and 

170 

75:1 

he 

25 

75:1 

me 

203 

75:1 

the 

193 

75:1 

news, 

68o  THE  CIPHER  NARRA  TIVE. 

fragments  of  the  scene  in  the  second  column  of  page  74;  and,  afterward,  by  the 
fragments  in  the  first  column  of  page  73.  And  up  to  this  point  in  the  Cipher 
story  all  the  modifications  (with  two  or  three  exceptions  at  the  end  of  the  narra- 
tive) grow  out  of  those  modifiers  which  are  found  in  the  second  column  of  page 
74,  to-wit,  50,  30,  218,  198,  etc.  Now  we  come  to  the  modifiers  in  the  first  column 
of  page  73,  to-wit,  27  or  28,  62  or  63,  89  or  90,  78  or  79,  141  or  142,  etc.  If  what 
I  have  given  was  the  result  of  accident,  the  probabilities  are  that  the  application  of 
these  modifiers  would  bring  out  words  that  could  not  be  fitted  at  all  into  the  story 
produced  by  the  modifiers  on  page  74,  and  that  would  have  no  relation  whatever  to 
the  news  brought  by  Umfreville. 

And  here  I  would  ask  the  incredulous  to  write  down  a  sentence  of  their  own 
construction  upon  any  subject,  however  simple,  so  that  it  contains  a  dozen  or  more 
words,  and  then  try  to  find  those  words  in  any  column  of  the  Shakespeare  Plays. 
The  chances  are  nine  out  of  ten  they  will  not  succeed.  Take  these  last  eleven  words, 
which,  without  premeditation,  I  have  just  written  down:  the  chances  are  nine  out 
of  ten  they  will  not  succeed;  turn  to  the  first  column  of  page  75  and  try  to  find  them. 
There  is  no  chances  in  the  column;  it  occurs  but  twice  in  the  whole  play,  and  the 
nearest  instance  is  on  page  85  of  the  Folio,  twenty  columns  distant.  There  is  no 
nine  in  the  column,  it  occurs  but  once  in  the  whole  play,  on  page  84  of  the  Folio, 
eighteen  columns  away.  Even  the  simple  little  word  they  cannot  be  found  in  that 
column.  Neither  can  ten;  it  appears  on  page  76,  two  columns  distant.  The  word 
succeed  is  not  found  in  the  entire  play.  The  nearest  approach  to  it  is  succeeds,  on 
page  97  of  the  Folio,  forty-four  columns  distant.  If  the  reader  will  experiment 
with  any  other  sentence  he  will  be  satisfied  of  the  truth  of  my  statement.  You 
may  sometimes  examine  a  whole  column  and  not  find  in  it  such  a  common  word 
as  it  or  or  or  were.  In  fact,  there  are  114,000  words  in  the  English  language,  and 
the  chances,  therefore,  of  finding  the  precise  words  you  need  for  any  given  sen- 
tence, upon  a  single  page  of  any  work,  are  very  slight  indeed;  for  the  page  can  at 
most  contain  but  a  few  hundred  words  out  of  that  vast  total;  and,  if  we  reduce  the 
vocabulary  from  114,000  to  14,000,  the  same  difficulty  will  to  a  large  extent  still 
present  itself.  Therefore,  even  though  it  may  be  claimed  that  I  have  not  reduced 
the  Cipher  story  to  that  perfect  symmetry  which  greater  labor  might  secure,  I 
think  it  will  be  conceded  by  every  intelligent  mind  that  the  results  I  have  shown 
could  not  have  come  about  by  accident,  but  that  there  is  a  Cipher  in  the  Plays. 

To  resume  :  We  saw  by  the  Cipher  words  given  in  the  last  chapter  that  the 
Queen  was  furious  and  had  sent  out  soldiers  to  arrest  somebody,  and  that  the 
play-actors  had  taken  fright  and  run  away  ;  and  we  will  see  hereafter  that  the 
Queen  had  beaten  some  one  savagely  and  nearly  killed  him.  Now,  we  have  just 
learned  how  the  news  was  brought  to  Bacon  ;  how  Harry  Percy  (for  I  will  show 
hereafter  that  it  was  Harry  Percy)  had  been  over-ridden  by  a  messenger  from  the 
Earl  (of  Essex)  who  had  told  him  the  news.  Now,  if  there  was  no  Cipher  in  this 
text,  the  next  series  of  modifications,  to-wit,  those  of  the  first  column  of  page  73, 
would  not  bring  out  any  words  holding  any  coherence  with  this  narrative,  but  a 
haphazard  lot  of  stuff  having  no  more  to  do  with  it  than  the  man  in  the  moon. 
But  what  are  the  facts  ? 

Let  us,  for  the  purpose  of  making  the  explanation  clearer,  confine  ourselves  to 
505  and  523.  Now,  I  showed  that  if  we  commenced  at  the  beginning  of  column 
1  of  page  74  —  that  is,  if  we  deducted  284  down  the  column,  and  283  up  the  column 
—  we  would  have  as  a  result  certain  root-numbers,  thus: 

505—284=221.  523—284=239. 

505—283=222.  523—283=240. 


i+*n    1>  S  f~lhr     {yCvui   Ji**,   ^J^    JL±u-yHYm6    -VCLU- 


n 


premium,  cuurt    .      Hfvtfir   e^«y   iT^/u*  V^o  l^c^rycs  i/tx> 
Cutk    ha/vertrYi    .   'TWt  u&>  nwutcrtr^  quod  r~c;iCL~ 

OX  SocovnorwYK  pyrouvtw    Cu-cnv^t      j[ -Mia u*3  town 
Sum  Omjfast  hfppoz  : ^rioonij  swUcet  .  V^Jam.  fubff 
CTUerCo   j)ej   zt  Zxv&n  iwtujL  t^wt^  oLtOctu^ 

won  (jwe^ntvy^  \  Jit  eatbzw^    oU>    Zj^vC^tivHci 


I: 


Letter  from  the  Lord  Chancellor  Verulam  (Francis  Bacon)  to  the  University  of  Cambridge, 
upon  sending  to  their  library  his  Novum   Organum.     (Reduced  facsimile  ) 


BA  CON  HE  A  R  S  THE  BA  D  NE  WS.  6  8 1 

And  I  showed  that  if  we  modified  these  numbers,  so  obtained,  by  30  and  50,  the 
modifiers  in  the  second  column  of  page  74,  we  would  have  these  results: 


221—50=171. 

239—50=189. 

222—50=172. 

240—50=190. 

221—30=191. 

239—30=209. 

222—30=192. 

240—30=210. 

And  I  showed  that  these  root-numbers  produced,  alternately  counting  and  not 
counting  the  bracketed  and  additional  hyphenated  words,  the  sentence  I  have 
given:  —  "  I  derived  these  news  from  one  whom  I  spake  with  on  the  way  here,  a  well- 
bred  gentleman  whom  my  Lord  the  Earl  sent  to  tell  your  Honor  the  news." 

Now,  let  us  take  these  same  root-numbers  and  deduct  from  them  the  modifiers 
in  the  first  column  of  page  73,  and  see  what  the  news  was  that  Umfreville  brought 
from  Essex. 

We  have  505 — 283=222.  Let  us  deduct  the  words  below  the  first  word  of  the 
last  subdivision  of  column  1,  page  73,  to-wit,  78,  from  222:  222 — 78=144.  The 
144th  word  in  the  second  column  of  page  74,  counting  in  the  one  hyphenated 
word,- is  Field,  the  143d  word,  printed  in  the  Folio  with  a  capital  F.  Now, 
Richard  Field,  son  of  Henry  Field,  of  Stratford,  was  a  printer  in  London.  In 
1593  he  printed  Shakespeare's  Venus  and  Adonis,  and  the  work  was  published  and 
sold,  Halliwell-Phillipps  tells  us,  at  the  White  Greyhound,  St.  Paul's  Churchyard, 
by  his  friend  John  Harrison,  publisher.1  In  1594  Field  printed  the  Rape  of  Lucrece. 
How  he  came  into  this  business  is  not  clear.  Or  the  Field  here,  and  so  often 
referred  to  in  the  Cipher  narrative,  may  have  been  Nathan  Field,  the  player,  who 
was  one  of  the  principal  actors  of  the  day.  It  is  true  that  Collier  thinks  Nathan 
Field  was  the  son  of  the  Puritan  preacher  John  Field,  and  if  so  he  would  have 
been  too  young  in  1597  or  1598  for  the  part  suggested;  but  Collier  may  have  made 
a  mistake.     Nathan  Field  was  more  likely  a  Stratford  man. 

Now,  let  us  take  the  root-number  523,  deduct  284,  and  we  have  239  ;  let  us 
deduct  from  this  another  of  the  modifiers  in  the  first  column  of  page  73,  to-wit:  90, 
being  the  nnmber  of  words  above  the  first  word  of  the  third  subdivision,  and  the 
remainder  is  149  ;  now,  let  us  count  down  the  second  column  of  page  74,  again  count- 
ing in  the  one  additional  hyphenated  word,  and  we  find  that  the  149th  word  becomes 
the  148th  word — is.  Now,  take  again  the  same  root-number,  222;  modify  it 
by  deducting  one  of  the  numbers  of  the  second  column  of  page  74  (for  thus  the 
modifiers  of  pages  73  and  74  interlock  with  each  other),  to-wit:  50;  we  have 
left  172  ;  now,  again  deduct  the  modifier  78,  which  we  have  seen  produced  the 
word  Field,  and  we  have  left  94  ;  we  carry  94  up  the  second  column  of  page  74 
and  we  reach  the  word  a,  the  155th  word.  We  return  again  to  the  root-number 
239,  which  produced  the  word  is,  and  again  deduct  the  same  modifier,  90,  and  we 
have  :  239 — 90=149,  and  the  149th  word,  in  the  second  column  of  page  74,  is 
prisoner.     Here  we  have:  Field  is  a  prisoner^  thus  expressed: 

Page  and 
Word.       Column. 

505—283=222—78=144—1  A— 148.  143  74:2  Field 

523—284=239—90=149—1  /^=148.  148  74:2  is 
505—283=222—50=172—78=94.    248—94=154+ 

1=155.  155  74:2  a 

523—284=239—90=149.  149  74:2  prisoner, 

But  let  us  go  on  with  the  story.     The  28    used  hereafter  is  the  number  from 

1  Outlines  Life  of  Shakspere,  p.  70. 


682 


THE  CIPHER  NARRA  TIVE. 


the  top  of  the  column  i  of  page  73  to  the  top  word  of  the  second  subdivision, 
inclusive  ;  the  "  17  b  &  h"  means  that  in  carrying  the  number  up  the  column  we 
count  in  the  bracketed  and  additional  hyphenated  words  in  the  column,  in  the 
space  passed  over. 


Word. 
144 


Page  and 
Column. 

74:2 


and 


248—161=87+ 


105 


r4:2 


505—283=222—78=144. 
523—284=239—50=189—  28=161 

1=88+17  b  &  ,£=105. 
505—283=222—78=144.    248—144=104+1= 

105+2  A— 107. 
523—284=239—78=161. 
505—283=222—79=143.     143—30=113. 
523—284=239—50=189—79=110. 
505—284=221—30=191—90=101—7  3=94. 
523—284=239—188  (167+21  3)=51— 27  (73:1)=24. 
505—284=221—30=191—79  (73:1)=112— 7  A— 105. 
523—283=240—18  b  &  3=222—  62  (73:1)=160. 
505—283=222—79=143.     248—143=105  + 1=106. 
523—284=239—50=189—90=99. 
505—283=222—50=172—79=93. 
523—283=240—90=150.     248—1 :  0=98+1=99. 
505—283=222—79=143—50=93  + 193=286—7  b  &  3=  i 
523—284=239—50=189—62=127.   248+127=121  + 

1=128. 
523—283=240—50=190—62=128. 
505—284=221—30=191—63=128.     248—128=120+ 

1=121+2  3=123. 
505—284=221—30=191—62=129. 
523—284=239— 50=189— 79=110— 7  3=103. 
505—284=221—90=131. 
523—284=239—90=149.     248—149=99+1=100+ 

15  3= 
505—284=221—79=142. 
523—167=356—90=266—15  b  &  3=251. 
505—283=222—79=143—50=93—7  3=86. 

"  Bardolfe  "  was  probably  a  nickname  for  Dr.  Hay  ward;  —  we  will  see  him 
described  hereafter  as  anything  but  a  gentleman  in  appearance.  I  have  shown,  on 
page  30,  ante,  that  the  country  so  swarmed,  at  that  time,  with  graduates  of  the  uni- 
versities of  Oxford  and  Cambridge,  who  made  their  living  as  beggars,  that  Parlia- 
ment had  to  interfere  to  abate  the  nuisance. 

Here  we  have  the  excited  Percy  telling  the  news.  It  will  be  observed  that 
through  twenty-nine  instances  the  root-numbers  505  and  523  alternate  without  a 
break;  and  it  will  also  be  observed  that  through  thirteen  instances  the  numbers 
505 — 283  222  alternate  regularly  with  523 — 284=239;  and  that  every  word  of  this 
connected  story  grows  out  of  these  root-numbers,  modified  by  the  modifiers  30  and 
50,  belonging  to  the  second  column  of  page  74,  or  go  and  89,  or  28,  or  79  and  78,  or 
62  and  63,  the  modifiers  found  in  the  first  column  of  page~73.  Can  any  one  believe 
that  order  can  thus  come  out  of  a  chaos  of  words  by  a  coherent  rule  if  there  is  no " 
Cipher  here  ?  If  I  had  the  time  to  do  more  accurate  work,  all  the  above  passages 
could  be  reduced  to  perfect  symmetry,  as  could  every  word  of  the  Cipher  narrative. 


107 

74:2 

wounded 

161 

74:2 

to 

113 

74:2 

the 

110 

74:2 

death; 

94 

74:2 

and 

24 

74:2 

Bardolfe 

105 

74:2 

is 

160 

74:2 

now 

106 

74:2 

almost 

99 

74:2 

as 

93 

74:2 

good 

99 

74:2 

as 

279 

75:1 

dead; 

122 

74:2 

slain; 

128 

74:2 

killed 

123 

74:2 

out-right 

129 

74:2 

by 

103 

74:2 

the 

131 

74:2 

hand 

115 

74:2 

of 

142 

74:2 

the 

251 

74:1 

old 

86 

75:1 

jade. 

BACON  HEARS   THE  BAD  NEWS.  683 

The  faults  rest  upon  the  neglect  of  certain  subtle  distinctions.  For  instance,  the  modi- 
fier 50  becomes,  when  counted  upward  from  the  last  word  of  the  first  subdivision  of 
column  2  of  page  74,  49;  just  as  we  see  that  79  becomes  78,  in  the  first  column  of 
page  73,  if  we  count  from  the  beginning  of  the  third  subdivision,  instead  of  the  end 
of  the  second;  just  as  we  saw,  in  column  1  of  page  76,  that  there  were  50  words  from 
the  end  of  scene  2  downward,  but  49  words  from  the  beginning  of  scene  3  downward. 
In  the  same  way  there  are  30  words  from  the  end  of  the  second  subdivision  of  column 
2  of  page  74,  but  only  29  from  the  beginning  of  the  third  subdivision;  and  we  will 
find  this  29  playing  an  important  part  hereafter  in  the  Cipher.  Now,  if  we  use  49 
or  29,  where  I  have  employed  50  or  30,  we  may  thereby  alter  the  root-number  from 
240  to  239,  or  from  221  to  222,  and  thus  restore  the  harmony  of  the  movement  of 
the  root-numbers.  But  it  would  require  another  year  of  patient  labor  to  bring  this 
about.  And  it  is  these  subtle  differences  which  make  the  work  so  microscopic  in 
its  character;  and  if  they  are  not  attended  to  closely,  they  break  up  the  symmetri- 
cal appearance  of  the  narrative.  But  the  reader  will  find,  as  he  proceeds,  that 
these  distinctious  are  not  invented  by  me  to  meet  the  exigencies  of  this  part  of  my 
work;  but  that  they  prevail  all  through  the  Cipher  story.  Thus  the  evidences  of 
the  reality  of  the  Cipher  are  cumulative;  and  where  one  page  does  not  carry  con- 
viction to  the  reader,  another  may;  and  where  both  fail,  a  dozen  surely  cannot  fail 
to  satisfy  him. 

And  the  reader  will  observe  that  twenty-six  words  of  the  twenty-nine  in  the 
above  example  all  originate  in  the  first  column  of  page  74,  and  are  found  in  the 
second  column  of  the  same.  One  might  just  as  well  suppose  that  the  complicated 
movements  of  the  heavenly  bodies  resulted  from  chance,  as  to  believe  that  these 
twenty-six  words,  together  with  all  the  other  seventy-nine  words  given  in  the 
beginning  of  this  chapter,  could  have  occurred,  in  the  second  column  of  page  ^4,  by 
accident,  and  at  the  same  time  match  precisely  with  the  same  root-numbers  which 
we  have  seen  producing  coherent  sentences  on  page  75,  and  which  we  will  find 
hereafter  to  produce  coherent  sentences  on  all  the  pages  of  these  two  Plays,  so  far 
as  I  have  examined  them.  In  other  words,  to  deny  the  existence  of  the  Cipher, 
the  incredulous  reader  will  have  to  assert  that  one  hundred  and  Jive  words  out  of  the 
two  hundred  and  forty-eight  in  that  column,  did,  by  accident,  cohere  arithmetically 
with  each  other,  and  with  certain  root-numbers,  to  make  the  connected  story  I  have 
given  !  It  will  require  a  vaster  credulity  to  believe  this  than  to  believe  in  the 
Cipher. 

Where  the  word  dead  is  found  in  the  above  example  the  Cipher  story  overflows 
into  the  next  column,  just  as  it  did  to  produce  the  narrative  of  Umfreville  stopping 
his  weary  horse  near  Percy,  on  the  road  to  St.  Albans.  And  the  reader  will 
observe  that  the  same  number, —  93, —  which  produces  dead,  down  from  the  top  of 
the  second  subdivision  in  column  1  of  page  75,  produces  also  the  word  jade  down 
from  the  top  of  the  first  subdivision. 

The  word  old  requires  some  explanation.  We  have  seen  that  the  modifiers  in 
the  second  column  of  page  74  grow  out  of  three  subdivisions,  the  first  containing 
50  words,  the  second  167,  the  third  30.  Now,  we  have  seen  that  in  the  other 
words  of  this  story  we  start  either  from  the  top  of  column  2  of  page  74,  or  from 
the  50  or  the  30,  etc.,  and  we  carry  this  back  practically  to  the  first  column  of  page 
73,  deduct  from  it  one  of  the  modifiers  in  that  column,  return  to  the  top  of  the  first 
column  of  page  74,  pass  through  that  column,  and  the  remainder  over  finds  the 
Cipher  word  in  the  next  column  forward.  But  suppose  we  have  deducted  a  num- 
ber from  the  root-number  so  large  that  after  going  to  column  1  of  page  73,  and 
being  modified  by  one  of  the  modifiers  there,  the  remainder  is  not  so  great  a  num- 
ber as  284,  then,  when  we  try  to  deduct  from   it  the   284  words  on   column  1  of 


684  THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 

page  74,  there  is  nothing  left  to  carry  over  to  the  next  column  forward,  and  the  re- 
sult is  we  must  find  the  Cipher  word  in  the  first  column  of  page  74,  where  the  count 
gives  out,  instead  of  in  the  second.  This  is  just  what  occurs  in  the  case  of  the 
word  o Id.  Let  me  give  a  parallel  instance:  —  let  us  take  the  word  as;  strictly 
speaking,  we  find  it  in  this  way: 

523— 50  (74:2)=473— 90  (73:1)=383— 284  (74:1)=99.         99  74:2  as 

Let  us  put  the  word  old  through  the  same  formula,  and  we  have  it  thus 
expressed: 

523—167  (74:2)=356— 90  (73:1)=266(74:1)— 15  b  &  //=  251  74:1  old 

I.     More  of  the  Cipher  Story. 

But  this  is  not  all  of  the  Cipher  story  that  is  found  in  this  second  column  of 
page  75;  but  as  it  begins  to  run,  as  I  have  shown,  from  the  first  column  of  page  73, 
so  the  root-numbers  produced  therefrom  commence  to  apply  themselves  to  other 
columns  besides  the  second  of  page  74;  for  it  follows  of  course  that  the  Cipher  can- 
not always  cling  to  that  column,  or  it  would  soon  be  exhausted;  you  cannot  insert 
a  story  of  2,000  words  in  a  column  of  248  words.  Hence  we  will  find  the  Cipher 
beginning  to  radiate,  right  and  left,  from  column  1  of  page  73,  to  the  next  column 
forward  and  the  next  column  backward;  and  even  through  the  fragments  of  these 
columns  it  will  be  found  to  overflow  into  the  next  columns,  just  as  we  found  it 
overflowing  through  the  fragments  of  column  2  of  page  74  into  column  1  of  page 
75.  Thus  the  reader  will  perceive  that  there  is  order  even  in  apparent  disorder, 
and  that  a  symmetrical  theory  runs  all  through  the  Cipher  work. 

Here  we  have,  following  the  preceding  statement,  and  in  the  same  order,  the 
words  being  alternately  derived  from  505  and  523,  modified  by  the  modifiers  in  the 
last  column  of  page  74,  and  the  firstcolumn  of  page  73,  the  following  statement.  And 
the  identification  of  the  writer  of  the  internal  narrative  with  Francis  Bacon  is  here 
established.  It  will  be  seen  that  it  is  "your  cousin  "  that  is  in  authority  and  that 
sends  out  the  posts,  or  mounted  men  who  ride  post,  to  bring  Bacon  into  court  to 
answer  the  charges  which  assail  his  good  name;  and  we  know  that  Bacon's  uncle, 
Burleigh,  and  his  cousin,  Robert  Cecil,  really  controlled  England  at  that  time.  And 
we  will  see  hereafter  that  this  "  cousin  "  of  the  Cipher  story  is  this  same  Cecil — 
represented  in  the  Cipher  as  "Sees-ill,"  or  "Seas-ill,"  or  even  "Says-ill;"  for  the 
name  had  in  that  day  the  broad  sound  of  the  e,  even  as  the  peasant  of  Ireland  still 
calls  the  sea  the  say.  And  this  is  one  of  the  proofs  of  the  reality  of  my  work:  the 
teller  of  the  story  does  not  say,  in  a  formal  manner:  "/,  Francis  Bacon,  wrote  the 
Shakespeare  Plays;"  but  we  stumble  upon  the  middle  of  a  long  narrative,  in  which, 
possibly,  the  authorship  of  the  Plays  was  but  a  minor  consideration. 

I  would  also  add  that  the  Fortune  and  the  Curtain  were  the  two  leading  play- 
houses of  that  day,  at  which  most  of  the  Shakespeare  Plays  were  first  produced; 
and  it  will  be  seen  how  completely  this  statement  that  they  were  in  the  hands  of 
the  soldiers  accords  with  the  order  of  the  Council  stated  on  page  628,  ante,  in  which 
the  Queen  directed  all  the  theaters  to  be  dismantled,  because  the  actors  had  brought 
matters  of  state  on  the  stage. 

Page  and 

Word.       Column. 

523—283=240—142=98.     248—98=150+1=151.  151  74:2  Your 

505—284=221—30=191—27=164.  164  73:2  cousin 

523—284=239—50=189.     248—189=59+1=60  +  15^=75  74:2  hath 


Page  and 
Column. 

Word. 

144 

73:2 

even 

211 

74:2 

sent 

123 

74:2 

out 

173 

74:1 

his 

257 

74:1 

posts 

161 

74:2 

to 

87 

74:2 

bring 

177 

74:2 

you 

112 

74:2 

in. 

142 

74:2 

The 

=114 

74:2 

Fortune 

124 

74:2 

and 

130 

74:2 

the 

286 

75:1 

Curtain 

71 

74:2 

are 

125 

74:2 

both 

160 

74:2 

now 

(77). 

74:2 

full 

115 

74:2 

of 

28 

75:1 

his 

174 

74:1 

troops. 

BACON  HEARS  THE  BAD  NEWS.  685 


505—283=222—78=144. 
523—283=240—28=212—1  //=211. 
505—284=221—90=131—8  b  &  //=123. 
523—30=493—218=275—90=185—12  b  &  A— 178. 
505—30=475—218=257. 
523—284=239—78=161. 
505—284=221—30=191—27=164.     248—164=84 

+ 1=85+2  //=87. 
523—284=239—62=177. 
505—284=221—30=191—79=112. 
505—284=221—79=142. 

523—283=240—90=150.  248—150=98+1=99+15  b= 
505—284=221—90=131—7  /;=124. 
523— 283=240— 30=210— 79=131— 1//=130. 
505—284=221—78=143—50=93.     193+93=286. 
523—283=240—62=178.     248—178=70+1=71. 
505—284=221—89=132—7  3—125. 
523—284=239—79=160. 

505—284=221—27=194.     248— 194=54 +1=55+ />= 
523—284=239—90=149.     248— 149=99 +1=100 +£= 
505—284=221.     79—50=29—1  ,4—28. 
523—30=493—219=274—90=184—1 0  />=1 74. 

But  even  this  does  not  exhaust  the  possibilities  of  this  little  column  of  248 
words  in  the  hands  of  the  magical  cryptographist.  I  stated  that  505  and  523  alter- 
nated with  each  other,  and  that  516  and  513  ran  in  couples.  Much  that  I  have 
worked  out  came  from  523  and  505;  let  us  now  turn  to  the  other  numbers.  And 
here  we  have  a  typical  sentence: 

516—284=232—30=202.  248—202=46+1=47+22/;=   69 
513—284=229—50=179.  248—179=69+1=  70 

516—284=232—30=202.  248—202=46+1=47+ 

24  b  &  A— 71 
513—284=229—50=179.  248—179=69+1=70+2  h=    72 

Observe  the  perfect  symmetry  of  this  sentence.  Take  it  in  columns:  —  the 
figures  of  the  first  column  are  516 — 513 — 516 — 513;  those  of  the  second  column  are 
284 — 284 — 284 — 284;  those  of  the  third  column  are  232 — 229 — 232 — 229;  those  of 
the  fourth  column  are  30 — 50—30 — 50;  those  of  the  fifth  column  are  202 — 179 — 202 
— 179;  those  of  the  sixth  column,  248 — 248 — 248 — 248;  those  of  the  seventh  column, 
202 — 179 — 202 — 179;  and  they  produce  in  regular  order  the  6gth,  701/1,  71st,  and 
j 2d  words,  to-wit:  the  times  are  wild.  And  every  one  of  these  words  is  obtained 
by  going  tip  the  same  column.  And  even  in  the  application  of  the  bracket  and 
hyphenated  words  the  reader  will  perceive,  as  he  goes  on,  a  regular  system  and 
sequence. 

And  here  I  would  call  the  attention  of  the  reader  to  the  fact  that  this  expres- 
sion, "  the  times  are  wild"  was  used  in  that  age  where  we  to-day  would  say  the 
times  are  disturbed  or  dangerous.     We  see  the  expression  in  this  very  column: 

What  news,  Lord  Bardolfe  ?  .   .   . 
The  times  are  wild. 


74:2 

The 

74:2 

times 

74:2 

are 

74:2 

wild. 

686 


THE  CIPHER  NARRA  TIVE. 


One  such  Cipher  sentence  as  the  above  is  by  itself  enough  to  demonstrate  the 
existence  of  a  Cipher  in  the  Shakespeare  Plays.  And  I  think  the  reader  will  be 
ready  to  take  it  for  granted  that  any  imperfections  which  may  exist  in  other  sen- 
tences are  due  to  my  imperfect  work,  and  not  to  the  Cipher  itself. 

But  this  sentence  does  not  stand  alone: — the  proofs  are  cumulative.  He  will 
find  flowing  right  out  of  the  same  roots,  varied  only  by  the  fact  that  the  ground 
gone  over  becomes  exhausted,  and  the  Cipher  numbers  have  therefore  to  apply 
themselves  in  contiguous  columns,  a  continuous  story.  And  here  I  would  say  that 
the  Earl  of  Shrewsbury  herein  referred  to  was  one  of  the  Cecil  or  anti-Essex 
party.  He  was  one  of  the  Commissioners  to  try  Essex  on  the  preliminary  charges 
preferred  against  him,  and  afterwards  sat  as  one  of  the  jury  of  peers  who  tried 
him  for  his  life.1  He  was  an  acquaintance  of  Bacon,  for  we  find  him  on  the  15th  of 
October,  1601.  writing  the  Earl  a  letter,  asking  "to  borrow  a  horse  and  armor  for 
a  public  show  "  of  some  kind,  probably  "the  joint  mask  of  the  four  Inns  of 
Court."2  He  was  one  of  the  Cecil  courtiers,  and  very  likely  to  have  been  sent  out 
by  Cecil  for  the  purpose  indicated. 


516—284=232—18  b  &  h- 214. 
513—284=229—50=         179. 


Word. 

248-214=34+1=35.     35 
248-179=69+1=70+ 

15  /;=85 
516—283=233—50=  183.  248—183=65+1=66.  66 
513—284=229—50=179.  179 

513—284=229.  229 

513—283=230—50=         180— 20  b  &  /fc=160.  160 

516—284=232—21  £=211.  211 

513—283=230—50=         180—50=130—7  />=123.         123 
=233— 18£&/*=215.  215 

51 3— 284=229— 50=1 79 .  248—1 79=69 + 1=70 + 

llb&A=  87 
513—50=483—217=266.  266 

516—283=233—50=  183.     248—183=65+1=66 

+15  J— 81 
516—28-1=232—50=182.  248—182=66+1=67+15/;=  82 
513—284=229—18  b  &  //=21 1—30=181.     248—181= 


Page  and 
Column. 

74:2 


The 


74:2  Earl 

74:2  of 

74:2    Shrewsbury 

74:2 

74:2 

84:2 

74:2 

74:2 


67+1=68  +  15  /;=83. 
516—283=233-30=203.     248—203=45+1=46. 
513—284=229—50=179—50=129. 
516—284=232—50=182.     248—182=66+1=67. 
513—284=229—18  b  &  A=21 1—30=181.  248—181= 

67+1=68. 
516—284=232—217=15.     447—15=432+1=433. 
51 3—50=463—1 97=266. 
516—284=232—217=15 . 
513—218=295—10  £=285—284=1. 
516—284=232—2  //=230. 
513—283=230—30=200. 


83 

46 

129 


68 
433 
226 

15 

1 

230 

200 


516—284=232—18=214.    248—214=34+1=35+2  //=  37 


74:2 
74:1 

74:2 

74:2 

74:2 
74:2 

74:2 
74:2 

74:2 
75:1 
74:1 
74:2 

74:2 
74:2 
74:2 

74:2 


is 

now 

sent 

out 

to 

bring 
them 

all 
before 

him 

and 

by 

some 

stratagem 
make 
them 
say 
who 

furnished 
these 
plays. 


But  this  is  not  all  the  story  originating  from  the  first  column  of   page  74,  and 
1  Spedding,  Life  and  Works,  vol.  2,  pp.  173  and  283.  'Ibid.,  p.  370. 


BACON  HEARS  THE  BAD  NEWS.  68  7 

found  in  the  second  column  of  page  74  and  the  first  column  of  page  75.  For 
instance,  in  the  first  column  of  page  75  we  have  the  conversation  between  Percy 
and  Umfreville,  and  a  description  of  how  Percy  "  struck  the  rowell  of  his  spur 
against  the  panting  sides  of  his  horse  "  and  rode  ahead  to  St.  Albans  to  tell  the 
news.  And  in  the  second  column  of  page  74  we  have  the  directions  from  Bacon 
to  the  servant  "  who  keeps  the  gate"  to  take  Umfreville  into  the  orchard,  where 
Bacon  followed  him  and  had  a  secret  conversation  with  him,  in  which  he  tells  him 
all  the  news  which  is  related  in  the  following  chapters.  To  work  out  all  this 
fully  would  take  more  space  and  time  than  I  can  afford;  but  if  the  reader  will 
employ  the  root-numbers  I  have  given  above,  and  modify  them  as  I  have  shown 
in  the  above  examples,  he  will  be  able  to  elaborate  this  part  of  the  Cipher  story  for 
himself. 

I  am  aware  that  Collier '  claims  that  the  Fortune  play-house  was  built  origi- 
nally in  1599-1600,  by  Phillip  Henslow  and  Edward  Allen,  while  I  suppose  the 
narrative  to  refer  to  1597;  but  this,  in  all  probability,  was  a  re-building  or  enlarge- 
ment; for  Maitland  called  the  Fortune  "the  oldest  theater  in  London,"  and  Sir 
John  Chamberlain  spoke  of  it  as  "the  first  play-house  in  this  town."  It  would  be 
very  natural  on  such  re-building  or  enlargement  to  use  the  old  name,  which  already 
had  a  trade  value;  and  we  know  that  the  Fortune  play-house  was  burned  down  in 
1621  and  re-erected  with  the  same  name;  and  if  this  was  done  in  1621,  it  may  also 
have  been  done  in  1599-1600. 

1  English  DratJiatic  Poetry,  vol.  iii,  p.  114. 


CHAPTER  V. 

CECIL    TELLS   THE  STORY  OF  MARLOWE. 

Let  them  tell  thee  tales 
Of  woeful  ages  long  ago  betid. 

Richard  //.,  z>,  /. 

UMFREVILLE  tells  Bacon  what  Cecil  told  the  Queen.  Cecil 
is  trying  to  show  that  Shakspere  did  not  write  the  Plays,  and 
incidentally  he  tells  the  story  of  Marlowe.  The  words  more-low 
doubtless  give  the  broad  pronunciation  which  attached  to  the  name 
Marlowe  in  that  age;  and  for  the  better  hiding  of  the  Cipher  it  was 
necessary  to  use  words  having  the  same  sound,  but  a  different 
spelling. 

The  facts  stated  in  the  Cipher  narrative  accord  substantially 
with  what  we  know  of  the  biography  of  Marlowe. 

The  dagger  of  Francis  Archer  averted  one  trouble  which  was  hanging  omin- 
ously over  his  victim's  head.  A  very  few  days  before  the  poet's  death  a  "note" 
of  his  "  damnable  opinions  and  judgment  of  religion  and  God's  work  had  been  laid 
before  Elizabeth's  council,  with  a  view  to  the  institution  of  proceedings  against 
him."  J 

And,  singularly  enough,  when  we  turn  to  the  original  paper  now 
in  the  British  Museum  (MS.  Harl.  6853,  folio  320),  in  which  the  in- 
former, Richard  Bame,  made  those  charges  against  Marlowe,  after 
giving  many  of  the  poet's  irreligious  and  anti-Christian  utterances, 
the  document  concludes  with  the  following: 

He  sayeth,  moreover,  that  he  hath  coated  [quoted]  a  number  of  contrarieties  out 
of  the  Scriptures,  which  he  hath  geeven  to  some  great  ??ien,  who  in  convenient  tyme 
shal  be  named.  When  these  things  shall  be  called  in  question,  the  witnesses  shall  be 
produced.2 

It  would  almost  seem  as  if  there  was  a  knot  of  young  men, 
among   whom  was    Bacon,   of    an    irreligious    turn   of    mind;    and 

1  The  Works  of  Marlowe,  Chatto  &  Wind  us,  p.  20.  2Ibid.,  note  B,  page  370. 

688 


CECIL   TELLS  THE  STORY  OF  MARLOWE.  689 

Marlowe  had  inconsiderately  repeated  in  public  some  of  the  cur- 
rent expressions  which  he  had  heard  among  them;  and  the  "  contra- 
rieties out  of  the  Scriptures"  might  have  been  the  very  Characters  of 
a  Believing  Christian  in  Paradoxes,  which  Bacon  may  have  read 
over  to  his  Bohemian  associates.  And  we  can  here  see  that  who- 
ever had  this  "  note"  of  the  informer's  statements  laid  before  the 
council,  knew  that  there  were  "some  great  men"  connected,  in 
some  way,  with  Marlowe,  whom  it  was  probably  desirous  to  get  at. 
And  all  this  strikingly  confirms  the  Cipher  story. 

And  here  I  would  note  that  heretofore  the  Cipher  has  advanced 
from  one  column  to  the  next;  but  as  we  now  reach  the  beginning 
of  the  second  scene,  it  not  only  flows  forward  to  the  next  column, 
but  it  moves  backward  and  forward  from  the  end  of  the  same 
scene  second,  and  also  from  the  beginning  and  end  of  the  preceding 
scene,  called  the  Induction.  And  it  will  be  observed  that,  having  in 
this  way  more  points  of  departure,  the  root-numbers  do  not  alternate 
as  in  the  simpler  instances  already  given,  but  a  great  deal  more  of 
the  story  flows  out  of  one  number. 

And  I  would  further  note  that  heretofore  the  outside  play  bore 
some  resemblance  to  the  internal  story,  because  the  Cipher  words 
were  all  packed  in  a  small  compass;  but  here  we  come  to  a  part  of 
the  work  where  the  Cipher  narrative,  being  more  widely  scattered, 
has  no  resemblance  to  the  tale  told  in  the  play;  and  yet  out  of 
the  same  root-numbers  is  eliminated  a  narrative  as  coherent  and 
rhetorical  as  that  already  given. 

It  will  be  observed  that  the  following  sentence  alternates  regu- 
larly between  523  and  505,  and  that  in  each  instance  the  starting- 
point  is  from  the  top  of  the  third  subdivision  of  column  2  of  page 
74.  From  and  including  the  word  my,  at  the  beginning  of  the 
sentence,  "  My  Lord,  I  over-rode  him  on  the  way,"  to  the  top  of  the 
column,  there  are  219  words.  And  the  reader  will  perceive  that 
each  word  starts  from  this  point,  so  that  we  have,  in  this  long  sen- 
tence of  twenty  words,  523  alternated  with  505,  in  each  case  219 
being  deducted;  and  each  word  is  either  the  304th  word  or  the 
286th  word.  But  in  the  space  comprising  those  219  words  there 
are  twenty-one  bracket  words.  These  constitute  the  "21  o"  which, 
the  reader  will  see,  are  deducted  from  both  304  and  286.     The  15 


690 


THE  CIPHER  NARRA  TIVE. 


b  &  //  refers,  as  shown  previously,  to  the  15  bracketed  and  hyphen- 
ated words  comprised  in  the  upper  or  lower  subdivisions  of  col- 
umn 1  of  page  75,  the  count  moving  through  these  to  reach  the 
next  column. 


523—219=304—254=50.  248—50=198+1=199+1  £= 
505—219=286—50=236.     248-236=12+1=13+ 

24  £  &  4=37. 
523—219=304—218=86.  447—86=361+1=362+3  b- 
50  5— 21 9=286— 50=236. 
523—219=304—21  £=283.     283—193=90.     284— 

90=194+1=195+6  4=201. 
505—219=286—21  £=265.     447—265=182+1= 

183+4  4=187. 
523—219=304—21  £=283.     283—193=90.     284— 

90=194+1=195. 
505—219=286—21  £=265.     447—265=182+1=183. 
523—219=304—50=254. 
505—219=286—254=32—15  b  &  4=17.     508—17= 

491  +  1=492+1A=493.  493  75:1  stage 

This  sentence  is  perfectly  symmetrical.  Observe  the  arrangement  of  the  lines: 
(1)  523—505—523—505—523—505—523—505—523—505;  (2)  219—219—219—219— 
219— 219— 219— 219— 219— 219;  (3)  304—286—304—286—304—286—304—286— 
304 — 286. 


505—219=286—30=256. 
523—219=304—21  £=283—218=65. 
505—197=308—254=54.     248—54=194+1=195. 
523—219=304—22  b  &  4=282.     447—282=165  +  1= 
505—219=286—30=256.     447—256=191  + 1=192. 
523—219=304—21  £=283.     283—218=65.     284—65= 

219+1=220+6  4=226. 
505—219=286—254=32—15  £  &  k— 17.     508—17 

491  +  1=492 
523—219=304—21  £=283. 
505—21 9=286—1 93=93. 
523—219=304—30=274.     447—274=173+1=174. 


Page  and 
Column. 

Word. 

=200 

74:2 

These 

37 

74:2 

plays 

=365 

75:1 

are 

236 

75:1 

put 

201 

74:1 

abroad 

187 

75:1 

at 

195 

74:1 

first 

183 

75:1 

upon 

254 

75:1 

the 

256 

75:1 

in 

65 

74:1 

the 

195 

74:2 

name 

166 

75:1 

of 

192 

75:1 

More 

226 


74:1 


low, 


492 

75:2              a 

283 

75:1  woe-begone, 

93 

75:2         sullen 

174 


75:1 


fellow. 


Here  the  Cipher  numbers  change  from  523  and  505  to  516  and  513. 


51 6—167=349—30=319—254=65. 

516—167=349—30=319. 

516—167=349—21  £=328.     498—328=170+1=171. 

513—167=346—30=316—193=123—15=108.     448— 

108=340+1=341. 
513—167=346—254=92. 
513—167=346—254=92—15  £  &  4=77.     448—77= 

371  +  1=372. 
513—167=346—254=92.     448—92=356+1=357. 


65 
319 
171 

75:2 
76:1 
76:1 

He 

had 

engaged 

341 
92 

76:1 

75:2 

in 
a 

372 
357 

76:1 
76:1 

quarrel 
with 

CECIL   TELLS  THE  STORY  OF  MARLOWE. 


691 


89 


433 


359 


Word. 
513—167=346— 1  4=345— 30=315.     498—315=183+ 

1=184+8  £—198.  192 

513—167=346— 22  £  &  4=324—30=294—50  (76.1.)= 

244—4  4=240.  240 

516—167=349—50=299.  448—299=149+1=150.  150 
513—167=346—254=92.  92 

516— 167=349— 22  £  &  A— 327— 284— 48.  248—43=205 

+  1=206+1  £=207.  207 

516—167=349—50=299—49  (76:1)=250.  250 

516—167=349—22  £  &  4=327—30=297—50=247— 

193=54—15=39. 
513—167=346—254=92—15  b  &  A— 77.     508—77= 

431  +  1=432  +  1  4=433. 
513—167=346—254=92.     447—92=355+1=356  +- 

3  £=359. 

516— 167=349— 49  (76:1)=300.  508—300=208+1=  209 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327.  327 

516—167=349—30=319—197  (74:2)  =122.     284— 

122=162+1=163.  163 

513—167=346—1  4=345—  30=315— 10  b  &  4=305.  305 
516— 167=349— 22  b&  4=327.  498—327=171  +  1=  172 
516—167=349—50=299.  603—299=304+1=305.  305 
513—167=346—22  b  &  4=324—30=294.  294 

516—167=349—49  (76:1)=300.  603—300=303+1=  304 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327— 254=73.     508—73= 

435+l=436+l/*=437. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—50=277—7  b  &  4= 
516—167=349.    448—349=99+1=100+11  £=111. 
516—167=349—30=319—49  (176.1)  =270. 
513—167=346—22  b  &  4=324—248=76.     284—76= 

208+1=209+6  4=215. 
516—167=346—30=319.     447—319=128+1=129+ 

16  £  &  4=145. 
513—167=346—22  b  &  4=324—  248=76.     2°4— 76= 

208+1=209. 
513—167=346—22  b  &  4=324—  248=76. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327— 30=297— 284=1 3— 

10£(74:1)=3.     237—3=234+1=235. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—248  (74:2)=79.     284— 

79=205+1=206+6  A— 212. 
513— 167=346— 22  £&  4=324— 248  (74:2)=76— 1  4= 
516—167=349—22  b  &  k— 827— 248— 79. 
513—167=346—22  b  &  4=324—248=76—9  b  &  4=67. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—248=79—8  b  &  4  exc.= 
516—1 67=349—22  b  &  4=327—248=79—7  £=72. 
513—167=346—22  b  &  4=324—  50=274— 248=26. 
513—167=346—22  b  &  4=324—50=274— 248=26. 
513—167=346—22  b  &  4=324—248=76. 
513—167=346—  248=98—24  b  &  4  (74:2) 

=74—10  £=64.  64 


437 
270 
111 
270 

215 

145 

209 

76 

235 


Page  and 
Column. 


76:1 

76:1 
76:1 

75:2 

74:2 
76.2 

75:2 

75:2 

75:1 

75:2 
76:1 

74:1 
76:2 
76:1 
76:2 
76:1 
76:2 

75:2 
76:2 
76:1 
75:2 

74:1 

75:1 

74:1 
75:1 

73:2 


one 

Arch  1 
or,    \ 

a 

servant, 
about 


wanton, 

ending 
in 
a 

bloody 
hand 

to 

hand 

fight, 

in 

which 
he 
was 
slain. 

The 

point 

of 
his 


J12 

74:1 

sword 

75 

75:1 

struck 

79 

75:1 

against 

67 

75:1 

his 

71 

75:1 

head 

72 

75:1 

and 

26 

75:2 

eye, 

26 

74:1 

making 

76 

74:1 

fearful 

74:1       wounds. 


6g?. 


THE  CIPHER  NARRA  TIVE. 


This  account  of  Marlowe's  death  agrees  exactly  with  the  records  and  traditions 
which  have  come  down  to  us.  The  parish  register  of  Debtford,  the  village  to  which 
he  had  fled,  records  "  Christopher  Marlowe,  slaine  by  ffrancis  Archer,  the  I  of 
June,  1593."     His  biographer  says: 

In  the  last  week  of  May,  1593,  he  was  carousing  at  Debtford,  in  —  to  say  the 
least  —  very  doubtful  company;  and,  taking  offense  at  some  real  or  supposed  insult 
to  himself  or  his  female  companion,  he  unsheathed  his  dagger  to  avenge  it,  and, 
in  the  scuffle  which  ensued,  received  a  mortal  wound  in  the  head  from  his  own 
weapon. 


And  in  a  contemporary  ballad, 
death  is  thus  told: 


The  Atheist 's  Tragedie,  the  story  of  Marlowe's 


His  lust  was  lawless  as  his  life, 

And  brought  about  his  death, 
For,  in  a  deadlie  mortal  strife, 

Striving  to  stop  the  breath 
Of  one  who  was  his  rival  foe, 

With  his  own  dagger  slaine, 
He  groaned  and  word  spake  never  moe, 

Pierced  through  the  eye  and  braine. 

The  reader  will  observe  the  exquisite  cunning  with  which  the  name  of  Archer 
is  concealed  in  the  text.  The  first  syllable  is  the  first  syllable  of  Arch-bishop,  sepa- 
rated from  bishop  by  a  hyphen.  Arch  comes  from  513 — 167 — 30,  and  or  from  516 
— 167 — 50:  here  we  have  the  two  common  modifiers  30  and  50.  But  to  obtain  the 
first  syllable,  we  count  in  the  brackets  and  hyphens  in  167;  in  the  other  case  we  do 
not;  and,  in  the  first  instance,  we  begin  at  the  end  of  scene  2,  descend  to  the  bot- 
tom of  the  column,  and,  returning  to  the  top  of  the  column,  go  downward;  in  the 
other  case,  we  begin  at  the  same  point  of  departure  and  go  up  the  column. 

But  there  is  even  more  of  the  story  about  Marlowe.  We  have  references  to 
these  very  proceedings  against  him  for  blasphemy. 


523 

167 


356 
50 


356 
30 


356 
21 


356 
22  b  &  h 


356 


306 


326 


335 


334 


Word. 
523—167=356—50=306—193=113.     508—113=395 

+  1=396.  396 

523—167=356—284=72—7  h  (74:1)=65.  65 

523—167=356—50=306—13  £=293.  293 

523—167=356—192=164.     508—164=344+1=345.  345 
523—167=356—21  b  (167)=335— 192=143— 15  b  &  h 

=128.     498—128=370+1=371.  371 

523—167=356—21  b  (167)=335— 192=143.  143 

523—167=356—248=108.     193+108=301—7  b  &  h=  294 

523—167=356—248=108.     193+108=301.  301 

523—167=356—50=306.     448—306=143.  143 

523—167=356—193=163.     458—163=295+1=296.  296 

523— 1 67=356— 193=1 63.     458—1 63=295 + 1=296 + 

3  /;=299.  299 


Page  and 
Column. 


75:2  My 

74:2  father 

75:1  would, 

75:2  in 


523—167=356—30=326—254=72. 


72 


76:1 

75:2 
75:1 
75:1 
76:1 
76:2 


76:2 


75:2 


his 

wrath, 

have 

burned 

the 

horson 

rascally- 

yea- 

forsooth- 

knave 

alive 


CECIL   TELLS  THE  STORY  OF  MARLOWE. 


693 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

97 

75:1             in 

143 

76:1            the 

306 

75:1            fire 

128 

76:1             of 

441 

76:2      Smithfield 

461 

76:2 

the 

58 

75:2 

sin 

501 

76:2 

he 

502 

76:2 

hath 

464 

76:2 

committed 

523—167=356.    447—356=91  + 1=92+5  £=97. 

523—167=356.     498—356=142+1=143. 

523—167=356—50=306. 

523—167=356—21  £=335—192=143—15  b  &  £=128. 

523—167=356—193=163.     603—163=440+1=441. 

523—167=356—193=163—50=113.  603—113=490+ 

1^491  +  3  £=494.  494  76:2  for 

523—167=356—21  b  (167)=335— 192=143.     603— 

143=460+1=461. 
523—167=356—50=306—248=58. 
523—167=356—253=103.     603—103=500+ 1=501 . 
523—167=356—254=102.     603—102=501+1=502. 
523—167=356—21  b  (167)=335— 192=143.     603— 
143=460 + 1=461 + 3  £=464. 

Here  the  Cipher  root-number  changes,  by  one  degree,  from  523 — 167=356  to 
516—167=349. 

516— 167=349— 22  b&  £=327— 248=79.  79  75;1        against 

516—167=349—22  b  &  £=327—248=79. 

369  +  1=370. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  £=327—248=79— , 
516—167=349—22  b  &  £=327—30=297.     498—297= 

201  +  1=202.  202  76:1  the 

516— 167=349— 22  b&  £=327— 193=134.  134  75:2         state. 

The  reader  will  observe  here  another  of  those  extraordinary  hyphenations, 
which,  of  themselves,  ought  to  go  far  to  prove  the  artificial  and  unnatural  charac- 
ter of  the  text  of  the  Plays:  rascally-yea-forsooth-knave.  Here  are  four  words 
united  into  one  word  by  hyphens  !  I  doubt  if  another  such  example  can  be  found 
in  the  literature  of  the  last  two  hundred  and  fifty  years. 

Smithfield,  the  reader  is  aware,  is  that  part  of  London  where  offenders  against 
religion  were  burned  alive.     It  was  there  John  Rogers  suffered  in  1555. 

If  there  is  no  Cipher  here,  is  it  not  remarkable  that  Smithfield  should  occur  in 
the  text  just  where  it  is  wanted  so  as  to  cohere  arithmetically  with  burned,  alive  and 
fire.  And  we  will  see  hereafter,  in  the  chapter  on  the  Purposes  of  the  Plays,  that 
the  same  163  (523 — 167=356 — 193=163)  which,  carried  up  the  second  column  of 
page  76,  brings  us  to  Smithfield,  carried  up  the  first  column  of  the  same  page  brings 
us  to  religion,  the  336th  word  in  the  column.  A  very  pregnant  association  of  ideas 
in  that  age:  Smithfield  and  religion  !  For  we  will  see  that  Cecil  charges  that  the 
Plays,  not  only  under  the  name  of  Shakespeare,  but  also  under  that  of  Marlowe, 
were  written  by  Bacon  with  intent  to  bring  the  religious  opinions  of  the  day  into 
contempt. 


448—79= 

370 

76:1 

Heaven 

7  b=72. 

72 

75:1 

and 

""'VARSITY) 


CHAPTER  VI. 


THE  STORY  OE  SHAKSPERE'S   YOUTH. 


long 


To  hear  the  story  of  your  life,  which  must 
Take  the  ear  strangely. 


Tempest,  v,  I. 


HERETOFORE  the  story  has  flowed  mainly  from  the  first  col- 
umn of  page  74,  or,  as  in  the  last  chapter,  from  the  last  sub- 
division of  column  2  of  page  74.  We  come  now  to  a  part  of  the  story 
which  is  derived  altogether  from  the  middle  subdivision  of  column 
2  of  page  74,  and  which  flows  forward  and  backward,  after  this 
fashion: 


Page  74. 
Col.i.^,Col.2. 


/  r~ 

\  V  / 

1    1 

1    ( 

4f= 

1    '       ' 

(i  1 

t 

— *- 

1 

Itl 

i|| 

*j    \ 

l    s^ 

Page  75. 
Col.  1.  X0I.2. 

\      / 

\ 

V  | 

V 

y 

\ 

A  \ 

Page  76. 
Col.  1.  -Col. 2, 


/ 

1    1 

1      / 

\ — 

j 

l\ 

That  is  to  say:  starting  from  that  middle  subdivision  of  column 
2  of  page  74,  the  count  is  carried  up  and  down  the  next  column,, 
forward  and  backward,  and  through  these,  or  their  subdivisions,  to 
the  contiguous  columns.  And  the  count  (as  indicated  by  the  con- 
tinuous line)  is  carried  forward  to  the  end  of  the  same  scene  in 
which  that  second  subdivision  is  found,  and  thence  radiates  up  and 
down,  right  and  left,  as  shown  in  the  diagram.  It  is  also  carried 
backward  to  the  beginning  of  the  preceding  scene,  and  of  the  scene 
preceding  that,  and  from  these  points  of  departure  radiates  up  and 

694 


THE  STORY  OF  SHAKSPERE'S   YOUTH.  695 

down,  backward  and  forward,  until  all  the  possibilities  are  ex- 
hausted. 

And  even  the  incredulous  reader  will  be  forced  to  observe  that 
these  numbers,  so  applied,  bring  out  a  body  of  words  totally 
different  from  those  which  told  of  the  flight  of  the  actors  or  the  bring- 
ing of  the  news  to  St.  Albans;  and  these  words  describe  the  events 
of  Shakspere's  youth,  and  could  scarcely  be  twisted  into  describing 
anything  else. 

And  every  word  is  produced  by  one  of  the  following  root- 
numbers,  used  directly  or  subjected  to  the  ordinary  modifications, 
to-wit:  356,  338,  349  and  346.  And  these  numbers  are  thus  ob- 
tained: 

523  505  516  513 

167  167  167  167 

356  338  349  346 

This  167  is,  of  course,  the  number  of  words  in  that  middle  sub- 
division of  74:2;  that  is  to  say,  from  51,  the  first  word  of  the  middle 
subdivision,  to  318,  the  last  word  of  the  same,  counting  in  that  last 
word,  there  are  just  167  words. 

But  the  above  numbers  are  first  modified  by  the  counting  in  of 
the  bracketed  words  and  additional  hyphenated  words  in  that  sec- 
ond subdivision  of  column  2  of  page  74,  to-wit,  22.  This  gives  us, 
applied  to  the  above  root-numbers,  the  following  results: 

356  338  349  346 

22  22  22  22 

334  316  327  324 

And  these,  in  turn,  are  modified  by  the  modifiers  on  pages  74  and 
73,  as  in  the  former  chapters.  And  here  again,  as  in  the  former 
instances,  for  a  time  the  523  alternates  with  the  505,  and  the  516 
with  the  513,  and  then  the  story  is  all  told  by  a  single  number. 

But  these  numbers  are  also  modified  by  the  counting  in  of  the 
21  bracket  words  alone  in  that  second  subdivision,  exclusive  of  the 
one  additional  hyphenated  word;  and  also  by  counting  in  the  one 
hyphenated  word  alone  exclusive  of  the  21  bracket  words;  and  this 
gives  us  the  following  results: 

Counting  in  the  bracketed  words  alone  — 


696  THE  CIPHER  NAUR  A  TIVE. 

356     338     327     346 
21      21      21      21 

335     317     306     325 

Counting  in  the  hyphenated  word  alone  — 

356     338     327     346 
1111 

355     337     326     345 

And  it  will  be  observed  hereafter  that  these  numbers  are  cun- 
ningly adjusted  so  as  to  use  the  same  words  in  different  sentences, 
the  external  play,  as  well  as  the  internal  story,  being  twisted  to  con- 
form thereto.  And  hence  peculiarities  of  expression  may  some- 
times be  accounted  for  by  the  necessities  of  this  Cipher  story  inter- 
locking with  itself. 

I  do  not  give  the  story  in  its  regular  order,  but  in  fragments,  se- 
lecting first  those  examples  which  are  simplest,  and  therefore  more 
easily  capable  of  demonstration.  Describing  Shakspere's  revenge 
on  Sir  Thomas  Lucy,  the  Cipher  story  furnishes  us  the  following 
statements.  The  145  and  146  relate  to  the  second  subdivision  of 
the  second  column  of  page  76;  there  being  145  words  from  the  top 
of  the  subdivision  inclusive  and  146  words  from  the  end  word  in- 
clusive of  the  first  subdivision.  There  are  also  three  words  in 
brackets  in  this  subdivision,  and  these,  when  counted  in,  increase 
the  145  to  148,  and  the  146  to  149.  The  254  and  193,  used  below, 
are,  of  course,  the  same  193  and  254  which  produced  the  story  of  the 
flight  of  the  actors;  that  is  to  say,  they  represent  the  two  subdi- 
visions of  column  1  of  page  75. 


505—167=338—284=54—7  //=47. 

523—167=356—22  b  &  //=334— 145=189— 8  b  &  A— 

505—167=338—146=192. 

523—167=356—50=306—145=1 61. 

505—167=338—145=193. 

523—167=356—22  b  &  7^=334—50=284—254=30. 

448—30=418+1=419. 
505—167=338—145=193—3  £—190. 
523—167=356—22  b  &  //=334— 254=80— 15  b  &  /*= 
505—167=338—22  b  &  ^=316—30=286.     457—286= 

171  +  1=172. 
523—167=356—22  b  &  /z=334— 145=189.     448—189= 

259+1=260. 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

47 

74:2 

He 

181 

77:1 

goes 

192 

76:1 

one 

161 

77:1 

day 

193 

76:1 

and 

419 

76:1 

with 

190 

76:1 

ten 

65 

76:1 

of 

172 

76:2 

his 

260 

76:1 

followers 

THE  STORY  OF  SHAA'SPERE'S   YOUTH. 


697 


505—167=338—22=316—30=286—5  /;=281. 
523—167=356—30=326.     448—326=122+1=123. 
505—167=338—50=288—145=143. 
523—167=356—30=326—50=276—254=22+ 

448=470. 
505—167=338—50=288—284=4. 
523—167=356.     356—146=210—6  *— 204. 
505—167=338—22=316—145=171—3  *— 168.     448— 

168=330+1=331. 
523—167=356—22  b  &  //=334— 30=304—  30=274— 

145=128—3  £=125.     448—125=323+1=324. 
505—167=338—22=316—145=171.     498—171=328. 
523—167=356—22=334—193=141—15=126—49=77 
505— 167=338— 22=316— 50=C66. 
523—167=356—30=326—193=133.     508—133=375  -+ 

1=376. 
505— 1 67=338— 30=308— 1 93=1 15 . 
505—167=338—5  /z=335 

523—167=356—30=326—145=181—3  £=177—9  b  &  b 
505—167=338—50=288—145=143. 
523—167=356—22=334—50=284—254=30—15  £  &  h 

=15+448=463. 
505—1 67=338—145=193—6  £=187. 
523—166=357—50=306—145=161.     448—161= 

287+1=288. 
523—167=356—22=334—50=284—193=91 .     448— 

91=357+1=358. 
505—167=338—50=288—22=266—145=121.    448— 

121=327+1=328. 
523—167=356—22=334—14  £=320. 
505— 167=338— 22=316— 145=171— 3  £=168. 
523—167=356—145=211.     448—211=237+1=238. 
505—167=338—14  £=324. 

523—167=356—50=306—284=22.     248—22=226+ 1 
505—167=338—11  £  &  //=327. 
523—167=356—50=306—284=22. 
505—167=338—284=54—18  £  &  //=36. 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

281 

76:1 

did 

123 

76:1 

lift 

143 

76:1 

the 

470 

76:1 

water 

4 
204 

74:1 
76:1 

gate 
of 

331 


r6:l 


the 


324 

76:1 

fish 

328 

76:1 

pond 

77 

76:2 

off 

266 

76:1 

the 

376 

75:2 

hinges 

115 

76:1 

and 

335 

76:1 

turns 

=168 

76:1 

all 

143 

76:1 

the 

463 

76:1 

water 

187 

76:1 

out 

288 

76:1 

from 

358 

76:1 

the 

328 

76:1 

pond, 

320 

76:1 

froze 

168 

76:1 

all 

238 

76:1 

the 

324 

76:1 

fish, 

227 

74:2 

and 

327 

76:2 

girdles 

22 

74:2 

the 

36 

74:2 

orchard. 

There  may,  of  course,  be  flaws  discovered  in  the  workmanship  of  the  above; 
but  I'think  the  candid  man  will  concede  that  these  significant  words  could  not  all 
have  come  together  through  the  same  root-numbers,  by  accident.  They  will  be 
found  nowhere  else  in  the  same  order.  In  fact,  pond  is  not  found  in  any  other 
place  in  these  two  plays,  and  but  four  other  times  in  all  the  Shakespeare  Plays, 
and  froze  occurs  but  this  one  time  in  both  these  plays,  and  but  three  other  times  in 
all  the  Shakespeare  Plays;  while  fish  occurs  but  once  in  2d  Henry  IV.  But  here 
we  have  fish,  pond  and  froze  and  turns  all  coming  together  in  the  same  paragraph; 
and  in  the  next  paragraph  water,  and  in  the  same  column  nearly  all  the  words  out 
of  which  the  above  sentence  is  constructed.  The  word  hinges  is  rare;  it  occurs  but 
one  other  time  in  all  the  Plays,  and  the  word  hinge  but  twice.  It  would  be  little 
less  than  a  miracle  if  these  unusual  words  should  all  come  together  in  one  spot, 


698 


THE  CIPHER  NARRA  TIVE. 


just  where  they  are  needed,  to  tell  the  story  of  Shakspere's  youth.  And  the  story 
that  is  here  told,  be  it  observed,  while  consistent  with  the  traditions  of  Stratford 
that  there  had  been  a  riot  (the  same  riot  alluded  to  in  The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor), 
in  which  the  young  men  of  the  town  took  part  with  Shakspere  as  their  leader, 
against  Sir  Thomas  Lucy,  is,  at  the  same  time,  not  a  statement  of  anything  which 
had  already  come  down  to  us. 

And  to  show  that  this  story  is  not  forced,  observe  how  markedly  the  significant 
words  grow  out  of  the  root-numbers.  For  instance,  505  less  167  is  338;  the  338th 
word  is  sincere,  which,  as  we  will  see  hereafter,  refers  to  Shakspere's  father;  but, 
if  we  count  in  the  five  hyphenated  words,  then  the  338th  word  is  the  333d 
word,  turns—  turns  the  water  out  of  the  pond.  But  if  we  count  in  the  fourteen 
bracketed  words,  then  the  338th  word  is  the  324th  word,  fish.  And  if  we  take  523 
and  deduct  167,  we  have  356,  which  is  rising;  or,  counting  in  the  22  bracketed  and 
hyphenated  words  contained  in  the  167  words,  we  have  334,  which  is  insurrection, 
referring,  with  rising,  to  the  riot  inaugurated  by  the  boys  of  Stratford;  and,  if  we 
count  in  the  14  bracketed  words  in  the  column,  we  have  320,  froze. 

But  let  us  go  a  step  further  and  find  356  in  the  first  column  of  page  75,  and  the 
word  is  away,  referring  to  the  running  away  of  the  young  men;  while  334  (356  less 
the  22  b  &  //  words)  is  fought;  and  up  the  column  it  is  spur,  the  latter  part  of  Shak- 
spere's name;  and  if  we  take  356  and  modify  it  by  deducting  the  modifier  30,  we 
have  326,  and  if  we  take  from  this  193,  the  first  subdivision  of  column  1  of  page  75, 
the  remainder  is  133,  the  word  bloody;  and  if  we  take  505 — 167=338  and  deduct 
from  this  the  modifier  50,  we  have  288,  and  if  we  carry  this  down  the  first  column 
of  page  76,  counting  in  the  twelve  bracketed  words,  we  find  that  the  288th  word  is 
the  276th  word,  fight.  So  that  we  see  that  not  only  do  these  roots,  even  subjected 
to  the  simplest  treatment,  yield  the  story  I  have  given  in  detail  about  the  destruction 
of  the  fish-pond,  but  the  same  roots  also  tell  the  story  of  how  Shak-spur  fought  a 
bloody  fight.     But  all  this  I  shall  give  with  more  detail  hereafter. 

What  I  claim  is,  that  the  existence  of  the  Cipher  is  not  only  proved  by  the  fact 
that  certain  root-numbers,  applied  to  a  particular  column,  yield  a  consistent  nar- 
rative peculiar  to  that  column,  and  which  could  not  be  found  anywhere  else;  but 
that  these  same  root-numbers  applied  to  other  contiguous  columns,  produce  other 
parts  of  that  same  story,  each  part  being  consistent  with  the  rest  and  forming 
together  a  continuous  narrative. 

For  instance,  these  root-numbers,  so  applied,  give  us  the  following  narrative  of 
the  battle  between  the  young  men  of  Stratford  and  Sir  Thomas  Lucy's  game- 
keepers: 


505—167=338—22=316—30=286—15  b  &  //=271. 

523—167=356—22  b  &  7^=334—50=284. 

505—167=338—30=308—5  /^=303. 

523—167=356—22  b  &  //=334— 30=304. 

505—167=338—30=308—193=115. 

523— 167=350—22  b  A  //=334. 

505—1 67=338—22  b  &  //=316— 193=123.     508—123= 

885+1— 886+1  >&— 887  ' 
523—167=356—30=326.     326—193=133. 
505—167=338—50=288—12^=276. 
505—167=338—22  b  &  A— 316— 5 ,4—811 
505—167=338—50=288—193=95, 


Word. 

271 

284 

Page  and 

Column. 

74:1 

75:1 

They 
drew 

303 

76:1 

their 

304 
115 

76:1 
76:1 

weapons 
and 

334 

76:1 

fought 

387 

75:2 

a 

133 
276 
311 

75:2 
76:1 
76:1 

bloody 

fight 

for 

95 

76:1 

an 

218 

75:1 

left 

238 

75:1 

his 

85 

75:1 

poor 

131 

75:1 

young 

86 

75:1 

jade 

THE  STORY  OF  SHAKSPERE'S   YOUTH.  699 

Page  and 

Word.  Column. 
505—167=338—30=308—254=54.    508—54=454+1     455  75:1  hour, 

505— 167=338— 22  £  &  // — 316 — 50=266— 4  £=262.         262  74:1  not 

505—167=338.  338  75:1       stopping 

505—167=338—30=308—193=115.     508—115= 

393+1=394.  394  75:2  even 

505—167=338—30=308.     498—308=190+1=191.        191  76:1  to 

523—167=356—22  £  &  £=334—248=86—50=36— 

9  bh  A— 27.  27  75:1       breathe. 

The  reader  will  note  the  constant  recurrence  of  the  numbers  316,  334,  308,  etc. 
And  here  we  have  a  statement  which  accords  well  with  what  we  know,  by 
tradition,  of  Shakspere's  hurried  departure  for  London: 

505—167=338—30=308.  308  75:1  He 

505—167=338—50=288—50  (76:1)=238.     447-238 

=209+1=210+8  £—218. 
505—167=338—50=288—50  (76:1)=238. 
523— 167=356— 22  b  &  £=334—  248=86— 1  £=85. 
505— 167=338— 193=145— 14  b  &  A— 131. 
523—167=356—22  b  &  £=334— 248=86. 
505—167=338—22  b  &  £=316— 30=286— 1 93=93— 

10  £=85.  83  74:1  big 
523— 167=356— C  2  b  &  £=334—248=86—22  £  (74:2)= 

64— 1£=63.  63  75:1  with 

505— 167=338— 22  £&  £=316— 30=289— 193=93.  93  74:1  child. 

Observe  that  there  is  a  difference  of  precisely  ten  words  between  big  and  child: 
—  big  is  83,  child  is  93;  and  there  are  precisely  ten  bracketed  words  in  the  column 
above  the  83  and  93.  The  evidences  of  arithmetical  adjustment  are  found  every- 
where. 

And  here,  in  the  same  connection,  I  would  call  the  attention  of  the  critical 
reader  to  the  marvelous  evidences  of  the  artificial  character  of  the  text  shown  in 
that  word  jade.  It  is  often  used  in  the  narrative  in  connection  with  the  word  old — 
"the  old  jade"  —  to  describe  the  Queen.  It  would,  of  course,  have  provoked 
suspicion  if  the  Plays  had  been  dotted  all  over  with  the  word  qtceen;  and  hence,  as 
Bacon  had  repeated  cause  to  refer  to  her  in  his  internal  narrative,  he  had  to  do  so 
in  some  indirect  way;  and  one  of  his  favorite  expressions  was  "the  old  jade." 
But  it  would  not  have  been  safe  to  use  even  these  words  too  often,  and  therefore, 
when  they  were  employed,  the  scenes  and  fragments  of  scenes  had  to  be  so 
adjusted  that  they  would  fit  to  them  by  the  different  counts  of  the  Cipher,  so  that 
they  might  be  used  over  and  over  again,  in  the  progress  of  the  story. 

For  instance: 

(1.)  We  have  here  seen  that  523,  less  all  the  words  in  the  second  subdivision 
of  74:2,  is  334.  If  now  we  commence  to  count  from  the  beginning  of  column  74:2, 
the  334th  word  is  the  86th  word  in  the  next  column,  jade.  (2.)  But  if  we  take  523 
again,  and  deduct  from  it  the  same  second  subdivision,  exclusive  of  the  words  in 
brackets  and  the  additional  hyphenated  words,  we  have  356;  and  if  again  we  com- 
mence to  count  from  the  top  of  column  74:2,  but  count  in  the  words  in  brackets 
and  carry  the  remainder  over  to  the  next  column,  again  the  count  lights  on  the 
same  86th  word — jade.  (3.)  And  if  we  again  take  the  first  count  above,  334,  and 
modify  it  by  deducting  the  modifier  30,  we  have  left  304,  and  if  we  begin  to  count 


yoo  THE  CIPHER  NARRA  TIVE. 

from  the  bottom  of  the  second  subdivision  of  74:2,  counting  up  and  forward,  the 
304th  word  is  the  same  86th  word — jade.  (4.)  And  if  we  take  505  and  commence 
to  count  from  the  end  of  the  first  subdivision  of  the  same  74:2,  and  count  down- 
ward, we  have  left  307;  if  we  carry  this  to  the  middle  of  the  next  column,  75:1,  and 
count  upwards  from  the  beginning  of  the  second  subdivision,  we  have  114  left,  and 
this  carried  up  from  the  end  of  the  first  subdivision,  75:1,  counting  in  the  bracketed 
words  and  additional  hyphenated  words,  again  brings  us  to  the  same  word,  jade. 
(5.)  And  if  we  go  back  to  the  second  example  above  (523 — 167=356),  and  again 
begin  at  the  top  of  74:2,  and  count  down,  we  have  left  108;  and  this  carried  up  the 
next  column  from  the  bottom  of  the  first  subdivision,  not  counting  in  the  bracketed 
and  hyphenated  words,  again  brings  us  to  the  86th  word,  jade.  (6.)  And  if  we  take 
505  and  count  from  the  top  of  the  third  subdivision  of  74:2  upward,  we  have  286 
left;  and  this,  less  193,  is  93,  and  this,  carried  down  column  1  of  page  75,  count- 
ing in  the  words  in  brackets,  falls  again  on  the  same  86th  word,  jade.  (7.)  And 
if  we  take  505  and  deduct  167,  we  have  left  338;  modify  this  by  deducting  the  modi- 
fier 50,  and  we  have  288  left;  carry  this  up  through  the  first  subdivision  of  column 
1  of  page  75,  and  we  have  95  left;  descend  again  down  column  1  of  page  75,  but 
counting  in  this  time  the  additional  hyphenated  as  well  as  the  bracketed  words,  and 
again  we  come  to  the  86th  word,  jade.  There  are  other  counts  which  produce  the 
same  result,  but  they  are  with  root-numbers  with  which  the  reader  is  not  so  familiar 
as  with  the  above. 

Here,  then,  are  seven  times  where  the  same  word,  jade,  is  reached  by  seven 
different  countings,  used  in  seven  different  parts  of  the  same  Cipher  narrative. 
One  can  conceive  from  this  the  careful  adjustments  to  each  other  of  pages,  scenes, 
fragments  of  scenes,  words,  brackets  and  hyphens  which  were  necessary  to  perfect 
this  delicate  piece  of  skeleton  work,  before  Bacon  set  pen  to  paper  to  manipulate 
the  external  padding  into  a  coherent  play.  And  one  can  perceive,  also,  the  extent 
of  a  Cipher  narrative  in  which  the  Queen  is  so  often  referred  to.  The  truth  is,  I 
give  but  fragments  of  the  story. 

If  the  reader  thinks  that  this  is  also  accident,  let  him  take  some  other  numbers 
and  see  if  he  can  make  this  word  match  with  them.  It  is  doubtful  if  he  can  find 
a  single  number  (not  a  Cipher  number)  which  can  be  made  to  agree,  from  the 
starting-point  of  any  of  these  pages  or  subdivisions,  with  this  word,  jade,  so  as  to 
cohere  precisely.  I  have  tried  it  with  many  numbers  without  success.  And  it 
must  be  remembered  that  the  seven  numbers  here  used,  and  which  do  match  with 
jade,  hold  an  infinitesimally  small  proportion  to  all  the  combinations  of  figures 
which  are  possible  even  in  groups  of  three  each.  It  would  be  an  Ossa  of  marvels 
piled  on  a  Pelion  of  miracles  if  these  seven  figures  should,  by  accident,  be  so  pre- 
cisely adjusted  to  the  size  of  the  pages,  scenes  and  fragments  of  scenes,  and  to  the 
exact  number  of  bracketed  and  hyphenated  words  therein,  as  to  produce,  by  all 
these  different  countings,  the  same  word  jade. 

And  when  we  turn  to  the  word  old,  which  accompanies  the  word  jade  when 
applied  to  the  Queen,  we  find  the  same  significant  adjustments;  but  not  so  numer- 
ous, for  we  have  seen  the  word  jade  once  applied  to  Shakspere's  wife,  and  it  is  also 
applied  in  the  Cipher  story  to  a  horse. 

(1.)  If,  for  instance,  we  take  505  and  deduct  254,  the  second  subdivision  of  75:1, 
we  have  left  251,  a  root-number  which  we  shall  find  to  be  extensively  used;  we  turn 
to  74:1,  and  the  251st  word  is  old.  (2.)  If  we  take  505  and  deduct  167,  we  have 
338;  if  we  count  in  the  22  bracket  and  hyphenated  words,  this  becomes  316;  this, 
modified  by  deducting  50,  becomes  266;  and  if  we  carry  this  down  the  first  column 
of  page  74,  counting  in  the  bracketed  and  hyphenated  words,  the  266th  word  is 


THE  STORY  OE  SHAKSPERE'S   YOUTH. 


701 


the  251st  word,  the  same  word  old.  (3.)  If,  again,  we  take  523  and  deduct  218, 
(from  30  upward  74:2),  we  have  305  left;  deduct  the  modifier  50,  and  we  have  255 
left;  this  carried  down  74:1,  counting  in  the  hyphenated  words,  brings  us  again  to 
old.  (4.)  If  we  take  523  and  deduct  167,  we  have  356,  and,  less  the  b  &  h  words, 
334;  and,  less  the  modifier  30,  it  becomes  304:  if  we  count  down  the  74:2  column, 
counting  in  the  bracketed  words,  we  have  a  remainder  of  34,  which,  carried  up  the 
next  column  forward,  brings  us  again  to  the  same  word,  old.  (5.)  If  we  take  505 
and  deduct  198,  (50,  74:2  downward),  we  have  307;  or,  less  the  22  bracket  words, 
285;  carry  this  again  through  74:2  and  we  have  a  remainder  of  37,  which,  carried 
up  the  next  column  forward,  74:1,  counting  in  the  hyphenated  words,  again  brings 
us  to  the  same  word  old. 

Let  me  put  these  remarkable  results  in  regular  order: 


505—254=251. 

505—167=338—22  4  &  4=316— 50=266— 15  b  &  4= 
523—218=305—50=255—4  b^ 251. 
523—167=356—22  4  &  4=334— 30=304— 248=.:0— 

224=34.     284—34=250+1=251. 
505—198=307—22  b  &  4=285— 248=37.     284—37= 

247+1=248+3  4=251. 
523—167=356—22  b  &  4=334— 248=86. 
523—167=356—248=108—22  b  (74:2)=86. 
523— 167=356— 22  b  &  4=334—30=304—218=86. 
505—198=307—193=114      193—114=79+1=80+ 

64  &  4=86. 
523—167=356—248=108.     193—108=85+1=86. 
505—219=286—193=93—7  4=86. 
505—167=338—50=288—193=95—9  b  &  4=86. 

And  that  these  results  are  not  accidental  the  reader  can  satisfy  himself  by  ob- 
serving that  every  one  of  these  olds  and  Jades  comes  out  of  505  and  523;  not  one  is 
derived  from  the  other  root-numbers  516  and  513.  This  shows  that  it  is  in  the 
part  of  the  story  told  by  505  and  523  the  Queen  is  referred  to  as  ''the  old  jade." 
And  see  how  completely  some  of  these  accord,  the  same  root-number  producing 
both  words: 

523—167=356—22  b  &  4=334— 30=304— 248=56— 

22  4=34.     284—34=250+1=251 
523—167=356—22  b  &  4=334—30=304—! 

Again: 

505—198=307—22  b  &  4=285—248=37. 

247+1=248+3  4=251. 
505—198=307—22  b  &  4=285—198=87- 


Page  and 
Column. 

Word. 

251 

74:1 

old 

251 

74:1 

old 

251 

74:1 

old 

251 

74:1 

old 

251 

74:1 

old 

86 

75:1 

jade 

86 

75:1 

jade 

86 

75:1 

jade 

86 

75:1 

jade 

86 

75:1 

jade 

86 

75:1 

jade 

86 

75:1 

jade 

251 

74:1 

old 

218=86. 

86 

75:1 

jade 

284—37= 

251 

74:1 

old 

1=86. 

86 

75:1 

jade 

CHAPTER  VII. 


TJ1K  PURPOSES  OF   THE  PLA  VS. 


Now  I  see 
The  bottom  of  your  purpose. 

AUys  Well  that  Ends  Well,  ///,  7. 

CECIL  tells  the  Queen  that,  having  heard  that  the  Essex  party 
were  representing  the  deposition  and  murder  of  Richard  II. 
on  the  stage,  and  cheering  uproariously  at  every  "hit,"  even  as  the 
liberty-loving  German  students  in  a  later  age  applauded  every  preg- 
nant sentence  in  Schiller's  play  of  The  Robbers,  he  sent  a  friend 
to  ascertain  the  facts,  who  returned  with  the  statement  that  the 
reports  were  all  true.  And  we  have  the  following  sentence,  descrip- 
tive of  the  scene  on  the  death  of  the  King,  who  was  murdered  at 
Pomfret  by  Sir  Pierce  of  Exton,  as  represented  in  the  last  act  of 
the  play  of  Richard  II.: 

523 

167 

356 


356—22  b  &  4=334— 193=141 
356—50=306—284=22+ 193= 
356—22  b  &  4=334— 248=86- 
356—254=102—15  b  &  /ft— 87. 
356—22  b  &  4=334— 248=86. 
356—22  b  &  //=334— 248=86.  284—86=198 + 1 
199+6  4=205. 


356               356 

356 

21  *  (167)        1/4(167) 

22  b  &  4  (167) 

335                355 

334 

Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

1—15  b  &  4=126. 

126 

75:2 

But 

=215—2  4=213. 

213 

75:1 

when 

-1  4=85. 

85 

75:1 

poor 

,     448—87=361  +  1= 

362 

76:1 

King 

448—86=362+1= 

303 

76:1 

Richard 

205 


.4:1 


fell 


356—30=326—193=133—15  b  &  4  =118.     498—118= 

380+1=381. 
356—22  b  &  4=334—50=284—17  b  &  A— 287. 
356-30=326—50=276.     447—276=171  +  1=172+ 

15  b  &  4=187. 
356—30=326—193=133.     498—133=365+1=366. 
356—1  4=355—248=107—22  b  (74:2)— 85.  284—85= 

199+1=200+6  4=206. 
356—22  b  &  4=334—193=1.41—15  b  &  4=126. 
356—22  b  &  4=334—248=86—3  />=83. 


381 

76:1 

a 

267 

76:1 

corpse 

187 

75:1 

at 

366 

76:1 

Pomfret, 

206 

74:1 

under 

126 

74:1 

uncounted 

83 

76:1 

blows, 

702 


THE  PURPOSES  OF  THE  PLA  VS. 


703 


Word. 


356—22  b  &  £=334—50=284—248=36—22  b  (74:2)= 


271 

75 

358 

126 

76 


14.     284—14=270+1=271. 
356—1  £=335—248=107—22  £  (74:2)=85— 10  £=75 
356—22  b  &  £=334—193=141.     498—141=357+1= 
356—22  b  &  £=334—193=141—15  b&  h— 196. 
356—21  £=335—248=87—11  b  &  h— 76. 
356—1  £=355—248=107—22  £=85.  284—85=199 

+  1=200. 
356—248=108. 

356— 30=326— 50=276— 15  b  &  A— 261. 
356—22  b  &  £=334—248=86.     193—86=107+1= 
356—22=326—284=42.  193—42=151  +  1=152+1  £=153 
.356—21  £=335—284=51—18  b  &  £=33  +  50=83— 

7  £=  76. 
356—21  £=335—284=51—18  £  &  A— 88. 
356—22  £  &  £=334—248=86.    498—86=412+1= 
356—50=306. 
356—22  £  &  £=334—193=141—15  £  &  £=126.  448— 

126=322+1=323.  323 

356— 22.  b  &  £=334—193=141.     508—141=367+1 

65=128  +  1=129  129 

356—30=326—50=276—248=28—22  £=6.     284— 

6=278+1=279.  279 

356—50=306—13  £=293.  293 

356—30=326—50=276—253=23—15  £  &  £=8.  448— 

8=440+1=441.  441 

356—30=326—50=276.     284—276=8+1=9.  9 


200 
108 
261 
108 


76 

33 

413 

306 


Page  and 
Column. 


74:1 
75:1 
76:1 
76:1 
74:1 

74:1 
75:1 
74:1 
75:1 
75:1 

74:2 

74:2 
76:1 
76:1 

76:1 

75:1 

74:1 
75:1 

76:1 
74:1 


they 

make 

the 

most 

fearful 

noise; 

again 

and 

again 

it 

broke 
forth; 

it 
seemed 


they 
would 

never 
stop. 


The  reader  will  note  that  every  word  here  is  the  356th  word;  and  the  figures  at 
the  beginning  of  the  chapter  show  how  that  number  is  obtained.  He  will  further 
observe  the  constant  recurrence  of  the  same  terminal  numbers,  86,  133,  108,  141, 
276,  and  their  modifications.  It  would  require  some  art,  in  any  other  writing,  to  pick 
out  the  words  of  such  a  coherent  sentence  without  any  arithmetical  limitations  what- 
ever, simply  taking  a  word  here  and  there  where  you  find  it;  but  when  you  obtain 
every  word  of  such  a  sentence  as  the  above  in  arithmetical  order,  each  one  being 
the  356th  from  certain  points  of  departure,  it  surely  cannot  be  accident. 

But  Cecil  goes  on  still  further  to  give  his  views  of  the  purposes  of  the  play  of 
Richard  II  And  here  we  still  have  the  same  original  root-number,  and  we  find  the 
same  terminal  numbers  constantly  recurring,  to-wit,  108,  141,  133,  etc.,  and  again 
they  work  out  a  coherent  narrative  which  holds  due  relation  to  the  whole  Cipher 
story. 

356—248=108.     193—108=85+1=86+3  £=89. 

356—30=326—192=134. 

356— 22  £&  £=334—50=284—12  £=272. 

356—248=108—7  £=101. 

356—22  £  &  £=334—193=141—15  £  &  £=126.     284— 

126=158+1=159. 
356—1  £=355—248=107.     284—107=177  +  1=178. 
356— 1  £=355— 248=107.     284—107=177+1=178+ 

6  £=184.  184  74:1  rebels 


89 

75:1 

The 

134 

74:1 

play 

272 

76:1 

shows 

101 

75:1 

the 

159 

74:1 

victory 

178 

74:1 

of 

7°4 


THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

92 

76:1 

o'er 

95 

76:1 

an 

223 

74:1 

anointed 

97 

74:1 

tyrant; 

434 

74:1 

and 

108 

74:1 

by 

153 

76:1 

this 

106 

74:1 

pipe 

65 

75:2 

he 

80 

75:2 

hath 

107 

74:1 

blown 

183 

74:1 

the 

177 

74:1 

flame 

178 

74:1 

of 

180 

74:1 

rebellion 

248 

76:1 

almost 

34 

74.2 

into 

1 

74:1 

open 

98 

74:1 

war. 

356—1  7/=355— 50=305— 193=112— 15  £  &  h=97— 

ob&h=92. 
356—50=306—193=113—15/;  &  7/=98— 3  £=95. 
356—30=326—193=133—15  b  &  ^=118—50=68.     284 

—68=216+1=217+6  7*=223. 
356—248=108—11  b  &  /&— 97. 
356—22  b  &  ^=334—254=80—15  b  &  7;=65.     498—65 

=433+1=434. 
356—248=108. 

356—50=306.     448— 306=1 42 + 1=143+10  b  &  A— 
356—248=108—2  h  (74:2)=106. 
356—22  b  &  7*=334— 254=80— 15  b  &  /fc=65. 
356—22  b  &  /;=334— 254=80. 
356—1  7^=355— 248=107. 

356—248=108.     284—108=176+ 1=177+6  /fc=183. 
356—248=108.     284—108=176+1=177. 
356—1  7*=355— 248=107.     284—107=177+1=178. 
356—1  7/=355— 248=107— 2  h  (74:2)=105.     284— 

105=179+1=180. 
356—22  b  &  //=334— 30=304— 49=255— 7  b  &  h=24S. 
356—1  A— 855— 30=325— 284=41— 7  h  (74:1)=34. 
356—22  b  &  7^=334— 50=284.     284—284=0 + 1=1 . 
356—248=108—10  £=98. 

It  may  be  asked  why  the  root-number  (523 — 167=)  356  is  here  continuous, 
while  in  some  of  our  former  examples  it  alternated  with  (505 — 167=)  338;  but  it 
would  appear,  from  my  researches,  that  it  is  only  at  the  beginning  that  this  alterna- 
tion exists;  and  that,  as  the  Cipher  progresses,  it  diverges,  and  follows  out  one  of 
the  root-numbers  after  another  to  its  ramifications:  thus  338  will  be  found,  after  a 
time,  to  produce  a  story  different  from,  but  connected  with,  that  told  by  356.  The 
process  might  be  compared  to  a  nimble  squirrel  on  two  branches  of  a  tree,  grow- 
ing out  of  the  same  portion  of  the  trunk.  For  a  time  it  leaps  from  branch  to 
branch;  then,  as  they  widen  out,  it  follows  the  ramifications  of  one  branch  to  the 
end. 

The  reader  will  also  note  that  all  the  story  we  have  thus  far  given  is  derived 
from  three  pages,  74,  75  and  76;  and  most  of  it  is  from  pages  74  and  75;  and  it  will 
be  found,  as  we  proceed,  that  we  have  not  exhausted  one-tenth  of  the  possibilities 
of  these  pages.  It  would  be  marvelous  if  we  had  been  able  to  make  such  con- 
nected grammatical  and  historical  sentences  out  of  a  dozen  pages;  it  is  still  more 
marvelous  that  they  have  been  found  in  two  or  three.  We  have  on  these  three 
pages  not  only  the  names  of  Marloive,  and  Archer  and  Cecil  and  Shak'st-spicr,  Hay- 
ward  and  the  old  jade,  but  the  name  of  King  Richard  and  Potnfret  and  King  John, 
and,  as  we  will  see,  the  Contention  of  York  and  Lancaster,  and  a  number  of  other 
tvpical  words,  which,  if  there  is  no  Cipher,  could  only  have  coincided  here  by  a  species 
of  miracle.  I  am  aware  that  the  hypercritical  will  say,  as  has  been  intimated  already, 
that  the  foregoing  results  are  due  to  my  "  ingenuity; "  but  ingenuity  cannot  create 
the  very  significant  words  which  are  shown  to  exist  in  the  text,  on  these  pages  74, 
75  and  76,  together  with  Bacon,  Bacons,  St.  Albans,  Grays  Inn,  etc.,  which  ap- 
pear near  at  hand.     Those  words  were  there  two  hundred  years  before  I  was  born. 

We  have  seen  that  356,  modified  by  carrying  it  through  column  74:2,  produced 
the  statement  that  Bacon  had  used  the  play  of  Richard  II.  as  a  pipe  wherewith  to 


THE  PURPOSES  OF  THE  PLA  VS. 


7°5 


blow  the  flame  of  rebellion  almost  into  open  war.  Now  let  us  take  the  very  next 
portion  of  the  text  which  follows  column  74:2,  to-wit,  the  first  subdivision  of  75:1, 
and  we  have  results  running  in  the  same  direction  of  thought,  viz.:  that  Bacon 
had  also  been  trying  to  poison  the  mind  of  the  multitude  with  irreligious  views. 
Surely,  such  connected  thoughts  could  not,  by  accident,  run  out  of  the  same  root- 
numbers,  counting,  in  the  one  instance,  from  the  top  of  one  column,  and,  in  the 
other  instance,  from  the  top  or  middle  of  the  next  column. 

And  it  will  also  be  observed  that  the  statements  here  made  agree  precisely  with 
what  I  have  shown,  in  the  first  part  of  this  book,  as  to  Bacon's  early  religious 
views,  and  the  treasonable  purposes  of  some  of  the  plays;  and  also  with  the  facts 
revealed  on  the  trial  of  Essex  as  to  the  conspirators  hiring  the  actors  to  enact  this 
very  play  of  Richard  II,  so  that  they  might  gloat  their  eyes  with  the  sight  of  a 
tragedy  on  the  mimic  stage  which  they  hoped  to  bring  into  effect  very  soon  upon 
the  stage  of  the  world.  It  follows  that  partisans  and  conspirators,  assembled  for 
such  a  purpose,  would  act  very  much  as  the  Cipher  story  describes. 


356—21  £=335—284=51.     248—51=197+1=198  + 

2  £  &  /;=200. 
356—21  £=335—193=142.     284—142=142+1=143. 
356—30=326—284=42—7  h  (74:lj=37. 
356—193=163—15  £  &  A=U8.     508—148=360+1= 
356—30=326—193=133—15  b  &  /;=118.     508—118= 

390+1=391  +  3  £=394. 
356—193=163—15  b  &  A=U8.     508—148=360+1= 

361+4  b  &  7;=365. 
356—50=306—146  (76:2)  =160. 
356—30=326—50  (76:1)=276— 145=131— 5  b  &  k— 
356—1  h  (74:2)=355— 50=305— 146=159.    498—159= 

339+1=340. 
356—30=326—145=131.     577—131=446+1=447+ 

11£&/;=461. 
356—30=326—145=131—3  £=128. 
356—193=163.     498—163=335  + 1=336. 
356—1  ^=355—30=325—193=132— 15  £&/fc=117. 
356—30=326—146=180—3  b  (146)=177— 9  b  &  h= 
356—50=306—146=160—3  b  (146)=157. 
356—30=326—146=180—3  b  (146)=177.     448—177= 

271  +  1=272+2  £=274. 
356— 30=326— 193=133— 15  £&  ^=118+162  (78:1)= 
356—30=326. 

356—50=306—145=161.     498—161=337+1=338. 
356—50=306.     498—306=192+1=193+10  £  &  h= 
356—30=326—193=133.     456  + 133=590. 
356—30=326—193=133. 
356—30=326—50=276—193=83—15  £  &  /z=68— 

50  (76:1)=18— 1/^=17. 
356—193=163.     448—163=285+1=286. 
356—30=326—193=133—15=118—50  (76:1)  = 

68.     508—68=440+1  +  1  ^=442. 
356—193=163. 


Page  and 
Word.      Column. 


200  74:2  These 

143  74:1  well-known 

37  74:2  plays 

361  76:2  have 

394  75:2  even 


365 

75:2 

made 

160 

77:1 

the 

126 

76:1 

most 

340 


76:1 


holy 


(461) 

77:1 

matters 

128 

76:1 

of 

336 

76:1 

religion, 

117 

75:2 

which 

168 

76:1 

all 

157 

77:1 

good 

274 

76:1 

men 

280 

78:1 

hold 

326 

76:1 

in 

338 

76:1 

sincere 

203 

76:1 

respect, 

590 

76:2 

subjects 

133 

76:2 

for 

17 

76:2 

laughter; 

286 

76:1 

their 

442 

75:2 

aim 

163 

75:2 

being, 

706 


THE  CIPHER  NARRA  TIVE. 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

318 

76:1 

it 

348 

75:2 

is 

337 

103 

7:61 
76:1 

supposed, 
to 

141 

74:1 

thus 

346 
122 

75:2 

74:1 

poison 
the 

351 

76:1 

mind 

113 

74:1 

of 

358 

75:2 

the 

129 

74:1 

still 

130 

74:1 

discordant, 

131 
132 

74:1 
74:1 

wavering 
multitude. 

356—30=326—50  (76:1)=276— 145=-131 .     448— 

131=317+1=318. 
356—193=163.     508—163=345+2  4=347. 
356—19  bhk-* 887. 
356—253=103. 

356—22  4  &  4=334—193=141. 
356—193=163.     508—163=345+1=346. 
356—193=163.     284—163=121  +  1=122. 
356—193=163—15  b  &  4=148^     498—148=350+1= 
356—193=163—50  (74:2)— 118. 
356—22  b  &  4=334— 193=141 .     498—1 41=357  + 1= 
356—193=163.     284—163=121  +  1=122+7  //=!  29. 
356—22  b&  4=334—193=141— 11  b  &  4=130. 
356—21  4=335—193=142—11  b  &  A— 181. 
356—21  4=335—193=142—10  4=132. 

The  reader  will  here  observe  that  every  word  of  the  above  sentence  is  the  356th 
word  from  certain  well-defined  starting-points;  just  as  every  word  of  the  last  sen- 
tence was  also  derived,  in  the  same  way,  from  356.  He  will  also  observe  that  356 
— 248=108,  and,  as  108  produced  so  many  of  the  words  touching  the  blowing  of 
the  flame  of  rebellion  into  open  war,  so  here  356 — 193=163  and  356 — 193=163 — 
15  b  &  4=148  produce  the  significant  words  being,  poison,  mind,  religion,  etc.  And 
what  is  the  difference  between  these  numbers  108  and  163?  Simply  this, —  that 
108  is  356  less  the  second  column  of  page  74;  and  163  is  356  less  the  next  subdi- 
vision of  the  text  —  the  first  subdivision  of  column  1  of  page  75;  so  that  the  ends 
of  these  two  fragments,  which  produce  these  two  coherent  parts  of  the  same  state- 
ment, as  to  the  purposes  of  the  Plays,  touch  each  other. 

And  it  will  be  remembered,  as  I  have  shown  heretofore,  that  Measure  for  Meas- 
ure contained  many  irreligious  utterances;  and  that  the  character  of  Sir  John  Old- 
castle  was  regarded,  by  the  court,  as  a  reflection  on  Protestantism,  and  the  author 
of  the  play  was  compelled  to  change  the  name  of  the  character  to  Sir  John  Falstaff. 
But  the  significant  utterances  growing  out  of  the  same  root-number  (356),  and 
the  same  parts  of  the  same  columns,  do  not  end  here.  The  purposes  of  the  Plays 
are  still  further  discussed  by  Cecil,  and  he  makes  an  assertion  as  to  the  intents  of 
the  conspirators  which  is  amply  confirmed  by  the  subsequent  insurrection  which 
cost  Essex  his  head. 

356—50=306—146=160—3  b  (146)— 157.     448—157= 

291  +  1=292. 
356—253=103.     284—103=181  +  1=182+6  4=188. 
356—248=108.     448—108=340+1=341. 
356—22  b  &  4=334—50=284—193=91.     498—91= 

407+1=408. 
356—30=326—254=72—10  4=62. 
356—253=103—1  4=102. 
356—253=103.     498—103=395 + 1=396. 
356—146=210.     284—210=74+1=75. 
356—30=326—193=133—15=118.    498—118=380+ 

1=381. 
356. 
356—50=306—146=160.     498—160=338+1=339. 


292 

76:1 

They 

188 

74:1 

mean 

341 

76:1 

in 

408 

76:1 

this 

62 

74:1 

covert 

102 

75:1 

way 

396 

76:1 

to 

75 

74:1 

make 

381 

76:1 

a 

356 

76:1 

rising 

339 

76:1 

and 

THE  PURPOSES  OF  THE  PLA  VS. 


707 


356—22  b  &  4=334— 254=80— 50  (76:1)=30.     508— 

30=478+1=479+1  4=480. 
356—22  b  &  4=334—50=284—193=91.     498—91= 

407+1=408. 
356—253=103—15  b  &  4=88.     448—88=360+1= 
356—22  b  &  4=334—253=81—15  b  &  4=66.     448— 

66=482+1=483. 
356—254=102.     448—102=346+1=347. 
356—21  ^=335—50=285—145=140.     498—140= 

358—9=359. 


Word. 


480 


Page  and 

Column. 


flood 


408 

76:1 

this 

361 

76:1 

fair 

483 

76:1 

land 

347 

76:1 

with 

359 


"6:1  blood, 


The  text  will  show  the  reader  that  the  word  rising  was  the  usual  expression  in 
that  day  for  insurrection. 

But  Cecil  thinks  the  writer  of  the  Plays  intends  not  only  to  make  rebels,  but 
infidels,  of  those  who  witness  the  representation  of  them  on  the  stage;  and  we  have 
this  significant  utterance: 

356—30=326—193=133—15  b  &  4=118.    508—118= 

390+1=391+4  b&  4=395.                                          395          75:2  so 

356— 50  (76:1  )=306— 146=160.                                          160          76:1  that 

356— 22  b&  4=334—254=80—50  ( 76:1  )=30— 14=29.      29          76:2  not 

356— 22  £  &  4=334— 254=80— 50  (76:1)=30.                      30          76:2  only 

356—50=306—146=160.     448—160=288+1=289.        289          76:1  their 

356—193=163.     448—163=285+1=286+14=287.       287          76:1  bodies, 

356— 22/;  &  4=334—253=81.                                               81          75:2  but 

356—193=163.     448—163=285+1=286.                         286          76:1  their 
356—50=306—146=160.     448—160=288+1=289 

+1  4=290.                                                                    290          76:1  souls, 

356— 253=103— 15  b  &  4=88— 2  4=86.                                86          76:1  might 

356—30=326—  50(76 :1)=276— 145=131.                          131           77:1  be 

356—30=326.     603—326=277—1=278—8^=286.         286          76:2  damned. 


Observe  here  how  the  root-numbers  bring  out  the  words:  356  carried  forward 
through  the  second  subdivision  of  76:2  (146)  and  brought  back  and  carried  up  the 
column  76:1  yields  their,  and,  counting  in  the  one  hyphenated  word,  souls;  while 
the  same  356  carried  through  the  first  subdivision  of  75:2  (193)  and  taken  up  the 
same  column  76:1  produces  their,  and,  counting  in  that  same  one  hyphenated 
word,  produces  bodies. 

And  then  we  have  this  further  sentence,  showing  that  Essex  was  supposed  to 
be  represented  on  the  stage  in  the  popular  character  of  Harry  Monmouth,  Prince 
of  Wales,  in  the  Plays  of  1st  and  2d  Henry  IV. 

516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—30=297—145= 

152— 3  b  (145)=149.  284—149=135+1=136.  136 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—30=297—145= 

152—3  b  (145)=149— 1  4=148.     •  148 

516— 167=349— 22  b&  4=327—50=277—145  (76:2) 

=132—3  b  (145)=129— 11  b  &  4=118.  118 

516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327— 248=79— 22=57— 7  b=  50 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—284=43.     ?48  -43 

=205+1=206.  206 


74:1 

It 

74:2 

is 

74:1 

plain 

75:1 

that 

74:2 


708 


THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 


Page  and 
Column. 

73:2 

Lord 

73:1 

the 

73:2 


Earl 


Word 
516—167=349—22  b  &  ^=327—284=43—7  h  (284)=36.    36 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327— 284=43.  43 

516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327—284=43—7  h  (284)= 

36.     237—36=201  +  1=202.  202 

516— 167=349— 22  <$&  7=327— 219  (74:2)=108— 21  b 

(219)=87.     284—87=197+1=198. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327— 193=134. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327—193=134—15  b  &  7= 

119.     248—119=129+1=130—15^=145. 
516— 167=349— 22  £  &  7=327— 219  (74:2(=108— 

21  b  (219)=87.     284—87=197+1=198+6  7= 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327—50=277—145  (76:2) 

=132— 3  £=129.     248—129=119+1=120. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327—284=43. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327—284=43.     237—43= 

194+1=195. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327—193=134—15  b  &  7= 

119.     248—119=129+1=130. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327—30=297—145  (76:2) 

=152—28=124.     588—124=464+1=465. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327—193=134.     248—134 

=114+1=115. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327—193=134—15  b  &  7= 

119.     248— 119=129+1=130+16  b&  7=146. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  ^=327—30=297—145  (76:2)=    152 

It  will  be  observed  here  that  every  word  grows  out  of  the  same  root-number, 
327  (516 — 167=349 — 22  b  &  7=327).  Here  is  certainly  a  most  astonishing  array  of 
words  to  occur  accidentally. 

The  reader  may  say  to  himself,  that  such  curious  words  as  are  found  in  these 
three  pages  of  this  play  occur  in  all  writings;  but  this  is  not  the  fact.  For  the  pur- 
pose of  testing  the  question  I  turned  to  Lord  Byron's  great  drama,  Manfred.  It  is 
the  work  of  a  lofty  genius,  as  the  Plays  are;  it  contains  much  exquisite  poetry,  as 
do  the  Plays;  it  is  made  up  altogether  of  conversations  between  the  characters, 
as  are  the  Plays.  Yet  I  failed  to  find  in  it  all  a  single  shake  —  spur — jade —cur- 
tain— play  —  stage — scene — act — contention,  or  any  other  of  the  significant  words 
out  of  which  such  a  narrative  as  the  above  could  be  constructed. 


198 

74:1 

is 

134 

74:2 

young 

145 

74:2 

Harry 

204 

74:1 

Monmouth, 

120 

74:2 

Prince 

43 

73:2 

of 

195 

73:2 

Wales, 

130 

74:2 

the 

465 

72:2 

Duke 

115 

74:2 

of 

146 

74:2 

Monmouth's 

152 

74:2 

son. 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  QUEEN  BE  A  TS  HA  YWARD. 

Thou  vinew'dst  leaven,  speak  ! 
I  will  beat  thee  into  handsomeness. 

Troilus  and  Cresszda,  ii,  /. 

IN  the  following  examples  I  think  the  critical  reader  will  see  con- 
clusive evidence  of  the  existence  of  a  Cipher.  The  root-num- 
bers go  out  from  the  beginning  and  end  of  that  middle  subdivision 
of  74:2  which  we  have  already  seen  producing  the  story  of  Marlowe 
and  of  Shakspere's  youth:  that  is  to  say,  if  we  go  down  from  the 
top  of  that  subdivision  we  have  198  words  to  the  bottom  of  the 
column;  if  we  go  up  from  the  bottom  of  that  subdivision,  or,  strictly 
speaking,  from  the  top  of  the  third  subdivision,  we  have  219  words; 
and  all  this  story  which  follows  grows  out  of  523  and  505  modified 
by  deducting  198  or  219,  and  moving  forward  to  the  next  column, 
and  backward    or  forward     from  the  end  of  the  scene. 

And  when  we  come  to  observe  how  every  word  that  goes  out  of 
these  roots  is  utilized  in  the  Cipher  story,  and  also  to  note  how  the 
same  numbers  produce  so  many  significant  words,  it  seems  to  me 
that  all  incredulity  must  disappear.  Take,  for  instance,  the  root- 
number  505 — 219  =  286 — 193  =  93;  the  number  93  gives  us  (75:2 
■down)  sullen;  (76:1  up)  rising;  (75:1  down)  starting;  (75:2  up)  joints; 
(75:1  up)  blow;  (75:1  down)  plus  the  bracket  words,  jade;  (75:1  up 
from  193)  plus  the  b  &  h  words,  Ha,  the  first  part  of  the  name  of 
Hay  ward;  (75:1  down  from  193)  Curtain,  the  name  of  the  play-house; 
plus  the  bracket  words,  woe-be-gone,  describing  Hayward's  appear- 
ance. In  the  same  way  the  root-number  505 — 198=307  produces 
{up  75:2)  crutch  and  (up  75:1)  end;  while  286 — 50  =  236  from  the  end 
of  the  scene  forward  and  backward  yield  us  steeled;  and  down  75:2 
it  produces  friend,  alluding  to  Hayward.  In  fact,  if  the  reader  will 
carefully  study  the  examples  that  follow  he  must  conclude  that  not 
only  is  there  a  Cipher  here,  but  that  the  rule  is  as  stated,  with  the 

709 


710 


THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 


ford. 

Page  and 
Column. 

10 

74:1 

The 

93 

75:2 

sullen 

251 

74:1 

old 

86 

75:1 

jade 

57 

75:2 

doth 

216 


74:2 


432 


75:2 


listen 


exception  perhaps  of  the  position  of  some  of  the  minor  words,  which 
may  be  displaced.  In  fact,  the  words  that  flow  out  of  these 
root-numbers  tell  the  story  I  have  given,  and  could  scarcely  be 
made  to  tell  anything  else. 

Hayward  has  evidently  been  imprisoned  for  some  time  when 
brought  before  the  Queen;  he  attempts  to  defend  his  dedication  of 
the  Life  of  Henry  IV.  to  Essex  by  praising  the  latter.  This  in- 
furiates the  Queen,  and  the  scene  follows  which  is  described: 


523— 219=304— 22  £=282.     284—282=2+1=3+7//= 

505—219=286—193=93. 

523—219=304—22  £  &  //=282— 248=34.     284—34= 

250—1=251. 
505—219=286—193=93—7  £=86. 
505—219=286—21  6=265—193=72—15  b  &  7^=57. 
523—219=304—254=50—15  b  &  A— 85.     248—35= 

213+1=214+2  b  &  //=216. 
523—219=304—50=254—193=61 .     508—61=447+ 

1=448  +  1/^=449. 
505—198=307—193=114.     193—114=79+1=80. 
523—219=304—50=254—193=61—15  b  &  A=46 

-r  193—989. 
523—219=304—50=254—193=61—15  b  &  A— 46. 

508—46=462+1=463. 
523—219=304—50=254—193—61—15  b  &  /z=46. 

508—46=462+1=463+1  /&=464. 
505—219=286—21  £=265— 193=72— 15  b&  //=57. 
523—219=304—50=254—193=61—15  b  &  .4=46+ 

193=239—5  b  &  /fc=234. 
523—219=304—50=254—193=61.    508—61=447+1= 
505—219=286—193=93—15  b  &  //=78.     508—78= 

430+1=431  +  1  //=432. 
505—219=286—193=93—50  (76:1)=43.     508—43= 

465+1=466. 
505—198=307—193=114. 

505—219=286—193=93.     498—93=405+1=406. 
505—198=307—193=114—15  b  &  //=99.     284—99= 

185+1=186. 
505—219=286—193=93.     448—93=355—1=356. 
523—219=304—50=254—10  £=244. 
505— 219=286— 19c=93— 15  b  &  //=78.     498—78= 

420+1=421. 
505—219=280-193=93. 

523—198=325—2  b  (74:2)=323-^48=75— 1  //=74. 
505— 219=286— 50=236— 50=186— 20  £=166. 
505—219=286—193=93.     193—93=100+1=101  + 

6  £  &  /U=107. 
523—198=325—193=132.     448—132=316+1=317. 


449 

80 

75:2 
75:1 

with 
the 

239 

75:1 

ugliest 

463 

75:2 

frown 

464 

57 

75:2 

76:2 

upon 
her 

234 

=448 

75:1 
75:2 

hateful 
brows, 

too 


466 

75:2 

enraged 

114 

75:2 

to 

406 

76:1 

speak; 

189 

74:1 

but, 

356 

76:1 

rising 

244 

76:1 

up 

421 

76:1 

and 

93 

75:1 

starting 

74 

75:1 

forwards, 

166 

'75:2 

took 

107 

75:1 

Ha     > 

317 

76:1 

word  \ 

THE  QUEEN  BE  A  TS  HA  YWARD. 


7ii 


293 

78 
92 

171 


Word 

505—219=286—50=236—193=43.   603—43=560+1=561 
505—219=286—193=93—15  b  &  /fc=78.     448—78= 

370+1=371.  371 

505—219=286—50=236—146=90—3  £  (146)=87.  87 

505—219=286—193=93—15  b  &  /fc=78.     498—78= 

420+1=421.  421 

505—219=286—30=256.     448—256=192+1=193+ 

8  £=201. 
523—198=325—254=71+458=529—3  £=526. 
523— 198=325— 193=132— 15  b  &  7;=117— 7  £=110. 
505—219=286—21  £=265—49  (76:1)=216.     508—216= 

292+1=293+6  £=299. 
523—219=304—218  (74:2)=86.     284—86=198+1= 
505—219=286—21  £=265—49  (76:1)=216.     508— 

216=292+1=293. 
523—198=325—193=132—15  £  &  /fc=117.     193— 

117=76+1=77+1  7/=78. 
505—198=307—193=114—15  £  &  A=W— 7  £=92. 
523—219=304—22  £  &  7^=282.    447—282=165+ 

16  £&  7*=171. 
505—198=307—193=114—15  £  &  /fc=99.     193—99= 

94+1=95+3  £=98. 
523—198=325—248=77. 
523—198=325—193=132. 
505—198=307—193=114—15  £  &  /z=99.     193—99= 

944- 1=95+6  £&/;=101. 
505—219=286—21  £=265—49  (76:1)=216. 
505— 198=307— 50=257— 193=64— 15  £&  7*=49+ 

193=242. 
523—198=325—248=77.     447— 77=370 +1=371 +3=£ 
505—219=286—30=256. 
505—219=286—30=256—4  7/=251 
523—219=304—218  (74:2)=86. 
523—198=325—2  h  (198)=323— 248=75. 
505—198=307—193=114.     508—114=394+1=395 

+  l//=396. 
523—219=304—218  (74:2)=86— 1  *— 85. 
523— 219=304— 193=111 . 
505—198=307—193=114—15  £  &  7;=99. 
523—198=325—50=275—193=82. 
523—219=304—218  (74-2)=86— 10  £=76. 
505—219=286—193=93.     447—93=354+1=355. 
523—219=304—218  (74:2)=86. 
523—198=325—193=132—15  £  &  ^=117.     193—117 

=76+1=77+3  £=80. 
505—219=286—50=236—50  (76:1)=186. 
505—198=307—193=114—15  £  &  7;=99.     447—99= 

348+1=349.     ' 
523—198=325—193=132—15  £  &  7z=117.     193—117= 

76+1=77+6  b&  7^=83. 


Page  and 
Column. 

76:2 


76:1 
77:1 

76:1 


75:2 

75:1 
75-1 

75:1 


by 

his 
throat 

and 


201 

76:1 

choked 

526 

76:2 

him. 

110 

75:1 

He 

299 

75:2 

took 

199 

74:1 

to 

his 

heels 
and 


98 

75:1 

running 

77 

76:2 

off 

132 

75:2 

in 

101 

75:1 

the 

216 

75:2 

greatest 

242 

75:1 

fright, 

=374 

75:1 

but 

256 

74:1 

the 

251 

74:1 

old 

86 

75:1 

jade 

75 

75:1 

struck 

396 

75:2 

my 

85 

75:1 

poor 

11 

75:1 

young 

99 

75:2 

friend 

82 

75:2 

a 

76 

74:1 

fearful 

355 

75:1 

blow 

86 

74:1 

with 

80 

75:1 

the 

186 

75:2 

steeled 

349 

75:1 

end 

83 

75:1 

of 

7I2 


THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 


Word. 
254 


388 

410 

108 

92 

108 


523—219=304—50=254. 

523—219-304—193=111.     498—111=387+1=388. 
505—198=307—193=114—15  £  &  /*=99.     508—99= 

409—1=310. 
523—198=325—193=132—15  b  &  A— 117.     117—9= 
505—219=286—193=93—1  A=92. 
523—219=304—218  (74:2)=86.     193— 86=107 -hl= 
523—219=304—193=111.     193—111=82+1=83+1  /;=84 
523—198=307—2  b  (198)=305— 193=112.     508—112= 

396+1=397.  397 

523—218=304—193=111.     508—111=397+1=398.     398 
523—218=304—193=111 

+1  /z=399. 
505—198=307—193=114 
505—198=307—193=114 

+3  £—(398). 
505—219=286—50=236—193=43.     603—43=560 

+  1=551. 
523—219=304—1  h  (2 19)=303— 146=157.     577—157 

=420+1=421.  421 

523—219=304—193=111.  Ill 

505—198=307—2  b  (198)=305— 193=1 12.     508—112 


508—111=397+1=398. 
508—111=397+1=398 

508-114=394+1=395. 
508—114=394+ 1=395 


399 
395 

(398) 

561 


(397) 


193—99 


457— 117= 


=396+1 +£=(397). 
505—198=307—193=114—15  b  &  A— 99. 

=94+1=95. 
505—198=307—193=114—10  £=104. 
523—198=325—254=71 . 
523—198=325—248=77—9  b  &  /*=68. 
523—219=304—50=254—13  £=241. 
523—198=325—193=132—15  £  &  A— 117 

340+1+1  /&=342. 
505—219=286—50=236. 
505+198=307—193=114—2  £=112. 
523—198=325—248=77. 
523—219=304—193=111.     193—111=82+1=83+ 

6  £  &  /;=89. 
523—219=304—218  (74:2)=86— 3  £=83. 
505—219=286—50=236—2  /fc=234. 
523—198=325—193=132.     508—132=376+1=377. 
505—219=304—22  £  &  /*=282.     447—282=165+1= 
523— 198=325— 2  h  (  74:2)=323— 193=130.  508—130 

=378+1=379+4  £&  //=383. 
505—219=286—193=93.     508—93=415+1=416. 
523—198=325—248=87—2  £=75—9  £  &  /z=66.  66 

505—219=286—193=93.  193— 93=100+1=101  +  1  //— 102 
523— 198=325— 2  £  (74 :2)=323— 193=130.     508—130 

=378+1=379.  .  379 

523—198=325—145=180—49  (76:1)— 181.  131 

505—219=286—30=256.     448—256=192+1=193.       193 
505—219=286—50=236—146=90—3  £=87.     577— 

87=490+1=491.  491 


95 
104 

71 

68 

241 

342 
236 

112 

77 

89 

83 

234 

377 

166 


416 


Page  and 

Column. 

75:1 

76:1 


the 
great 


75:2  crutch, 

75:1  again 

75:1  and 

75:1  again. 

75:1  His 


75:2 
75:2 

75:2 
75:2 


limbs 
being 

now 
so 


75:2     weakened 


76:2 


by 


77:1  imprisonment 
74:2  and 


75:2 

75:1 
74:1 
75:2 
75:1 
75:1 

76:2 
76:1 
75:2 

75:2 

75:1 
76:1 
74:1 
75:2 
75:1 

75:2 
75:2 

75:1 
75:1 

75:2 

75:2 


grief, 

he 
is 
not 
able 
to 

stand 

the 
force 

of 

the 
blows; 

the 
hinges 

of 

his 

joints 

gave 

way 

under 
him; 
and 

he 


QUEEN   ELIZABETH, 


THE  QUEEN  BE  A  TS  HA  YWARD. 


713 


523—219=304—218  (74:2)=86.     284—86=198+1= 

199+6/^=205. 
523—198=325—193=132—15  b  &  //=117.     498—117 

=331+1=382. 
505—198=307. 

523—198=325—248=77—7  £=70. 
523—198=325—193=132.     498—132=366+1=367. 


Page  and 
Word.      Column. 


205 


r4:l 


fell 


382 

76:1 

bleeding 

307 

76:1 

on 

70 

75:1 

the 

367 

76:1 

stones. 

I  am  not  proceeding  in  the  historical  order  of  the  narrative.  We  first  have  the 
account  of  Hayward  being  brought  before  the  Queen.  It  is  in  the  orchard  of  the 
royal  palace.  The  Queen  and  Cecil  assail  him  fiercely  about  the  dedication  of  his 
History  of  Henry  IV.  to  Essex.     The  name  of  Cecil  is  thus  formed: 


523— 198  (74:2)=325.     498—325=173+1= 
505—198  (74 :2)=307— 254=53. 


474+8  b- 


182 
53 


76:1 
75:1 


Seas 
ill 


These  are  the  same  root-numbers,  325  and  307,  which  we  saw  running  together 
in  the  previous  examples;  and  the  primary  root-numbers,  523  and  505,  are  the  same 
which  we  have  seen  alternating  together  through  whole  columns  of  examples.  The 
point  of  departure  is  the  same,  to-wit,  from  the  end  of  the  first  subdivision  of  74:2, 
at  the  50th  word;  there  are  248  words  in  the  column,  and  50  from  248  leaves  198. 
In  the  first  instance  the  root-number  325  is  carried  to  the  bottom  of  column  1  of 
page  75  and  up  the  column;  in  the  other  instance  it  is  taken  to  the  middle  of  75:1, 
thence  dozen,  thence  returning  down  the  same  column. 

And  we  find  then  this  sentence: 


-2  h- 


264—193=71- 

264. 

264—248  (74:2)=16. 

=264—30=234.     44&— 234= 


498—264=234+1= 
498—264=234— 


447—71= 


505—219=286—22  b  &  h- 
505—219=286—22  b  &  h 
505—219=286—22  b  &  h 
505—219=286—22  b  &  h 

214+1=215. 
505—219=286—22  b  &  //=264. 
505—219=286—22  b  &  //=264. 

50=184+1=185  +  2  /;=187. 
505—219=286—22  b  &  //=264— 193=71 

376+1=377+3^=380. 
505—219=286—22  b  &  7^=264— 30=234— 10  b- 
505—219=286—22  b  &  //=264— 13  £=251 . 
505—219=286—22  b  &  /z=264— 50=214.     447 

233+1=234+2 //=236. 
505—219=286—22  b  &  //=264— 50=214. 
505—219=286—22  b  &  /;=264— 193=71— 15  b  &  k— 

56.     248— 56=192+1=193+2  b  &  /*=195. 
505—219=286—22  b  &  //=264— 193=71— 15  b  &  h= 

56.     248—56=192+1=193. 
505—219=286—22  b  &  /;=264.     447—264=183+1= 
505—219=286—22  b  &  /*=264— 193=71 .     447—71= 

376+1=377. 
505—219=286—22  b  &  ^=264—193=71—1  /;=70. 
505—219=286—22  b  &  //=264—  254=10. 


=224. 


214= 


264 
16 

215 
235 

187 

380 
224 
251 

236 

214 

195 


76:1 
75:1 

75:1 

76:1 
76:1 

76:1 

75:1 
75:1 

75:1 

75:1 
75:1 

74:2 


said 

to 

him: 

Come, 
speak 

out. 

Why 
didst 
thou 

put 
the 


193 

74:2 

of 

184 

75:1 

my 

377 

75:1 

Lord 

70 

75:1 

the 

10 

74:2 

Earl 

75:1 

upon 

75:1 

the 

75:1 

title-leaf 

74:2 

of 

75:1 

this 

75:1 

volume  ? 

714  THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 

Page  and 
Word.      Column. 

505—219=286—22  b  &  ^=264—193=71—15  b  &  h=56. 

193—56=137+1=138+1  /fc=138.  138 

505—219=286—22  b  &  ^=264—193=71—15  b  &  /fc=56. 

447—56=391  +  1=392+3^=395.  395 

505—219=286—22  b  &  /z=264— 50=214— 13  b  &  h  exc. 

=201.  201 

505—219=286—22  b  &  ^=264—193=71—15  b  &  h= 

56.     248—56=192+1=193.  193 

505—219=286—22  /;  &  /fc=264.     447—264=183+1= 

184+11  £=195.  195 

505—219=286—22  b  &  ^=264—248=16+194=210— 

2  7^=208.  208 

The  reader  will  observe  that  we  have  here  a  sentence  of  twenty-three  words, 
which  not  only  cohere  with  each  other  grammatically  and  rhetorically,  but  accord 
with  the  history  of  events  as  they  have  come  down  to  us.  We  have  just  seen  that 
the  Queen  beat  Hayward.  What  was  his  offense?  History  tells  us  that  it  was 
because  of  the  dedication  of  his  book  to  the  Earl  of  Essex.  And  here,  without  our 
looking  for  it,  the  root-number  505 — 219=286 — 22  b  &  ^=264  brings  out  the  ques- 
tion of  Cecil:  said  to  him:  Come,  speak  out.  Why  didst  thou  put  the  name  of  my 
Lord  the  Earl  upon  the  title-leaf  of  this  volume  ?  And  of  these  twenty-three  words 
every  one  originates  from  505 — 219,  counting  in  the  bracketed  and  hyphenated 
words  in  219,  to-wit,  22,  which  gives  us  the  formula  as  above:  505 — 219 — 22  b&h 
=264.  And  out  of  these  twenty-three  words  fifteen  are  found  in  the  same  column  of 
page  73,  within  a  few  inches  of  space;  and  the  other  four  are  found  in  the  next  pre- 
ceding column.  Surely  never  before  did  accident  pack  so  much  reason,  history, 
grammar,  rhetoric  and  sense  into  so  small  a  compass.  And  what  a  marvelous 
piece  of  composition  is  this,  where  we  find  the  names  of  Marlowe,  Archer,  Hayward, 
Shakspere,  Cecil,  Henslow,  the  old  jade,  the  Contention  of  York  and  Lancaster,  King 
fohn,  the  Fortune,  the  Curtain,  act,  scene,  stage,  and  such  sentences  as  the  above,  all 
grouped  together  on  three  pages.  And  so  arranged  that  many  of  the  words  are  used 
over  and  over  again. 

Take  the  words  which  constitute  the  name  of  Cecil  —  I  say  nothing  of  other 
pages,  but  speak  only  of  these  three,  or,  strictly  speaking,  these  two  and  a  half 
pages,  containing  about  2,000  words.  The  word  ill,  the  terminal  syllable  of  Cecil, 
occurs  in  the  plays,  either  alone  or  hyphenated  with  other  words,  about  250  times. 
It  occurs  in  the  entire  Bible,  including  the  Old  and  New  Testament,  but  eleven 
times  !  And  yet,  as  the  equivalent  of  evil,  we  would  expect  to  find  it  used  many 
times  in  writings  having  such  relation  to  moral  wrong-doing  as  the  Scriptures. 
The  word  ill  occurs  in  the  second  part  of  Henry  LV.  eighteen  times  standing  alone; 
it  does  not  occur  once  alone  in  the  first  part  of  Henry  LV.  But  it  is  cunningly  con- 
cealed in  "  z7/-sheathed  knife,"  "z7/-weaved  ambition"  and  "  z7/-spirited  Worcester;" 
and  also  in  hill,  pronounced  in  those  good  old  days,  "  'ill. "  This  word  hill,  unusual 
in  dramatic  poetry  or  elevated  composition,  occurs  seven  times  in  the  first  part  of 
Henry  IV.  and  only  once  in  the  second  part.  Why  these  differences?  Because,  as 
I  have  shown,  the  first  part  was  first  published,  to  run  the  gauntlet  of  suspicion, 
and  Bacon  took  especial  care  to  exclude  all  words  that  might  look  like  Cipher 
work;  and  assuredly,  if  Cecil  suspected  a  Cipher  narrative,  or  had  any  intimation 
of  such,  he  would  be  on  the  lookout  for  such  words  as  might,  compounded,  consti- 
tute his  own  name. 


Page  and 

Wo 

Column. 

67 

75:2 

says 

67 

75:2 

says 

67 

75:2 

says 

67 

75:2 

says 

182 

76:1 

seas 

182 

76:1 

seas 

182 

76:1 

seas 

53 

75:1 

ill 

THE  Q  UEEM  BE  A  TS  HA  Y  WA  RD.  7 1 5 

On  these  three  pages  the  word  ill  occurs  twice,  both  times  in  the  first  subdi- 
vision of  75:1. 

He  told  me  that  Rebellion  had  ill  hick. 

Said  he  .  .  .  Rebellion 

Had  met  ill  luck. 

And  just  as  we  found  the  position  of  the  words  and  the  dimensions  of  the 
pages,  columns,  scenes  and  subdivisions  of  scenes  adjusted  to  each  other  to  pro- 
duce old  jade,  etc.,  so  we  find  these  words  seas  ill  and  says  ill  holding  curious  rela- 
tions to  the  text.     For  instance 


523—248=275—193=82-15  b  &  k=67. 
523—198=325—193=132—15  £  &  /*=117— 50  (76:1)= 
523—193=325—50=275—193=82—15  b  &  k=ffl. 
523—193=325—254=71—4  h  (254)=67. 
523—193=325.    498—325=173+1=174+8  £=182. 
523—193=325—50=275.  448—275=173+1=174+ 

8  £=182. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  /z=327— 146  (76:2)=182. 
523—198=325—248=77—24  b  &  h  (248)=53. 
523—167=356—22  b  &  h  (167)=334— 193=141.     193— 

141=52+1=53.  53  75:1  ill 

516—167=349—193=156—15  b  &  A— 141.     193—141= 

52+1=53.  53  75:1  ill 

516—50=466—50  (76:1)=416.     447—416=31  + 

21  b&  /;=53.  53  75:1  ill 

516—167=349—22  b  &  h  (167)=327.  447—327= 

120+1=121.  121  75:1  ill 

505—167=338.     447— 338=109+1=110+11  £=121.      121  75:1  ill 

513+167=346—248=98—24  b  &  h=U.     193—74= 

119+1=120+1^=121.  121  75:1  ill 

I  here  give  seven  seas  or  says  and  seven  ills;  but  this  does  not  begin  to  exhaust 
the  possibilities.  The  reader  will  observe  that  Cecil  is  especially  referred  to  in 
that  part  of  the  narrative  which  grows  out  of  523 — 198=325,  and  516 — 167=349. 

In  answer  to  Cecil's  question,  Hayward  is  foolish  enough  to  praise  Essex  as  a 
great  and  good  man  and  the  first  among  princes,  (505 — 219=286 — 22  £&/z=264 — 
193=71.  508 — 71=437  +  1=438,  75:2,  princes),  and  then  we  have,  preceding  the 
sentence  given  in  the  first  part  of  this  chapter,  the  words  following,  describing  the 
Queen's  rage: 

505—219=286—22  b  &  7^=264—4  /;=260.  260 

523—219=304—22  b  &  /^=282.     284—282=2+1=3+ 

10  £=13.  13 

523—219=304—22  b  &  7^=282—193=89.     508—89= 

419+1=420+1  A— 421.  421 

505—219=286—193=93—15  £  &  /z=78.  78 

505—219=286—193=93.     447—93=354+1=355+ 

3  £=358.  358 

523— 219=304—22  £  &  7/=282— 193=89.     448—89= 

359+1=360.  360 


74:1 

On 

74:1 

hearing 

75:2 

this 

/5:2 

unwelcome 

75:2 

praise 

76:1 

of 

THE  CIPHER  NARRA  TIVE. 


Word. 

505—219=286—22  b  &  //=264— 193=71 .     193—71= 

122+1=123.  123 

523—219=304—50  (76:1)=254.  254 
505—219=286+22  b  &  k=2Q4— 193=71.     193—71= 

122+1=123+1/^=124.  124 

505—219=286—21  £=265—193=72—15  b  &  A— 57.  57 

523—219=304—22  b  &  /z=282.  282 

523— 219=304— 193=111+193=304— 4  b  col.=300.  300 

505—219=286—22  b  &  ^=264—193=71.  71 

523—219=304—218  (74:2)=86— 9  b  &  k— 77.  77 

505—219=286—22  b  &  //=264.  264 

505—198=307.     448—307=141  +  1=142.  142 

523—198=325—253=72—15=57.  57 

505—198=307—254=53—2  /;=51 .  51 

505—219=286—22  b  &  ^=264—193=71—1  /*=70.  70 
523—219=304—22  b  &  //=282— 193=89.     193—89= 

104+1=105.  105 


Page  and 
Column. 


75:1 

75:2 

75:1 
76:2 
75:2 
75:1 
75:2 
75:1 
75:1 
76:1 
76:2 
76:1 
76:1 

75:1 


my 
noble 

Lord 

her 
Grace 

was 

not 

able 

to 
restrain 

her 
passion 

any 

longer. 


Then  follows  the  description  of  the  beating  of  Hayward  already  given. 

We  learn  from  Bacon's  anecdote  that  the  Queen  did  not  believe  that  Hayward 
was  the  real  author  of  the  pamphlet  history  of  the  deposition  of  Richard  II.,  but 
suspected  that  some  greater  person  was  behind  him.  And  the  Cipher  tells  us  that 
she  tried  to  frighten  him  into  telling  who  this  person  was.  She  threatens  him  with 
the  — 


75:1 

loss 

75:1 

of 

75:1 

his 

74:1 

ears. 

523—219=304—22  b  &  /z=282— 254=28.     193—28= 

165  +  1=166+1  //=167.  167 

523— 219=304— 22  b&  //=282.     447—282=165+1=  166 

523—219=304—22  b  &  /*=282— 254=28.  28 

523—219=304—22  b  &  /;=282.     284—282=2+1=3.  3 


Observe  the  symmetry  of  this  sentence.  Every  word  grows  out  of  the  same 
root-numbers,  (523 — 219=304 — 22  b  &  ^=282);  loss  is  the  28th  word  up  from  the 
bottom  of  the  second  subdivision  of  75:1,  and  his  is  the  28th  word  up  from  the  bot- 
tom of  the  second  subdivision  of  75:1;  while  of  is  the  282d  word  up  the  same  75:1 
and  ears  the  282d  word  up  the  corresponding  column  of  the  next  preceding  page,  to- 
wit:  74:1.  In  every  case  the  bracketed  and  hyphenated  words  are  not  counted  in. 
While  if  we  carry  the  same  282  through  the  second  column  of  page  74  and  up  the 
preceding  column  it  brings  us  to  old,  (the  old  jade);  or,  counting  in  the  three 
bracketed  words  in  the  lower  part  of  74:1,  to  the  word  crafty. 

The  Queen  denounces  Hayward.     She  speaks  of — 

505—219=286—22  b  &  /*=264— 198=66 +193=259— 

2  £=257.  257 

505—219=286—22  b  &  /*=264— 30=234.  234 

505—219=286—22  b  &  //=264— 50=214— 4  /;=210.  210 

And  says: 

505—219=286—22  b  &  /*=264— 197=67— 2  h  (197>= 

05 + 193=258—5  b  &  //=253.  253 

505—219=286—22  b  &  ^=264—50=214.  (74:2)  214 


75:1 

Thy 

75:1 

hateful 

75:1 

looks; 

r5:1 
?5:1 


and 
the 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

255 

75:1 

whiteness 

256 

75:1 

in 

262 

75:1 

thy 

258 
259 
260 

75:1 
75:1 

75:1 

cheek 

is 
apter 

261 

75:1 

then 

257 

75:1 

thy 

263 
264 
265 

75:1 
75:1 
75:1 

tongue 
to 
tell 

262 
214 

75:1 

75:1 

thy 
nature. 

THE  Q  UEEN  BE  A  TS  HA  Y  WARD.  7  i  ; 


505—219=286—22  b  &  /;=264— 197  (74:2)=67+193 

260—5  b  &  /i— 255. 
505—219=286—22  b  &  ^=264—198=66+193=259— 

3  £—256. 
505—219=286—22  b  &  £—264—193—71.     193+71= 

264—2  /&=262. 
505—219=286—22  b  &  //=264— 197=67  + 193=260— 

2  A— 368. 
505—219=286—22  b  &  //=264— 198=66.     193—66=    S 
505—219=286—22  b  &  /;=264— 197=67+193=260. 
505—219=286—22  b  &  //=264— 193=71.     193+71= 

264—3  £=261. 
505—219=286—22  b  &  ^=264—197=67+193=260— 

3  £=257. 
505—219=286—22  b  &  //=264— 193=71 +194=265— 

2  /;=263. 
505—  219=286—  22  b  &  /;=264— 193=71  +  193=264. 
505—219=286=22  b  &  /;=264— 193=71.     194—71= 
505—219=286—22  b  &  ^=264—193=71  +  194=265- 

3  £=262. 
505—219=286—22  b  &  h=26±—  50=214— 10  b  col.  = 

Every  one  of  these  eighteen  words  comes  out  of  the  same  root-number  (505 — 
219=286 — 22  b  &  ^=264)  which  produced  the  sentence  of  twenty-three  words 
recently  given,  and  all  these  forty-one  words  cohere  in  meaning.  And  what  is  still 
more  remarkable,  every  one  of  the  eighteen  words  in  the  above  sentence  is  found 
in  the  same  column  of  the  same  page,  and  all  of  them  in  the  compass  of  nine  lines; 
and  thirteen  out  of  the  eighteen  are  found  in  two  lines!  If  this  be  accident,  it  is 
certainly  something  astounding.  Observe  also  that  we  have  here  four  thys. 
There  is  not  a  single  thy  on  the  whole  of  the  preceding  page,  74;  nor  on  the  whole 
of  the  succeeding  page,  76.  Why  is  this  difference  ?  Because  here  the  Queen  is 
talking  fiercely  to  an  inferior,  Hayward,  and  is  thouing  him.  There  are  three 
thys  in  these  two  lines,  and  every  one  of  them  is  used  by  the  root-numbers  in  the 
aoove  sentence;  and  one  is  used  twice.  And  it  is  only  possible  to  thus  use  thirteen 
words  out  of  two  lines  containing  seventeen  zvords,  by  the  subtle  adjustment  of  the 
bracketed  and  hyphenated  words;  and  six  of  the  above  words  are  the  71st  word 
from  the  end  of  the  first  subdivision  of  75:1,  or  the  beginning  of  the  second  subdi- 
vision of  the  same;  while  five  are  the  67th  word  and  three  the  66th  word  from 
the  same  points  of  departure. 

I  am  aware  that  it  may  be  objected  that  it  is  claimed  that  Hayward  was  not 
arrested  until  1599,  and  that  the  first  part  of  Henry  IV.  (interlocking  through  the 
Cipher  with  this  second  part)  was  published  in  1598.  But  the  date  of  Hayward's 
arrest  is  obscure  and  by  no  means  certain;  and  if  it  were  certain,  it  does  not  fol- 
low that  because  a  quarto  edition  of  the  play  of  1st  Henry  IV.  has  been  found, 
with  the  date  1598  on  the  title-page,  it  is  therefore  certain  that  it  was  published  in 
that  year.  It  would  be  but  a  small  trick  for  the  mind  that  invented  such  a  com- 
plicated cipher  to  put  an  incorrect  date  on  the  title-leaf  of  a  quarto  to  avoid  suspi- 
cion, for  who  would  look  for  a  cryptogram,  describing  events  that  occurred  in  1599, 
in  a  book  which  purported  to  have  been  published  in  1598? 


CHAPTER  IX. 

CECIL  SA  YS  SHAKSPERE  DID  NOT   WRITE   THE  PLA  VS. 

Your  suspicion  is  not  without  wit  or  judgment. 

Othello >,  iv,  2. 

WE  come  now  to  an  interesting  part  of  the  narrative — the 
declaration  of  Cecil's  belief  that  neither  Marlowe  nor  Shak- 
spere  was  the  real  author  of  the  Plays  which  were  put  forth  in 
their  names. 

And  it  will  be  noticed  by  the  reader  how  marvelously  the  whole 
narrative  flows  out  of  one  root-number.  That  is  to  say,  the  third 
number,  516,  is  modified  by  having  deducted  from  it  167,  to-wit: 
the  number  of  words  after  the  first  word  of  the  second  subdivision 
of  column  2  of  page  74,  down  to  and  including  the  last  word  of  the 
subdivision.  And  the  reader  cannot  fail  to  notice  what  a  large  part 
of  the  Cipher  narrative  of  Shakspere  and  Marlowe  flows  from  this 
second  subdivision. 

And  the  reader  will  also  observe  that  in  this  second  subdivision 
there  are  2t  words  in  brackets  and  one  additional  hyphenated 
word  —  or  22  in  all;  these  added  to  the  167  make  189;  and  189 
deducted  from  516  leaves  327.  Or,  the  same  result  is  obtained  by 
first  deducting  from  516  the  167,  and  then  deducting  from  the 
remainder  22  for  the  bracketed  and  hyphenated  words.  I  express 
the  formula  thus: 

5I6— 167=349— 22  b  &//=327. 
Every  word  of  all  the  sentences  in  the  following  chapter  grows  out 
of  the  number  327: 

„  Page  and 

Word.       Column. 

516—167=349—22  b  &  h— 827.     498—327=171+1= 

172+10/;  &  4=182.  182  76:1  Seas  1 

516— 167=349— 22  />  &  4=327.     447—327=120+1=      121  75:1  ill    \ 

516— 167=349— 22 />  &  4=327— 30=297— 50(76:1)=      247  76:2  said 

718 


S1IAKSPERE  DID  NOT  WRITE   THE  TLA  VS. 


719 


Observe,  here,  how  precisely  the  same  number  brings  out  .was  and  ill:  compare 
the  numbers  in  groups;  —  516 — 516; —  167 — 167; —  349 — 349;  —  22  b&  h — 22b &  h\ — 
327 — 327;  —  and  going  up  the  first  column  of  page  76  with  327,  we  find  seas;  while 
going  up  the  first  column  of  page  75  with  327  brings  us  to  ill. 


516—167=349—  22  b  &  7;=327— 284=43.     447—43 

=404+1=405+3  /;=408. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7v=327— 254=73— 15  b  &  //= 

58.     448—58=390+1=391. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7;=327— 50=277—  50  (74:2) 

=227—1  7/=226. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7;=327— 254=73— 50  (76:1) 

=23—1  k— 22. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7^=327—30=297—254=43 

— 15J&//=28. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7^=327—248=79.     193—79 

=114+1=115+  b&h=(121). 
516— 167=349— 22 b  &  7;=327— 254=73— 15  b  &h  = 

58.     498—58=440+1=441. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7^=327—50=227—7  b  &  k— 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7^=327. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  A— 827— 146  (76:2)=182. 

498—182=316+1=317. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7/=327— 193=134.     248— 

134=114+1=115. 
516— 167=349— 22  £  &  7^=327—254=73—15  b  &  h 

=58—5  /;=53. 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

408 

75:1 

that 

391 

76:1 

More  \ 

226 

74:1 

low  ; 

22 

76:1 

or 

28 

75:2 

Shak'st 

(121) 

75:1 

spur 

441 

76.1 

never 

220 

76:2 

writ 

327 

76:1 

a 

317 

76:1 

word 

115 

74:2 

of 

53 

74:1 

them. 

I  will  ask  the  skeptical  reader  to  examine  the  foregoing  three  remarkable  com- 
binations of  words  :  seas-ill  (Cecil),  nwre-low  (Marlowe),  and  shak'st-spur  (Shak- 
spere).  Remember  they  are  all  derived  from  the  same  root-number,  and  the  same  modi- 
fication of  the  same  root-number:  516 — 167=349 — 22  b  &  h  (i67)=327;  —  and  that  they 
are  all  found  in  four  columns  !  Are  there  four  other  columns,  on  three  other  con- 
secutive pages,  in  the  world,  where  six  such  significant  words  can  be  discovered? 
And,  if  there  are,  is  it  possible  to  combine  them  as  in  the  foregoing  instances,  not 
only  by  the  same  root-number,  but  by  the  same  modification  of  the  same  root-num- 
ber ?  If  you  can  indeed  do  this  in  a  text  where  no  cipher  has  been  placed,  then  the 
age  of  miracles  is  not  yet  past. 

And  here,  confirmatory  of  this  opinion,  thus  bluntly  expressed  by  Cecil,  as  to 
the  authorship  of  the  Shakespeare  and  Marlowe  Plays,  we  have  —  growing  out  of 
precisely  the  same  root-number  and  the  same  modification  of  the  same  root-number — 
still  other  significant  words- 


516—167=349—22  b  &  7*=327— 198=129.     447—129 

=318+1=319.  319  75:1  It 

516—167=349—22  b  &  7?=327— 237  (73:2)=90.  90  74:1  is 

516—167=349—22  b  &  7^=327—198  (74:2)=129— 

11  /;  &  7/=118.  118  74:1  plain 

516—167=349—22  b  &  7^=327—198  (74:2)=129— 

90(73:1)=39.  39  73:2  he 


720  THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 

Page  and 
Word.       Column. 

516—167=349—22  b  &  7;=327— 193=134.     284—134 

=150+1=151.  151  74:1  is 

516—167=349—22  b  &  7/=327— 30=297— 248=49.  49  74:1         stuffing 

516—167=349—22  b  &  7;=327— 90  (73:1)=237— 3  b=  234  73:2  our 

516—167=349—22  b  &  h=327— 248=79— 22  b  (248; 

=57—6  b  &  A— 61.  51  74:1  ears 

516— 167=349— 22  b  &  /*=327— 219=108— 22  0=86.       86  74:1  with 

516—167=349—22 b &  7^=327— 248=79— 24 b&h (248)=55  74 : 1  false 

516—167=349—22  b  &  h=327— 30=297—  219  (74:2>= 

78—22  b  (219)=56.  56  74.1         reports 

516—167=349—22  b  &  7z=327— 30=297— 248=49+ 

90(73:1)=139— 1  7;=138.  138  73.1  and 

516—167=349—22  b  &  7^=327—30=297—29  (74:2)= 

268—15  b  &  //=253.  253  74:1  lies 

516—167—349—22  b  &  7^=327—30=297— 219  (74:2)= 

78— 22  b  (219)=56.     284—56=228+1=229.  229  74:1  this 

516—167=349—22  b  &  7*=327— 30=297— 248=49. 

90(73:1)+49=139.  139  73:1  many 

516—167=349—22  b  &  7^=327—198  (74:2)=129— 

10  0=119.  119  74:1  a 

516—167=349—22  b  &  7;=327— 90  (73:1)=237— 29 

(73:2)=208.     284— 208=76+1=77+7  7^=84.  84  74.1  year. 

The  reader  will  observe  how  marvelously  the  fragments  of  the  scene  on  74*2 
are  adjusted  to  516 — 167=349 — 22  b  &  h  (i67)=327,  to  produce  on  74:1  nearly  all 
the  above  coherent  words.  And  every  word  here  given  arises  out  of  the  same 
root-number  and  the  same  modification  of  the  same  root-number,  to-wit:  516 — 167 
=349 — 22  b  &  h  (i6j)=32j.  And  of  the  seventeen  words  in  the  above  sentence, 
thirteen  are  found  on  74:1  —  a  short  column  of  302  words  I 

Let  me  explain  this  a  little  more  fully.  As  we  have  foun(d  the  root-number, 
516 — 167=349 — 22  °  &  ^=327,  it  is  natural  that  we  should  carry  it  to  the  beginning 
of  column  2  of  page  74,  which  is  the  beginning  of  the  second  scene;  and  that,  as 
is  the  rule  with  the  Cipher,  we  should  deduct  the  number  of  words  in  that  column, 
248,  and  thus  obtain  a  new  subordinate  root-number  to  carry  elsewhere.  We  have 
therefore  327 — 248=79.  If  we  turn  to  the  preceding  column,  74:1,  we  find  that 
the  79th  word  is  prepared,  which  we  will  see  used  directly  in  connection  with  the 
preparation  of  the  Plays  !  And  if  we  carry  79  up  the  column,  it  brings  us  to  tinder, 
the  206th  word: — prepared  under  the  name,  etc.  But  if  we  modify  79  by  deducting 
the  usual  modifier,  30,  we  have  49,  which,  down  the  column,  gives  us  stuffing, 
(  "stuffing  our  ears,"  etc.),  and  up  the  column  it  gives  us  betzveen,  which  we  will 
see  directly  to  be  used  in  the  significant  group  of  words:  Contention  between  York 
and  Lancaster,  the  name  of  one  of  Bacon's  early  plays.  If  we  modify  79  by 
deducting  the  other  usual  modifier,  50,  we  have  left  29,  the  very  significant  word 
acts.  And,  as  we  obtained  79  by  deducting  248  from  327, — if  we  go  back  and 
count  in  the  bracket  words  in  the  248,  we  reduce  the  79  to  57  (79 — 22  b  (74:2)=57); 
and  that  gives  us,  counting  in  the  bracketed  and  hyphenated  words,  the  word 
ears — "stuffing  our  ears"  But  if  we  also  deduct  the  hyphenated  words  in 
248,  as  well  as  the  bracketed  words,  we  have  55  (79 — 24  b  &  h  (74:2)=55),  which 
gives  us  false.  And  then  observe  how  ingeniously  the  mechanism  of  74:2  is 
adapted  to  the  work  required  of  it  !     If,  instead  of  counting  from  the  bottom  of  the 


SHAKSPERE  DID  NOT  WRITE   THE  TLA  YS.  721 

column  (74:2),  we  count  from  the  beginning  of  the  last  subdivision  of  the  column 
(219),  this  brings  us  the  words  with — reports  —  this  ("  stuffing  our  ears  with  false 
reports");  while  if  we  go  down  from  the  same  point  on  74:2,  counting  in  the  29 
words,  and  back  as  before,  we  land  first  upon  the  word  other,  which  we  will  see 
used  directly,  in  connection  with  "  other  plays,"  and  then,  counting  in  the  brack- 
eted and  hyphenated  words,  upon  the  word  lies,  which  fits  in  very  naturally  with 
"  false  reports"  and  both  with  Cecil's  declaration  that  Marlowe  and  Shakspere  did 
not  write  the  plays  attributed  to  them.  And  then,  if  we  take  the  same  root- 
number,  327,  and  begin  to  count  from  the  end  of  the  first  subdivision  downward, 
we  have  198  words,  which  deducted  from  327  leaves  129,  and  this  carried  down 
74:1,  counting  in  the  bracketed  and  hyphenated  words,  brings  us  to  the  118th  word, 
plain  —  "  it  is  plain"  —  in  the  foregoing  sentence,  and  this  129,  less  50,  brings  us 
again  to  the  79th  word,  the  significant  word  prepared;  and  up  the  column  again 
it  brings  us  again  to  the  word  under,  which  goes  with  it.  Here  we  see  increasing 
proofs  of  the  marvelously  ingenious  nature  of  the  Cipher,  and  of  the  superhuman 
genius  required  to  fold  an  external  narrative  around  this  mathematical  frame-work 
or  skeleton  so  cunningly  that  it  would  escape  suspicion  for  two  hundred  and  fifty 
years. 

And  just  as  the  root-number,  327,  was  carried  to  the  beginning  of  scene  2d  of 
2d  Henry  IV.,  so  the  remainders-over,  the  root-numbers  so  obtained,  are  carried  to 
the  beginning  of  the  next  preceding  scene,  The  Induction;  and  thence,  in  the  prog- 
ress of  the  Cipher,  they  are  carried  to  the  beginning  of  the  next  scene  preceding 
this,  to-wit:  the  last  scene  of  the  first  part  of  Henry  IV.,  and,  returning  thence, 
just  as  we  saw  they  did  in  the  chapter  relative  to  Bacon  receiving  the  news,  they 
determine  the  position  of  the  Cipher  words  in  column  1  of  page  74. 

Thus  the  reader  will  perceive  the  movements  of  the  root-numbers  through  the 
text  are  not  invented  by  me  to  meet  the  exigencies  of  an  accidental  collocation  of 
words  in  one  particular  chapter,  but  they  continue  unbroken  all  through  the  Cipher 
narrative. 

But  if  we  take  the  same  root-numbers  obtained  by  modifying  327  (516 — 167= 
349 — 22  b  &  7=327),  by  deducting  therefrom  the  modifying  numbers  in  column  2  of 
page  74,  to-wit:  219,  29,  198,  50,  or  218,  30,  197,  49,  (according  as  we  count  from 
the  beginnings  or  ends  of  the  subdivisions),  and  we  reach  some  additional  sen- 
tences, all  cohering  with  those  already  given. 

For  instance,  Cecil  tells  the  Queen,  speaking  of  Shakspere: 


516—167=349—22  b  &7=327— 197=130.     193—130 

=63+1=64. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327—193=134.     284—134 
•        =150+1=151. 

516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327—198=129—24  b  &  7= 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327—219=108—22  b  &  h= 

86—1  7=85. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327—50  (74:2)=277. 
516—167=349—22  b&  7=327—30=297—284=13— 

7  7  (284)=6+91=97. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327—219=108.     447—108 

=339  +  1=340. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327—50=277—248=29. 

169—29=140+1=141. 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

'    64 

75:1 

He 

151 

74:1 

is 

105 

74:1 

a 

85 

75:1 

poor, 

277 

75:1 

dull, 

97 

73:1 

ill-spirited, 

340 

75:1 

greedy 

141 

73:1 

creature, 

722 


THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 


516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327— 50=277.     447—277= 

170  +  1=171  +  11 4=182. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—198=129—24  4  &  4= 

105.     284—105=179  +  1=180+6  4=186. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—198=129.     284—129 

=155  +  1=156+6  4=162. 
516—167=349—22  4  &  4=327—50=277. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—30=297—284=13. 

174&4  exc— 13=4. 
516— 167=349— 22  4  &  4=327—219=108—21  b  (218)= 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—30=297—284=13— 

7  4  (284)=6.     508—6=502+1=503. 
516  -167=349—22  b  &  4=327—284=43—10  /=33. 

90+33=143—1  4=142. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—248=79—11  bat  h— 
516— 167=349— 22  4  &  4=327—198=129—10  4=119. 
516—167=349—22  4  &  4=327—198=129—22  4=1 07. 
516—1 67=349—22  4  &  4=327—219=108—21  4  (219)  = 
516—167=349—22  4  &  4=327—219=108.     284—108 

=176+1=177-16  4=183 
516—167=349—22  4  &  4=327—219=108.     284—108 

=176+1=177. 
516—167=349—224  &  4=327—198=129—22  4-=107, 

284—107=177+1=178. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—198=129—24  b  &  4 

(74:2)=105.     284—105=179+1=180. 
516—167=349—22  4  &  4=327—248=79—24  4  &  4  (248) 

=55+51  (74:2)=106. 
516—167=349—22  4  &  4—327—218—109.     447—109 

=338+1=339+8  4=347. 
516—167=349—22  4  &  4=327—219=108—22  4  &  4  = 

86.     284—86=198+1=199. 
51 6—167=349—22  4  &  4  =  327—219=108—10  4=98. 
,516—167=349—22  4  &  4=327—248=79. 
5 1  (5—167=349—22  4  &  4=327—197=130—50=80. 

447—80=367+1=368+3  4=371. 
516  - 1 67=349— 22  4  &  4=327—30=297—284=13+ 

90  (73:1)=103. 
516-1 67=349—22  4  &  4=327—90=237—10  4=227. 
51 6—1 67=349— 22  4  &  4=327—30=297—248=49— 

24  4  &  4=25.     284—25=259  + 1=260 + 3  4=263. 
516—167=349—22  4  &  4=327—79  ( 73: 1  )=248— 10  4= 
516—167=349—22  4  &  4=327—219=108—11  4  &  4= 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

182 

75:1 

and 

186 

74:1 

but 

162 

74:1 

a 

277 

75:2 

veil 

4 

74:1 

for 

87 

74:1 

some 

503 


one 


142 

73:1 

else, 

68 

74:1 

who 

119 

75:1 

had 

107 

74:1 

blown 

87 

75:1 

up 

183 

74:1 

the 

177 

74:1 

flame 

178 

74:1 

of 

180 

74:1 

rebellion 

106 

74:2 

almost 

347 

75:1 

in 

199 

74:1 

to 

98 

74:1 

war 

79 

75:1 

against 

371 

75.1 

your 

103 

73:1 

Grace 

227 

74:1 

as 

263 

74:1 

a 

238 

74:1 

royal 

97 

74:1 

tyrant. 

It  would  seem  as  if  Cecil  had  information  that  the  stage-manager  met  every 
night,  perhaps  in  some  dark  alley  of  unlighted  London,  some  party,  and  gave  him 
a  share  of  the  proceeds  of  the  Plays.  The  performances  at  that  time  were  during 
the  day. 

The  reader  will  again  observe  that  every  word  of  the  foregoing  and  following 
sentences  is  the  327  th  from  certain  well-defined  points  of  departure.      If  he  thinks  he 


or  ***-   r 


SHAKSPERE  DID  NOT  WRITE   THE  PIA  VS. 


723 


can  construct  similar  sentences,  per  hazard,  with  any  number  not  a  Cipher- 
number,  let  him  try  the  experiment. 

And  observe  how  cunningly  the  text  is  adjusted  so  as  to  bring  out  the  words,  — 
"blown  t  lie  flame  of  rebellion  into  war" —  by  the  root-number,  516 — 167=349 — 22 
b  &  ,4—327;  and  also  by  the  root-number,  523 — 267=356,  as  shown  in  Chapter  VII., 
"  The  Purposes  of  the  Plays."  And  how  is  this  accomplished?  Because  the  dif- 
ference between  327  and  356  is  29;  and  the  difference  between  248,  the  total 
number  of  words  on  column  2  of  page  74,  and  219,  the  total  number  of  words  from 
the  top  of  the  same  column  to  the  beginning  of  the  last  subdivision  of  that  column, 
is  also  29;  and  hence  the  words  fit  to  both  counts.  It  is  absurd  to  suppose  that  all 
this  dedicate  adjustment  of  the  Cipher  root-numbers  to  the  frame-work  of  74:2, 
"  The  Heart  of  the  Mystery,"  came  about  by  chance. 

But  Cecil  continues: 


516— 117=349— 22  b  &  4=327— 30  (74:2)=297— 284= 
516— 16.=  ;49—  22  b  &  A— 327— 218  (74:2)— 100— 50— 

59.     193—59=134  +  1=135. 
516-167=349—22  b&  4=327—248=79^193=272— 

2  4=270. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—218  (74:2)=109-50= 

59.     447—59=388+1=389. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—248=79—22  b  (74:2)== 

57—7  *— 50. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  //=327— 284=43.     248— 43_ 

205+1=206. 
516-167=349—22  b  &  4=327— 284=43— 7  4  (284)= 

36+90=126—1  4=125. 
516—167=349—22  /;  &  £— 827— 284— 48.     248—43= 

205  +  1=206+1  4=207. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—248=79—22  b  (248)— 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4—327— 218(74:2)— 109— 5<> 

=59—1  4=58. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  A— 327— 248— 79— 27  (73:1)— 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—50=277.     447— 2T7 

=170+1=171. 
516—167=349—22  b  ft  4=327— 248=79— 7  *— 70. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327— 29(73 :2)=278— 14 

b  ft  h  exc.=264. 
516-167=349—22  b  &  4=327—219=108—22  £=86. 

284—86=198+1=199. 
516-167=349—22  b  &  4=327—50=277—237(73:2) 

=40.     248—40=208  + 1=209. 
516-167=349—22  b  &  4=327—30=297—284=13. 

248-13=235+1=236. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—198  (74:2)— 129. 

193—129=64+1=65+1  4=66. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—218  (74:2)— 109— 50— 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—30=297—6  4=291. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—283=44. 
516—167=349—22  b  ft  4=327—30=297. 
516—167=349—22  b  ft  4=327—218  (74:2)— 109-50— 


Word. 

13 
135 

270 

389 

50 

206 

125 

207 
57 

58 


171 

70 

264 
199 
209 
236 


Page  and 
Column. 

74:2 


75:1 


75:1 

75:1 

75:1 

74:2 

73:1 

74:2 
75:1 

75:1 
73:2 

75:1 
75:1 

74:1 

74:1 

74:2 

74:2 


have 

a 

suspicion 

that 

my 

kinsman's 

servant, 
young 

Harry 
Percy, 


was 
the 


to 


whom 


he 


66 

75:1 

gave 

59 

74:2 

every 

291 

75:1 

night 

44 

74:2 

the 

297 

75:1 

half 

59 

74:1 

of 

724 


THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 


516—167=349—22  b  &  7/=327— 284=43. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7/=327— 198=129— 90=39. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7;=327— 198=129— 79=50+29= 
516—167=349—22  b  &  k— 327— 219— 58.     284—58= 

226+1=227+6  //— 233. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7^=327— 198=129— 79=50, 
516—167=349—22  b  &  A— 327— 248— 79— 22  0—57. 

193—57=136+1=137+1  /*— 138. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  k— 327— 284— 48. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7^=327— 248=79— 22  0—57. 

193—57=136+1=137. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  //=327— 29  (73:2)— 298— 284 

=14—10  0—4. 

The  Curtain  play-house  was  surrounded  by  a  muddy  ditch  to  keep  off  the  rab- 
ble, and  doubtless  the  money  paid  to  see  the  performances  was  collected  at  a  gate 
at  the  drawbridge. 

And  then  we  have  this  striking  statement: 


Word. 
43 

39 
=79 

Page  and 
Column. 

75:1 

73:2 

73:2 

what 

he 
took 

233 

50 

74:1 
73:2 

through 
the 

138 
43 

75:1 

74:2 

day 

at 

137 

75:1 

the 

4 

74:2 

gate. 

516—167=349—22  b  &  7^=327—30=297—248=49+ 

90  (73:1)=139. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  A— 327— 50— 277. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  /&— 827— 30— 297— 50— 247— 

219=28—22  0—6.     447—6=441  +  1=442. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  0=327—284=43—18  b  &  h 

(284)=25.     248—25=223+1=224. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  0=327— 254=73— 50(74:2)= 
516—167=349—22  b  &  0=327—29  (73:2)=278. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  0=327—50=277—237=40. 

284—40=244+1=245. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  0= 327— 248— 79— 50— 29+ 

28  (78:2)— 57. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  0=327—248=79—22  b  (248)= 

57—7  £=50. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  0=327— 284=43.     248—43= 

205+1=206. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  0=327—248=79—2  h  (248)= 

77.     237—77=160+1=161  +  3  0—164. 
516— 167=349— 22  b&  0=327— 284=43— 18  b  &  0 

(284)=25+50  (74:2)=75. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  0=327—248=79. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  h— 327— 254— 73— 15  b  &  7;= 

58—50  (76:1)— 8. 
516—167=349—22  0  &  *— 827— 254— 73. 
516—167=349—22  0  &  0=327—30=297—248=49— 

22  £—27—2  b=27. 
516—167=349—22  0  &  4—827—254  (75:1)— 78. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  0=327—30=297—248=49. 

284—49=235+1=236. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  0=327—193=134—15  b  &  0= 

119—50=69.     457  (76: 2) +69=526— 3  0—523. 


139 

277 

442 


73:1 

74:1 

75:1 


Many 
rumors 


224 
23 

278 

74:2 
74:1 
/4:1 

on 

the 

tongues 

245 

74:1 

of 

57 

73:2 

men 

50 

75:1 

that 

206 

74:2 

my 

164 

73:2 

cousin 

75 
79 

74:2 
74:1 

hath 
prepared 

8 
73 

76:2 
74:1 

not 
only 

[27] 
73 

74:1 
74:2 

the 
Contention 

236 

74:1 

between 

523 

76:1 

York 

SHAKSPERE  DID  NOT   WRITE   THE  PLA  VS. 


725 


516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327—254=73—15  b  &  7= 

58.     508— 58=450 +1=4"  1. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  >&— 327— 145  (76:2)=182. 

508—182=326+1=327. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327— 248=79— 7  £=72. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327— 193=134.     284—134 

=150+1=151  +  6  A— 157. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327—193=134—49  (76:1) 

=85.     603—85=518+1=519. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327—30=297—248=49— 

22  7=27.     284-27=257+1=258+3  7=261. 
516—167=349—22  b  6  7=327—193=134.     448—134 

=314+1=315+1  7=316. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327—193=134. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327— 248=79— 10 /;=69. 
516—167=349—22/;  &  7=327—29  (73:2)=278— 10  b= 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327—283  (74:1  up)=44— 

7  h  (283)=37. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327—254=73.     508—73= 

,135  +  1=436+17=437. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327— 27  (73:1)=300— 284= 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327—284=43.     43+193= 
516—167=349—22/^  &  7=327— 284=43— 10 /=33. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327—284=43. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327—237  (78:2)— 00.     284 

—90=194+1=195. 
516—167=349  -22b&  7=327—248=79.     284—79= 

205+1=206. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327—219  (74:2)— 108. 

193— 108=85+1=86+3  £=89. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327—284=43—18  b  &  h 

(284)=25.     219—25=194+1=195. 
516—167=349—22/;  &  7=327—50=277—218=59. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327—28  (73:2)=299— 284 

=15.     248—15=233+1=234. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327—50=277—218=59. 

284—59=225+1=226. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327—237  (73:2)=9C,     169 

—90=79  +  1=80. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  A— 827— 284— 43— 15  b  &  7 

(284)— 25+218— 243— 2**  7=241. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327—30=297—169  (73:1) 

=128.     237— 128=109+1=110  +  3 /;=113. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327—237  (73:2)— 90.     284 

—90=194+1=195+6  7=201. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327—50=277—219=58. 

284—58=226+1=227. 
516— 167=349— 22  b  &  7=327—237  (73:1)— 90- 

11b  &  7=79. 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

451 

75:2 

and 

327 

72 

75:2 
75:1 

Lancaster 

and 

157 

74:1 

King 

519 

76:2 

John 

261 

74:1 

and 

316 

134 

69 

268 

76:1 
74:1 
74:1 
74:1 

this 

play, 

but 

other 

37 

74:2 

plays 

437 
16 

236 
33 
43 

75:2 
74:2 
75:1 
74:2 
74:2 

which 
are 
put 

forth 
at 

195 

74:1 

first 

206 

74:1 

under 

89 

75:1 

the 

195 
59 

74:2 
74:1 

name 
of 

234 

74:2 

More  \ 

226 

74:1 

low   ) 

80 

73:1 

and 

241 

74:2 

now 

113 

73:2 

go 

201 

74:1 

abroad 

227 

74:1 

as 

79 

74:1 

prepared 

726  THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 

Page  and 
Word.       Column. 

516—167=349—22  b  &  /;=327— 30=297— 248=49. 

447—49=398+1=399+3^=402.  402  75:1  by 

516—167=349—22/;  &  //=327— 30=297— 254=43— 

15  b  &  h (254)=28.  28  75:2        Shak'st 

516—167=349-22/;  &  A— 827— 210  (74:2)— 108—  [ 

22/;&//=86.     193— 86=107  + 1=108+6 b&  //=     114  75:1         spurred 

And  here  let  us  pause,  and  —  if  any  doubt  still  lingers  in  the  mind  of  the  reader 
as  to  existence  of  a  Cipher  narrative  infolded  in  the  words  of  this  text  —  let  us  con- 
sider the  words  shak'st  and  spurre,  and  observe  how  precisely  they  are  adjusted  to 
the  pages,  scenes,  and  fragments  of  scenes;  just  as  we  found  the  words  old 
jade  and  seas-ill  to  match  by  various  processes  of  counting  with  the  root- 
numbers. 

We  have  shak'st  but  once  in  many  pages.  It  would  not  do  to  use  it  too 
often  —  it  would  arouse  suspicion;  hence,  we  will  soon  find  Jack  substituted  for  it, 
which,  no  doubt,  was  pronounced,  in  that  day,  something  like  shock  or  shack.  I 
have  heard  old-fashioned  people  give  it  the  shock  sound,  even  in  this  country, 
where  our  sounds  of  a  are  commonly  narrower  and  more  nasal  than  the  English. 
The  word  shak'st  is  found  on  the  fourth  line  of  column  2  of  page  75  of  the  Folio: 

Thou  shak'st  thy  head  and  hold'st  it  Feare  or  Sinne,  etc. 

While  the  spurns  are  many  times  repeated  in  the  first  column  of  page  75,  thus: 

He  told  me  that  Rebellion  had  ill  luck 

And  that  yong  Harry  Percies  Spurre  was  cold. 

And  eight  lines  below  we  have  it  again: 

Said  he  yong  Harry  Percyes  Spurre  was  cold? 
(Of  Hot-Spurre,  co'ld- Sp u'r re  ?)  that  Rebellion 
Had  met  ill  lucke? 

Here  in  twelve  lines  the  word  spurre  occurs  four  times,  and  it  does  not  occur 
again  until  near  the  end  of  the  play. 

Now  let  us  see  how  these  words  match  with  the  Cipher  numbers.  If  we  take 
505  and  deduct  the  modifier  30,  we  have  475  left;  if  we  count  forward  from  the  top 
of  column  2  of  page  75,  the  475th  word  is  shak'st;  that  is,  leaving  out  the  bracketed 
and  hyphenated  words.  But  if  we  again  take  505  and  count  from  the  same  point, 
plusb&  h,  the  505th  word  is  again  shak'st.  Why?  Because  there  are  just  30  brack 
eted  and  hyphenated  words  in  column  1  of  page  75,  and  these  precisely  balance  the 
30  words  of  the  modifier  in  74:2.  But  if  we  take  505  again,  and  deduct  29,  the  num- 
ber of  words  in  the  last  section  of  74:2,  we  have  left  476;  and  if  we  start  to  count 
from  the  end  of  scene  2  on  76:1,  and  count  up  and  back  and  down,  the  476th  word 
is  the  same  word  shak'st;  and  if  we  take  the  root-number  506  and  deduct  30  and 
count  in  the  same  way  again,  the  count  ends  on  the  same  word,  shak'st. 

And  here,  to  save  space,  I  condense  some  of  the  other  identities.  The  reader 
will  observe  the  recurrence  of  the  very  root-numbers  we  have  been  using: 

505—219=286—50=236—193=43—15  b  &  h  (193)=        28 
505—284=221—193=28.  28 

505— 219=286— 193=93— 15  £  &  h  (193)=78— 50  (76:1)=28 
505—30=475—254  (75 :1)=221— 193=28.  28 


75:2 

shak'st 

75:2 

shak'st 

75:2 

shak'st 

75:2 

shak'st 

SHAKSPERE  DID  NOT  WRITE   THE  TLA  VS. 


727 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

1 
28 

To:  2 

shak'st 

28 

75:2 

shak'st 

) 

28 

75:2 

shak'st 

28 

75:2 

shak'st 

28 

75:2 

shak'st 

28 

75:2 

shak'st 

505— 193=312— 15  £  &/i  (193)=297— 254=43— 15  b  &  h 
(193)— 28. 

505—30=475—193=282—254=28. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  /;=327— 30=297—  254=43— 15 

b  &  h  (254)=28. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  A— 827— 50— 277— 146  (76:2)= 

131_3=128— 50=78— 50=28. 
505—50=455—219  (74:2)=236— 193=43— 15  b  ft  h 

(193)— 28. 
505—29=476—218=258—22  b  &  h  (218)— 236— 193— 

43— 15/,  &  //(193)=28. 

And  there  are  still  others  ! 

Can  any  man  pretend  this  came  about  by  accident  ?  No;  for  be  it  observed  that 
every  number  which  produces  the  word  shale  st  in  the  above  examples,  counting  from 
the  beginning  or  end  of  pages  or  fragments  of  pages,  is  a  Cipher  number.  And 
this  concordance  exists  not  once  only,  but  fourteen  times  ! 

And  as  the  internal  narrative  must  bring  in  some  reference  to  Shakspere  every 
one  of  these  fourteen  times,  by  these  fourteen  different  counts,  the  reader  can 
begin  to  realize  the  magnitude  of  the  story  that  is  hidden  under  the  face  of  this 
harmless-looking  text.  And  then,  be  it  also  observed,  eleven  of  these  fourteen 
references  grow  out  of  that  part  of  the  story  which  comes  from  the  root-number 
505;  the  word  shak'st  does  not  match  once,  nor  can  it  be  twisted  into  matching  with 
523  or  513.  Why?  Because  Bacon  only  occasionally  refers  to  Shakspere;  his 
story  drifts  into  other  and  larger  matters  than  his  relations  to  the  man  of  Stratford. 
The  only  time  when  523  touches  upon  Shakspere  is  when  it  alternates  with  505,  thus: 

505—167=338—22  b  &  h  (167)— 316-30— 286— 50  (74:2) 

—236—193—43—15  b  ft  h  (193)— 28. 
523—167=356—22  b  &  h  (167)— 334.     447—334=113 

+  1—114. 

But  let  us  turn  to  the  word  spurre.     We  have: 
505—167—338—254—84—15  b  ft  A— 69— 9  b  ft  //— 60. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  //— 327— 50— 277— 193=84— 

15  b  &  h= 69— 9  b  &  h— 60. 
505—198  (74:2)— 307— 218  (74:2)— 89— 22  b  ft  h  (218)= 

67—7  £—60. 
505—197  (74:2)— 308— 248— 60. 
505—167  (74:2)— 888— 1  h  (167)— 337— 248=89— 22  b 

(248)— 67— 7  0— 60. 
505—198  (74:2  =307— 193=1 14. 
523—167=356—22  b  &  A— 334.     447—334=113+1= 
523—167=3:6—22  b  &  /— 334— 248— 86.     193—86= 

107+1—108+6  b  &  h=A  14. 
505—193=312—198  (74:2)— 114. 
505—167—338—1  h  (167)=337— 254— 83.     193—83— 

110+1—111  +  3^—114. 
516—167—349.     447—349—98+1—99—6  A— 105. 
516—219=297—193=104—15  b  &  h— 89.     193—89 

=104+5—2  b  &  A— 107.  (107) 


28 

75:2 

shak'st 

114 

75:1 

spurre 

60 

75:1 

spurre 

60 

75:1 

spurre 

60 

75:1 

spurre 

60 

75:1 

spurre 

60 

75:1 

spurre 

114 

75:1 

spurre 

114 

75:1 

spurre 

114 

75:1 

spurre 

114 

75:1 

spurre 

114 

75:1 

spurre 

(105) 

75:1 

spurre 

lo:l 


spurre 


7  2  8  THE  CIPHER  NA  RRA  TI VE. 

Page  and 
Word.      Column. 

516—167     349—22  b  &  ^=327— 237=90— 3  b  (237) 

=87      193—87=106+1=107.  (107)         75:1         spurre 

516-  -167=349—22  b  &  //=327— 193=134— 15  b  &  h=  (119)         75:1         spurre 

Here  are  fourteen  spurres  to  match  the  fourteen  shak'sls. 

I  have  not  the  space  to  summarize  the  number  of  instances  wherein  more  and 
low  are  similarly  made  to  harmonize  with  the  root-numbers  and  the  scenes  and 
fragments  of  scenes.      I  have  already  given  two  such  instances. 

Then  let  the  reader  observe  that  extraordinary  collocation  of  words:  The  Con- 
tention between  York  and  Lancaster,  King  John,  and  other  plays;  all  growing  out  of 
the  same  Cipher  number,  327.  If  there  is  no  Cipher  in  the  text,  surely  these  pages, 
74,  75  and  76,  are  the  most  marvelous  ever  seen  in  the  world;  for  they  contain  not 
only  the  names  of  the  old  jade,  Cecil,  Marlowe,  Shakspere  many  times  repeated,  but 
Archer,  the  Contention  between  York  and  Lancaster,  King  John,  and  all  the  many 
pregnant  and  significant  words  which  go  to  bind  thsse  in  coherent  sentences —  not 
a  syllable  lacking.  While  it  may  stagger  the  credulity  of  men  to  believe  that  any 
person  could  or  would  impose  upon  himself  the  task  of  constructing  such  an 
unparalleled  piece  of  work,  it  is  still  more  incomprehensible  that  such  a  net-work 
of  coincidences  could  exist  by  accident. 

But  it  may  be  said  these  curious  words  would  naturally  occur  in  the  text  of  any 
writings.  Let  us  see:  There  is  the  Bible;  equally  voluminous  with  the  Plays, 
translated  in  the  same  era,  and  dealing,  like  the  Plays,  with  biography,  history  and 
poetry.  The  word  shake  occurs  in  the  Plays  112  times;  in  the  Bible  it  occurs  but 
35  times.  There  is  no  reason,  apart  from  the  Cipher,  why  it  should  occur  more 
than  three  times  as  often  in  the  Plays  as  in  the  Bible.  The  word  play  occurs  in  the 
Plays  more  than  300  times;  in  the  Bible  it  occurs  14  times  !  And  remember  that 
the  word  play  in  the  Plays  very  seldom  refers  to  a  dramatic  performance.  Played 
is  found  in  the  Plays  52  times;  in  the  Bible  7  times.  Player  occurs  in  the  Plays  29 
times;  in  the  Bible  3  times.  Jade  is  found  24  times  in  the  Plays  and  not  once  in  the 
Bible.  Stage  occurs  22  times  in  the  Plays  and  not  once  in  the  Bible.  Scene  occurs 
40  times  in  the  Plays;  not  once  in  the  Bible. 

But  it  may  be  said  that  dramatical  compositions  would  naturally  refer  more  to 
play  and  plays  and  scene,  etc. ,  than  a  religious  work.  But  in  the  Plays  themselves 
there  are  the  widest  differences  in  this  respect.  In  King  John,  for  instance,  the 
word  please  (pronounced  plays)  occurs  but  once;  in  Henry  VIII.  it  is  found  28 
times  !  Play  occurs  but  twice  in  the  Comedy  of  Errors,  but  in  1st  Henry  IV.  we 
find  it  12  times;  in  Henry  VIII.  14  times,  and  in  Hamlet  35  times  !  Shake  occurs 
but  once  each  in  Much  Ado,  1st  Henry  VI,  in  The  Alerchant  of  Venice,  Measure 
for  Measure,  the  Meny  Wives,  and  the  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona;  while  in  Julius 
Ccesar  we  find  it  seven  times,  in  Macbeth  8  times,  in  Lear  8  times,  and  in  Othello 
7  times. 

These  differences  are  caused  by  the  fact  that  in  some  of  the  Plays  the  Cipher 
narrative  dwells  more  upon  Shakspere  than  in  others.  But  shake  is  found  in  every 
one  of  the  Plays,  and  it  is  therefore  probable  that  the  Stratford  man  entered  very 
largely  into  Bacon's  secret  life  and  thought,  and  consequently  into  the  story  he 
tells.  It  will  be  a  marvelous  story  when  it  is  all  told,  and  we  find  out  what  the 
wrong  was  that  Caliban  tried  to  work  upon  Miranda. 

But  we  go  still  farther  with  Cecil's  reasons  for  believing  that  Shakspere  did  not 
write  the  Plays,  and  we  carry  the  same  root-number  with  us  into  another  chapter. 


CHAPTER  X. 


SHAKSPERE  INCAPABLE  OF  WRITING   THE  PL  A  VS. 

A  very  superficial,  ignorant,  unweighing  fellow. 

Measure  for  Measure,  iii,  2. 

EVERY  Cipher  word  in  this  chapter  also  is  the  327  th  word  from  the 
same  points  of  departure  which  have  given  us  all  the  Cipher  story 
which  has  preceded  it. 

We  have  this  further  statement  from  Cecil  to  the  Queen: 


516 

167  (74:2) 

349 


349 

22  £  &  4 

327 


327 
50 

277 


516—167=349—22  £  &  h— 327— 50^-277— 50— 227. 

603— 227=376+ 1=377. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327— 30=297— 193=104. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327— 30=297— 193=104— 

50=54—50  (76:1)— 4.  508—4=504+1=505+1  4= 
516— 167=349— 22  £  &  4=327— 30=297— 193= 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—30=297—193=104— 

15  b  &  4=89.     448—89=359+1=360. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—50=277—50  (76:1)= 
516— 167=349— 22  £  &  4=327— 49  (76:2)=85. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—146  (76:2)— 181— 

9  4  &  £=(172). 

516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—30=297—49  (76:1)= 

248—248=0+1=1. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327— 50=277— 146=131 . 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—30=297—193=104. 

448—104=344+1=345. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—50=277—145=132- 

10  £=122. 

516—167=349—22  b&  4=327—193=134—5  4  (193) 

=129—2  4=127. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—50=277—193=84— 

15  £&  4=69— 10  £=59. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—30=297—193=104— 

15  b&  4=89.     508—89=419+1=420. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—50=277.     284—277= 

7+1=8+18  £&4=(26). 

729 


327 

30 

297 

Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

377 

76:2 

He 

104 

74:1 

is 

=506 

75:2 

the 

104 

75:2 

son 

360 

76:1 

of 

227 

76:2 

a 

85 

75:1 

poor 

(172) 


peasant 


1 

74:2 

who 

131 

76:1 

yet 

345 

76:1 

followed 

122 

74:1 

the 

127 

76:1 

trade 

59 

74:1 

of 

420 

75:2 

glove 

(26) 

74:1 

making 

73° 


THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 


516—167=349—22  b  &  //=327— 30=297— 193=104 
—33—101. 

516—167=349—22  4  &  /i=327— 30=297— 248=49— 

22  4=(27). 
516— 167=349— 22  £  &  4=327— 30=297— 49  (76:1)= 

248—44=244. 
516— 167=349— 224  &  4=327— 30=297— 49  (74:2)= 
516— 167=349— 22  b  &  4=327— 30=297— 193=104— 

50=54.     603—54=549+1=550. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—50=277.     447—277= 

170  +  1=171. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—30=297—146  (76:2) 

=151—3  4=148—3  A— 145. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—30=297— 193=104— 

10  b  (193)=94. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—254=73—15  b  &  h— 

58.     248—58=190+1=191. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—30=297—30=267. 

448—267=181+1=182+10  4&  4=192. 
516—167=349—22-4  &  4=327— 30=297— 50=247. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—50=277—248=29— 

2  h  (248)=27. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327— 30=297— 50=247— 

12  b  &  4=235. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327— 50=277— 145=132. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—30=297.     447—297 

=150+1=151+5  A— 156. 
516— 167=349— 22  b  &  4=327—30=297— 248=49— 

24  b  &  4  (248)=25. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327— 50=277.     447—277-= 

170  +  1=171  +  11  4=182. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327— 254=73— 51  (448)= 

22.     603—22=581  +  1=582. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—193=134-10  b  (19  5) 

=124.     448—124=324+1=325. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—30=297—193=104. 

284—104=180+1=181. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—50=277. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—50=277—145  (76:2) 

=132—11  b  &  h— 121. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327—50=277—145=132 

—7  4=125. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327— 50=277.     284—277 

=7+1=8. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327-193=134—15  b  &  h 

=119.     284—119=165+1=166+6  4=172. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327— 50=277— 49  (76:2)= 

228—44=224. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  4=327— 248=79.     447—79= 

368+1=369+3  4=372. 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

101 

76:1 

in 

(27) 

74:1 

the 

244 

74:1 

hole 

248 

74:1 

where 

550 

76:2 

he 

171 

75:1 

was 

K5 

76:1 

born 

94 

74:2 

and 

191 

74:2 

bred, 

192 

76:1 

one 

247 

74:1 

of 

27 


74:1 


the 


235 
132 

74:1  peasant-towns 

74:2            of 

156 

75:1 

the 

25 

74:1 

West. 

182 

75:1 

And 

582 

76:1 

there 

325 

76:1 

are 

181 

277 

74:1 
74:1 

even 
rumors 

121 

74:1 

that 

125 

74:2 

both 

8 

74:1 

Will 

172 

74:1 

and 

224 

76:2 

his 

372 

75:2 

brother 

SHAKSPERE  INCAPABLE  OF  WRITIXG   THE  PLA  VS. 


731 


-145  (76:2)= 
-193=104. 

Word. 

=  132 

Page  and 
Column. 

76:1 

did 

-50=247— 

405 

75:2 

themselves 

-193=104 

397 

76:1 

follow 

496+6  7*= 
-145  (76:2) 

-193=84— 

202 

127 

74:1 
76:1 

that 
trade 

-145=152. 

69 

76:2 

for 

=443. 

-50  (76:1)= 
-145(76:2) 
1=156. 
-5  7=292. 
248—73 

443 

227 

156 
292 

77:1 
76:1 

74:1 

76:1 

some 

time 

before 
they 

-145=132. 

176 

74:2 

came 

153 

74:1 

here. 

516—167—349—22  b  &  7=327—50=277- 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327—30=297- 

508—104=404—5=405. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327—30=297- 

145=102.  498—102=396+1=397 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327—30=297- 

— 15  b  &  7=89.  284—89=195+1= 
516—167=349—22  b  ft  7=327—50=277- 

=132—5  b  ft  7=127. 
516—167=319—22  b  &  7=327—50=277- 

15  b  ft  7=69. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327—30=297- 

577—152=425  +  1=426+17  b  &  7= 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327—50=277- 
516—167=349—22  b  ft  7=327—50=277- 

=132—3  £=129.  284—129=155+ 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327—30=297- 
516—167=349—22  b  ft  7=327—254=73. 

=175+1=176. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  7=327—50=277- 

284—132=152+1=153. 

Here  are  fifty-six  more  words,  growing  out  of  the  same  root-number:  516 — 167 
=349 — 22  b  &  7=327,  modified  by  30  or  50,  which  gave  us  whole  pages  of  narrative 
in  the  last  chapter.  We  will  see  hereafter  that  we  advance  in  order,  from  the  more 
complex  to  the  more  simple;  that  is,  the  above  root-number  327,  obtained  bv  count- 
ing in  the  22  bracketed  and  hyphenated  words  in  the  second  subdivision  of  column 
2  of  page  74,  is  followed  by  516 — 167=349,  where  we  leave  out  of  the  count  the 
22  bracketed  and  hyphenated  words.  And  this  is  cunningly  contrived,  because 
one  trying  to  unravel  the  Cipher  would  first  undertake  the  more  simple  and  obvious 
forms,  and  would  scarcely  think  of  obtaining  a  root-number  by  counting  in  the 
bracketed  and  hyphenated  words  in  the  second  subdivision  of  column  2  of  page  74, 
or  any  similar  subdivision. 

The  "brother"  here  referred  to  was  Shakspere's  brother  Gilbert,  born  in 
1566,  two  years  after  Shakspere's  birth.  If  Shakspere  came  to  London  in  1587, 
Gilbert  was  then  twenty-one  years  of  age.  Very  little  is  known  of  him.  Halli- 
well-Phillipps  thinks  he  was  in  later  life  a  haberdasher  in  London.1 

But  as  his  name  does  not. occur  in  the  subsidy  lists  of  the  period,  it  is  not 
unlikely  that  he  was  either  a  partner  with,  or  assistant  to,  some  other  tradesman 
of  the  same  occupation. 

The  fact  that  he  is  found  in  London  accords  with  the  intimation  in  the  Cipher 
narrative,  that  he  came  there  with  his  brother,  and  probably  was  at  first  also  a 
hanger-on  about  the  play-houses. 

The  reader  will  here  observe  how  the  words  glove  making  growT  out  of  the 
same  root-number;  one  being  327  minus  30,  the  other  327  minus  50.  Observe  also 
how  the  terminal  number  104  produces  is,  the,  son,  of,  followed,  glove,  in,  he,  and, 
themselves,  and  that:  while  277  gives  us  he,  a,  vet,  the,  of,  making,  teas,  the,  rumors 
that,  both,    Will,  his,  did,  trade,  for,  time,  and  before. 

If  there  is  no  Cipher  here,  how  could  glove  and  making  and  all  these  other 
words  grow  out  of  327  modified  by  50  and  30? 


Outlines,  pp.  23  and  24. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

SHAKSPERE    WOUNDED. 

This  morning,  like  the  spirit  of  a  youth 
That  means  to  be  of  note,  begins  betimes. 

A  utony  and  Cleopatra,  iv,  2. 

EVERY  Cipher  word  in  this  chapter  is  the  338th  word  from  the  same 
points  of  departure  as  in  the  previous  chapters. 
I  gave  in  Chapter  VI.,  page  694  ante,  something  of  the  story 
of  Shakspere's  youth,  and  yet  but  a  fragment  of  it.  I  am  of  the 
opinion  that  it  runs  out,  with  the  utmost  detail  and  particularity, 
on  the  line  of  the  root-number  338  [505 — 167  (74:2)=338]  to  the 
end  of  2d  Henry  1 7.,  and,  possibly,  to  the  beginning  of  1st  Henry 
IV.     I  gave  in  Chapter  IV.  the  statement  that  Shakspere  — 

Goes  one  day  and  with  ten  of  his  followers  did  lift  the  xvater-gate  of- the  fish  pond 
off  the  hinges,  and  turns  all  the  water  out  from  the  pond,  froze  all  t  lie  fish,  and  girdles 
the  orchard. 

And  also: 

They  drew  their  weapons  and  fought  a  bloody  fight,  never  stopping  even  to 
breathe. 

And  further,  that  when  he  ran  away  from  home  — 

He  left  his  poor  young  jade  big  with  child. 

Now  between  the  description  of  the  destruction  of  the  fish-pond 
and  the  account  of  the  fight  there  comes  in  another  fragment  of  the 
story. 

The  narrative  seems  to  be  a  confession,  made  by  Field.  Hence 
its  particularity.  It  is  believed  that  Richard  Field,  the  printer,  was 
a  Stratford  man.  In  1592  Shakspere's  father,  with  two  others,  was 
appointed  to  value  the  goods  of  "  Henry  Feelde,  of  Stratford, 
tanner,"  supposed  to  have  been  the  father  of  Richard  Field  the 
printer."1  Halliwell-Phillipps  asserts  positively  that  he  was  his 
father.2  Richard  Field  was  also,  as  I  have  shown,  the  first  printer 
of  Venus  and  Adonis  and  The  Rape  of  Lucrece. 

'-  Collier's  English  Dramatic  Poetry,  iii,  439.  2  Outlines,  p.  69. 

732 


SHAKSPERE   WOUNDED. 


733 


505—167=338—284=54. 

505—167=338—248=90—24  b  &  h  (248)=66— 5  b— 
505—167=338—49  (74:2)=289.     498—289=209^1= 
505—167=338—50  (76:1)=288.     498—288=210  +  1= 
505—167=338—6  //=332. 

505—167=338—284=54.     237—54=183+1=184. 
505—167=338.     498—338=160+1=161+10  b  &  //= 
505— 167=338— 284=54+28  (73:2)=82. 
505—167=338—284=54—18  b&  h  (284)=36. 
505—167=338—284=54. 

505—167=338—145  (76:2)=193— 4  h  col. =189. 
505—167=338—50=288—146  (76:2)— 143— 8  b  (146)= 
505—167=338—145  (76:2)=193— 3  b  (145)=190. 

448—190=258+1=259. 
505—167=338—145  (76:2)=193.     448-193=255+1 

=256+4  £=260. 
505—167=338—50=288.     498—288=210+1=21 1 

+1  A— 212. 
505— 167=338—  :0  (74:2)=288— 193=95— 50  (76:1) 

=45.     508—45=463+1=464. 
-6—167=338—50=288—22  b  &  7^=266— 50=216— 

145=71. 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

54 

73:2 

And 

61 

74:1 

while 

214 

76:1 

we 

211 

76:1 

are 

332 

75:1 

thus 

184 

73:2 

busily 

171 

76:1 

engaged 

82 

73:2 

my 

36 

73:2 

Lord 

54 

73:2 

and 

189 

77:1 

some 

139 

76:1 

of 

259 

76:1 

his 

260 

76:1 

followers 

212 

76:1 

set 

464 

75:2 

upon 

71 

76:1 

us. 

The  reader  will  observe  that  every  word  of  this  sentence  is  derived  from  the 
same  root-number  (505 — 167=338),  and  he  will  also  note  how  often  the  terminal 
root-number,  54,  is  used. 

Then  follows  the  description  of  the  "bloody  fight"  given  in  Chapter  VI. 

The  story  of  Shakspere's  deer-killing  is  found  in  the  latter  part  of  1st  Henry  IV. 
We  take  the  same  root-number,  505 — 167=338,  and,  commencing  on  the  first 
column  of  page  73  (part  of  "  The  Heart  of  the  Mystery"),  we  find  that,  by  inter- 
mingling the  terminal  fragments  of  the  second  scene  of  2d  Henry  IV.  with  the 
terminal  fragments  of  the  last  scene  of  2d  Henry  IV.,  we  get  these  words: 


505—167=338—50=288—49  (76:1)=239— 79  (73:1)= 

160.     588—160=428+1=429.  429 

505—167=338—30=308—193=115—1//  col.— 114.  114 
505—167=338—50=288—169  (73:1)— 119— 1  h 

(169)— 118.     346—118=228+1=229.  229 

505—167=338—50=288—142  (78:1)— 146— 1  h  (142) 

=145+170=315—1  h  col.— 814.  314 

505—167=338—50=288—49  (76:1)=239— 90  (73:1)=  149 
505—167=338—50=288—169  (73:1)— 119— 1  h  (169)=  118 
505—167—338—50=288—142  (73:1)— 146— 1  h  (142)=  145 


72:2 
r5:l 

72:1 


Jack    I 
spur    * 

hath 


72:2 

killed 

72:2 

many 

72:2 

a 

72:2 

deer. 

As  I  have  before  noted,  Jack  had  probably  in  that  day  the  sound  of  shack,  for 
the  word,  being  derived  from  the  French,  retained  the  sh  or  zh  sound.  We  find 
this  given  by  Webster  to  Jacquerie.  The  word  Jack  will  be  found  repeatedly  used, 
in  the  Cipher,  for  the  first  syllable  of  the  name  of  Shakspere.  It  will  be  noted  in 
this  example  that  out  of  seven  words  all  are  derived  from  338 — 50=288,  except 
one,  which   is   33S — 30;  two  are  derived  from  288 — 169=119;    two  from  288 — 49 


231 

72:2 

the 

145 

72:2 

deer 

237 

73 

73:2 

was 

258 

72-2 

indeed 

734  THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 

(76:i)=239,  and  two  are  derived  from  288 — 142=146.  This  recurrence  of  terminal 
root-numbers  is  very  significant.  I  would  explain  that  142  is  the  number  of  words 
from  the  end  of  the  first  subdivision  of  73:1  to  the  bottom  of  the  column;  and  79 
and  90  are,  of  course,  the  two  other  principal  subdivisions  of  that  column.  And 
the  reader  will  observe  that  to  obtain  338 — 169  we  have  deducted  the  number  of 
words  from  the  top  of  the  first  subdivision  of  73:1  down  the  column;  while  when 
we  have  338 — 142  we  hr.ve  the  number  of  words  from  the  bottom  of  that  same  sub- 
division down  the  same  column.  It  will  thus  be  seen  that  there  is  a  relation  and 
an  order  in  the  formation  of  the  sentence;  that  it  moves  from  the  two  ends  of  the 
same  subdivision. 

It  seems  that  Shakspere  and  "our  party"  had  killed  a  deer,  made  a  fire  and 
had  the  body  "  half  eaten:  " 

Page  and 
Word.       Column. 

505—167=338—141  (78:1)— 197.     237—197=40+1=     41  73:2  The 

505— 167=338— 30  (74:2)=308— 50  (76:1)=258.     588 

—258=330+1=331  +  1/^=332.  332  72:2  body 

505—167=338—30  (74:2)=308— 50  (76:1)=258.     284 

—258=26+1=27+7  h  col.  =34.  34  74:1  of 

505—167=338—30  (74:2)=308— 50  (76:1)=258— 27 

(73:1)=231. 
505—167=338—193  (75:1)=145. 
505—167=338—169  (73:1)=169— 1  h  (169)=168. 

—168=69+1=70+3  b  col. =73. 
505— 167=338— 30  (74:2)=308— 50=258. 
505—167=338—30=308—198  (74 :2)=1 10+ 194=304 

— 7  b&h  col. =297.  297  ?5:1  half 

505—167=338—30  (74:2)=308— 50  (76:1)=258— 13 

b&h  col.=245.  24?)  74:1  eaten. 

If  the  reader  will  count  down  from  the  top  of  74:1  he  will  find  the  word  eaten 
cunningly  hidden  in  the  middle  of  the  hyphenated  word  worm-eaten-hole, 

505—167=338—30=308—198=110. 
505— 167=338— 30=308— 198  (74:2)=110- 
505—167=338—30=308—141  (73 :1)=167. 

167=3+1=4. 
505— 167=338— 193=145+346  (72:2)=491— 
505— 167=338— 30=308— 141  (73:1)=167. 
505—167=338—141=197.     237—197=40+1=41 

+  3  b  col.=44.  44  73:2  the 

505—167=338—30=308—50=258—79=179 

— 1  h  (79)=178.     237—178=59+1=60.  60  73:2  foot 

505— 167=338— 28  (73:1)=310.     588—310=278+1=    279  72:2  of 

505—167=338—30=308—141  (73:1)=167.     588— 

167=421+1=422.  422  72:2  a 

505—167=338—30=308—141=167.     237—167 

=70+1=71.  71  73:2  hill. 

Let  the  reader  consider  for  an  instant  how  different  are  the  words  that  are 
here  the  338th  from  certain  clearly  established  points  of  departure,  as  compared 
with  the  words  produced  by  523 — 167=356;  or  as  compared  with  those  which  came 
out  from  505  and  523  minus  the  subdivisions  of  75:1.     Compare:     Shakspere  had 


110 

75:1 

He 

194=304. 

304 

75:1 

found 

170— 

4 

72:2 

it 

-1  A  col.= 

=  490 

72:2 

lying 

167 

72:2 

by 

513 

72:2 

fought 

=337 

72:2 

a 

197 

72:2 

hot 

310 

72:2 

and 

153 

72:2 

bloody 

197 

7o:2 

fight. 

SHAKSPERE   WOUNDED.  y35 

killed  many  a  deer;  .  .  .  the  body  of  the  deer  ivas  half  eaten.  He  found  it  lying  by 
t 'he  foot  of  a  hill;  with:  How  is  this  derived?  Saw  you  the  Earl?  etc.;  or:  Her 
Grace  is  furious  and  hath  sent  out,  etc. ;  or:  With  this  pipe  he  hath  blown  the  fame  of 
rebellion  almost  into  open  war,  etc.  In  every  case  the  character  of  the  words  is 
totally  different. 

The  Cipher  story  proceeds  to  tell  how  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  and  his  son  came  upon 
the  scene —  they  had  a  fight  with  the  poachers  and  drove  them  off.     We  have: 

Page  and 
Word.      Column. 

505—167=338—30=308-50  (76:1)=258— 27  (73:1) 

=231  +  170  (72 :2)=401.  401  72:2  We 

505—167=338—30=308—142  (73:1)=166.     347 

(72:2)+ 166— 513. 
505—167=338—30=308—141  (73:1)=167+170  (72:2)= 
505—167=338—141  (73:1)=197. 
505—167=338—28  (78:1)— 310. 
505—167=338—142  (73:1)— 196.     346—196=150+1 

—151+2  h  col  — 158. 
505—167=338—141  (73:1)— 197. 

Certainly,  if  all  this  is  accident,  it  is  extraordinary  that  the  accident  on  one  page 
should  precisely  accord  with  the  accident  on  all  other  pages;  that  is  to  say  —  505 
— 167=338,  minus  30  and  50,  tells  us  the  story  of  the  last  "bloody  fight,"  when 
the  boys  of  Stratford  destroyed  Sir  Thomas  Lucy's  fish-pond,  and  here  we  have  the 
account  (by  the  same  505 — 167=338 — 30  and  50)  of  a  previous  "hot  and  bloody 
fight,"  when  Sir  Thomas  found  them  devouring  the  body  of  a  deer.  And  it  was 
in  revenge  for  punishment  inflicted  for  the  first  fray  — 

[505—167=388—142  (73:1  )=196.     347  (72:2)— 196= 

151+1--152+2  h  col.— 154.  154  72:2  fray]— 

that  the  yourg  desperadoes  organized  the  riot  to  destroy  the  fish-pond.  And  in 
this  latter  fight  Shakspere  was  badly  wounded,  shot  by  a  pistol  in  the  hands  of  Sir 
Thomas  Lucy.  The  story  is  too  long  to  give  here  in  detail.  Every  letter  from  my 
publishers  is  1  cry  of  despair  about  the  increasing  size  of  this  work;  and  some  of 
my  malignant  and  ungenerous  critics  are  clamoring  that  my  book  will  never 
appear.  I  cm  therefore  only  give  extracts  from  the  story.  It  runs  through  a  great 
part  of  page  ]2  of  1st  Henry  IV.  My  Lord,  for  he  was  lord  of  the  barony,  and  his 
son,  are  mounted  and  armed.  And  here  we  have  the  word  barony,  the  149th  word  of 
the  75:1  obtained  from  the  same  root-number,  thus: 

505— 167=-!8— 50  (74:2)=288— 49  (76:1)=239— 90 

(78:1>-149.  149  75:1        barony 

They  Qome  with  all  their  household: 

505—167^338—50=288—49  (76:1)— 289— 79  (73:1) 

=160.     284—160=124+1=125.  125  74:1  with 

505— 1C~^338— 50=288— 49  (76:1)=239— 90  (73:1)=    149  74:1     household; 

a  great  multitude;  and  to  find  multitude,  we  repeat  the  last  count  but  one,  adding 
in,  however,  the  hyphenated  words,  thus:    ■ 

505— 16~— 338— 50— 288— 49  (76:1)— 239— 79  (73:1) 

-=160.     284— 160— 124+1— 125+7  h  col.— 182.       132  74:1      multitude 


736 


THE  CIPHER  NARRA  TIVE. 


And  here  we  have  great: 

505—167=338—237=101—3  b  (237)=98.     169— { 

=71  +  1=72. 


Page  and 
Word.       Column. 


72 


73:1 


great 


The  number  90  represents  the  end  of  scene  3  on  73:1;  and  the  number  79  that 
part  of  the  next  scene  in  the  same  column.  See  how  the  same  number,  149,  pro- 
duces barony  and  household;  while  the  corresponding  number,  160,  produces  with 
and  multitude. 

And  here  we  find  the  story  running  on,  and  the  same  terminal  numbers,  149, 
160,  etc.,  continuing  to  produce  significant  words.  We  can  see  the  philosophy  of 
every  word;  they  come  either  from  deducting  the  whole  of  the  first  column  of  page 
73  or  the  whole  of  the  second  column,  or  the  fragments  of  each.  We  have  had  the 
body  of  the  half-eaten  deer — found  lying  by  the  foot  of  the  hill — the  hot  and  bloody 
fight —  the  lord  of  the  barony  coming  with  a  great  multitude  of  his  household.  And 
Shakspere  ran  away,  and  — 

505- 


59 

78 
(160) 

249 


73:2 

74:2 
74:2 

75:1 


The 

pursuers 
followed 

and 


79 

73:2 

took 

119 

73:2 

him 

149 

74:2 

prisoner. 

471 


72:2 


Percy 


467=338—30=308—79=179.     237—179=58 

+  1=59. 
505— 167=338— 50=288— 49  (76:1)=239— 79=160. 

237—160=77+1=78. 
505—167=338—50=288—49  (76:1)=239— 79  (73:1)= 
505—167=338—30=308—49=259—198  (74:2)= 

61  +  193=254—5  b  &  h  col. =249. 
505— 167=338— 50=288— 49  (76:1)=239— 79=160- 

1  h  (79)=159.     237—159=78+1=79. 
505— 167=338— 50=288— 169  (73:1)=119. 
505—167=338—50=288—49=239—90=149. 
505—167=338—50=288—169=119—1  h  (169)=118. 

588—118=470+1=471. 
505—167=338—50=288—49=239—79=160.     170+ 

160=330. 
505—167=338—30=308—50  (76:1)=258— 79  (73:1)= 
505—167=338—50=288—50  (76:1)=238— 63  (27  to  91) 

=175.     237—175=62+1=63+3  b  col.=66. 
505— 167=338— 50=288— 50(76 :1)=238— 90=148. 
505— 167=338— 50=288— 49(76 :1)=239— 90=149. 
505—167=338—30=308—49  (76:1)=259— 78  (79  d) 

=181.     237—181=56+1=57. 
505— 167=338— 30=308— 50=258— 79(73 :1)=179— 

1  ;2(79)=i78.  237— 178=59+ 1=60+ 3/;  col. =63. 

I  do  not  pretend,  for  the  reason  stated,  to  give  the  whole  account  of  this  first 
raid  of  the  Stratford  boys,  but  simply  to  call  attention  to  the  fact  that  this  page  73 
is  as  full  of  arithmetical  adjustments,  with  505 — 167=338,  as  we  found  it  to  be  in 
Chapter  IV.  with  505 — 284,  and  523 — 284,  etc. 

In  the  presence  of  Percy  in  this  story  we  probably  have  the  explanation  of  the 
original  relationship  of  Bacon  with  Shakspere.  Percy  was  Bacon's  servant;  he 
was,  it  seems,  from  Stratford,  and  he  was  Shakspere's  friend;  hence  when  Bacon, 
after  Marlowe's  death,  needed  another  mask,  Percy,  Bacon's  confidant,  doubtless 
suggested  Shakspere. 

And  here  we  have  the  account  of  how  Sir  Thomas  charged  on  the  insurgents, 
who  were  destroying  the  fish-pond: 


330 

72:2 

and 

179 

73:2 

the 

66 

73:2 

rest 

148 

73:2 

of 

149 

73:2 

our 

57 

73:2 

men 

63 

73:2 

fled. 

SHAKSPERE   WOUNDED. 


737 


505—167=338—30=308—50  (76:1)=258— 248  (74:1) 

=10.     193—10=183  +  1=184. 
505—167=338—50  (74:2)— 288— 50  (76:1)=238— 50 

(74 :2)=188+ 193=381— 4  A  col.=377. 
505—167=338—254  (75:1)=84 — 9^&/^  col.— 75. 
505—167=338—30  (74 :2)=308— 198=110.     193—110 

=83+1=84. 
505— 167=338— 30=308— 50(76 :1)=258— 198=60. 
505—167=338—30=308—198=110.     193—110=83+ 

1=84+3  £  col.— 87. 
505—167=338—30=308—219=89—1  k  col.=88. 
505—167=338—50=288—248=40—7  b  col— 33. 
505—167=338—248=90. 
505—167=338—30=308—219  (74:2)=89. 
505—1 67=338—30=308—248=60  + 1 94=254. 
505—167=338—248=90—9  b  &  h  col.— 81, 
505—167=338—30=308—219=89—7  b  col.— 82. 
505-1 67=338—248=90—7  b  col.— 83. 
505—167=338—254  (75:1)— 84. 
505—167=338—50=288—219  (74:2)=69. 
505— 167=338— 30=308— 50  (76:1)— 258— 198— 60 

+  193—253. 
505—167—338—49  (76:1)— 289.    447—289—158+1— 
505—167—338—30=308—50  (76:1;— 258— 219  (74:2;= 
505—167—338—193—145. 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

184 

75:1 

My 

377 

75:1 

Lord 

75 

75:1 

struck 

84 

75:1 

his 

60 

75:1 

spur 

87 
88 

75:1 

75:1 

up 
to 

33 

75:1 

the 

90 

75:1 

rowell 

89 
254 

75:1 

75:1 

against 
the 

81 

82 

75:1 
75:1 

panting 
sides 

83 

75:1 

of 

84 

75:1 

his 

69 

75:1 

horse 

253 

75:1 

and 

159 

75:1 

rode 

39 

75:1 

him 

145 

75:2 

down. 

Here  are  twenty  words,  all  originating  out  of  the  same  number,  which  has  been 
telling  the  story  of  Shakspere's  youth  for  many  pages  past,  to-wit:  505 — 167—338; 
and  all  but  one  of  the  twenty  are  found  in  the  first  column  of  page  75;  and  the 
greater  part,  16  out  of  20,  are  found  in  the  first  subdivision  of  that  column.  If 
this  be  accident,  certainly  there  is  nothing  like  it  anywhere  else  in  the  world. 

And  Sir  Thomas  shoots  Shakspere,  leaving  a  scar  that  marked  him  for  life. 
Prof.  John  S.  Hart  thought  he  saw  the  traces  of  such  a  scar  in  the  Dusseldorf  death- 
mask.  And  Bacon,  to  still  better  carry  out  the  delusion,  that  Shakspere  was  Shake- 
speare, wrote  in  one  of  the  sonnets  —  the  112th: 

Your  love  and  pity  doth  the  impression  fill 
Which  vulgar  scandal  stamped  upon  my  brow. 

The  story,  I  have  said,  goes  back  to  the  beginning  of  scene  3,  act  v,  page  71, 
of  1st  Henry  IV.,  and  the  pistol  is  found  in  71:2,  as  will  appear  below. 
We  are  told: 


505— 167=338— 30— 308— 50(76:1)— 258— 193— 65. 

193—65—128+1—129+1  k— 180. 
505— 167=338— 30=308— 50(74:2)— 258. 
505—167—338—30—308—247  (74:2  up)— 61. 
505—167—338—50  (76:1)— 288— 26  b&  h  col=262. 
505—167—338—30—308. 
505—1 67—338—248—90 + 1 94—284. 
505—167—338—50  (74:2)=288— 50  (76:1)— 238. 


130 

75:1 

My 

258 

71:2 

Lord 

61 

75:1 

was 

262 

75:1 

furious, 

308 

75:1 

He 

284 

75:1 

drew 

238 

75:1 

his 

73* 


THE  CIPHER  NARRA  TIVE. 


505—167=338—49  (76:1>=289— 169  (73:1)=120. 
505—1 67=338—30=308—50  (76 : 1)=258— 1 98=60 

+  193=253. 
505—167=338—30=308—49  (76:1)=259— 213  (71:2) 

=46—1  h  (213)=45.    458—45=413+1=414. 
505—167=338—49  (76:1)=289— 248=41— 22  b  (248)= 

19—3  b  col.=16. 
505—167=338—30=308—49  (76:1)=259— 198  (74:2) 

=61—24  b  &  //  (198)=37. 
505—167=338—30=308—248  (74:2)=60.     284-69 

=224+1=225. 
505—167=338—30  (74:2)=308— 219  (76:1)=89.     193 

—89=114+1=115+6  b&  6=121. 
505—167=338—284=54. 
505—167=338—30=308—193=115—15  b  &  h  (193) 

=100+193=293. 
505—167=338—30=308—248  (74:2)=60.     193—60 

=133+1=134+1  h  col.=135. 
505—167=338—49  (76:1)=289.     433—289=144+1= 
505— 167=338— 50=288— 218  (74 :2)=70. 
505—167=338—30=308—248  (74:2)=60— 22  b  (248) 

=38—5  b  col.=33. 
505— 167=338— 30=308— 50  (76:1)=258— 193=65. 

508—65=443+1=444. 
505—167=338—30=308—49  (76:1)=259— 198  (74:2) 

=61—22  b  (198)=39. 
505—167    338—30=308—248  (74:2)=60— 24  b&h 

(248)=36— 5  b  col— 81. 
505—167=338—30=308—50  (76:1)=258— 248  (74:2)= 
505—167=338—30=308—50  (76 :1)=258— 50=208— 

146=62+162=224—5  b  col  =219. 
505—167=338—30=308—254=54.     284—54=230+ 

1=231+5  h  col.=236. 
505—167=338—30=308—50  (76:1)=258— 248  (74:2) 

=10+193=203. 
505—167=338—49  (76:1)=289— 248  (74:2)=41 

447—41=406+1=407. 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

120 

71:2 

pistol 

253 

75:1 

and 

414 

71:1 

shot 

16 

75:1 

him, 

37 

75:1 

and, 

225 

74:1 

as 

121 

75:1 

ill 

54 

75:1 

luck 

293 


75:1 


would 


135 

75:1 

have 

145 

71:1 

it, 

70 

75:1 

the 

33 

74:1 

ball 

444 

75:2 

hit 

39 

75:1 

him 

31 

74:1 

on 

10 

74:1 

the 

219 

78:1 

forehead, 

236 

74:1 

between 

203 

75:1 

the 

407 

75:1 

eyes. 

Observe  here  the  recurrence  of  remarkable  words,  fitting  precisely  to  505 — 167 
=338 :  drew  — pistol —  shot  —  ball —  hit  —  forehead  —  between  —  eyes;  —  with  all  the 
other  words  descriptive  of  a  heady  conflict:  hot  and  bloody  fight  —  struck — spur — 
up  —  to  — rowel  —  against — panting —  sides  —  horse  —  rode  him  down;  —  My  Lord, 
furious,  etc.,  etc.  After  a  while  we  will  find  this  same  505 — 167=338  describing 
Shakspere's  ailments  and  Ann  Hathaway's  appearance,  and  selecting  out  of  the  body 
of  the  text,  as  if  with  the  wand  of  a  magician,  an  entirely  different  series  of  words. 

And  I  will  ask  the  reader  to  note  that  ball  occurs  but  once  in  2d  Henry  IV.y 
and  shot  but  once  in  1st  Henry  IV.;  pistol,  as  the  name  of  a  weapon,  does  not 
occur  once  in  2d  Henry  IF.,  and  but  twice  in  1st  Henry  IV.;  hit  occurs  but 
once  in  2d  Henry  IV.;  forehead  occurs  but  this  one  time  in  both  of  the  plays; 
rowel  occurs  but  this  one  time  in  both  these  plays,  and  but  once  more  in  all  the 


SHAKSPERE   WOUNDED. 


739 


Plays.  And  yet  here  we  find  all  these  rare  words  coming  together  in  the  text,  and 
in  a  short  space;  and  all  of  them  tied  together  by  the  root-number,  505 — 167=338. 
What  kind  of  a  cyclone  of  a  miracle  was  it  that  swept  them  all  in  here  in  a  bunch 
together,  and  made  each  the  338th  word  from  a  clearly  defined  point  of  departure  ? 
But  the  marvel  does  not  end  here:  505 — 167=338  has  many  more  coherent 
and  marvelous  stories  to  unravel  before  we  have  done  with  it. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


SHAKSPERE  CARRIED   TO  PRISON. 


Away  with  him  to  prison. 

Measure  for  Measure,  v,  I. 


T~*  VERY  Cipher  word  in  this  chapter  grows  out  of  the  root-number 
-*-*     505— 167=338- 

At  first  it  was  thought  that  Shakspere  was  killed  outright.     We 
read: 


505—167=338—50  (76:1)=288— 248— 40— 9  b  &  h— 81 
505—167=338—50  (76:1)=288— 193=95— 15  b  &  h 

(193)=80.     284—80=204+1=205. 
505-167=338—49  (76:1)=289— 248  (74:2)=41— 

5d  col.— 86. 
505—167=338—49  (76:1)=289— 254  (75:1)=35— 

15b&/i  (254)=20. 
505-167=338—49  (76:1)=289— 248  (74:2)=41— 

6b &  A  col.— 85. 
505—167=338—49  (76:1)— 289— 10  £  col.— 279. 
505—167=338—49  (76:1)=289— 198  (74:2)=91. 
505—167=338—49  (76:1)=289— 198  (74:2)— 91. 

284—91=193+1=194. 
505—167=338—50  (76:1)=288— 198  (74:2)=90. 

284—90=194+1=195. 
505—167=338—49  (76:1)=289— 248  (74:2)— 41— 

22£(248)=19. 
505—167=338—50  (74:2)— 288— 49  (76:1)=239. 

508—239=269+1=270+8  b  col.— 278. 
505—167=338—49  (76:1)=289— 24£  col.— (265). 
505—167—338—50  (76:1)— 288— 49  (76:1)— 239. 

508— 239— 269+1=270+2  h  col.— 272. 
505— 167=338— 30— 308— 50(76:1)— 258— 193= 

65+193=258—5  b  &  h  col.— 258. 
505—167=338—30=308—50  (76:1)— 258— 4  7/  col.— 
505— 167— 338— 30— 308— 50(76:1)— 258— 193=65. 

193+65=258—3  b  col —255. 
505— 167=338— 30=308— 50(76:1)— 258— 193— 65. 

193+65—258—2  7/  col. =256. 

740 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

.     31 

75:1 

He 

205 

74:1 

fell 

36 

74:1 

upon 

20 

74:1 

the 

35 

74:1 

earth. 

279 

74:1 

They 

91 

74:1 

thought 

194 

74:1 

at 

195 

74:1 

first, 

19 

74:1 

from 

278 

75:2 

his 

(265) 

75:2 

bloody 

272 


75:2    appearance 


253 

75:1 

and 

254 

75:1 

the 

255 

75:1 

whiteness 

256 

75:1 

in 

SHAKSPERE  CARRIED   TO  PRISON. 


741 


505—167=338—30=308—50  (76:1)— 258— 197  (74:2) 

=61—24 b&h  (198)=37— 9  b & h  col.— 28. 
505— 167=338— 30=308— 50  (76:1)=258— 193=65. 

193+65=258. 
505— 167=338— 30=308— 50(76 :1)=258— 193=65— 

15*  ft  A  (198)— 60. 
505— 167=338— 30=308— 50  (76:1)=258— 193=65. 
505—167=338—50  (76:1)— 288.    447—288=159+1 

=160+113  col.— 171. 
505— 167=338— 30=308— 50(76 :1)=258— 193=65. 

447—65=382+1=383. 
505—167—338—49  (76:1)=289— 218  (74:2)=71— 

1  h  col.— 70. 
505—167—338—30—308—49  (76:1)— 260.     284— 

259—25+1—26+7/*  col.=33. 
505—167=338—193=145.     508—145=363+1=364 

+l>i— 365. 
505—167—338—50—288—49  (76:1)=239.    447—239 

=208 + 1=209 + 2  A— 21 1 . 
505— 167^=338— 50=288— 49  (76:1)— 239. 
505—167=338—30=308—49  (76:1)=259— 13  3  &  h— 
505—167=338—50  (76:1)=288— 198  (74:2)=90.  193 

+90=283—3  b  col.— 280. 
505—167—338—50  (76:1)— 288— 197  (74:2)=91— 22  £ 

(197)— 69.     284—69—215+1—216+6  //— 222. 
505—167=338—30=308—50  (76:1)— 258.     447—258 

—189+1=190+13  3—203. 
505—167—338—49  (76:1)— 289— 218  (74:2)— 71. 
505—167—338—30  (74:2;— 308— 49  (76:1)— 259— 219 

(74:2)— 40. 
505—167—338—50—288—49  (76:1)— 239— 237  (73:2) 

=2  +  90—92. 
505—167=338—193=145—15  b  &  A— 130. 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column! 

28 

75:1 

his 

258 

75:1 

cheek, 

50 

75.1 

that 

65 

75:1 

he 

171 

75:1 

was 

383 

75:1 

dead. 

70 

75:1 

The 

33 

74:1 

ball 

365 

75:2 

made 

211 

75:1 

the 

239 

75:1 

ugliest 

246 

74:1 

hole 

280 

75:1 

in 

222 

74:1 

his 

203 

75:1 

fore 

71 

75:1 

head 

40 

92 
130 


75:1 

73:1 
75:2 


ever 
saw. 


Observe  how  cunningly  the  length  of  column  1  of  page  74  is  adjusted  to  the 
word  ball  so  that  the  root-number  505 — 167=338  brings  it  out  the  first  time  going 
down  the  column  and  again  going  up  the  column.  Observe,  also,  the  matchless 
ingenuity  of  the  work.  We  have  seen  worm-eaten-hole  furnish  the  world  eaten,  as 
descriptive  of  the  half-consumed  deer;  now  we  find  it  giving  us  the  word  hole;  and 
anon  we  shall  see  it  used  as  a  whole  —  worm-eaten-hole  —  to  describe  the  prison  to 
which  Shakspere  was  taken.  In  the  above  example  it  is  difficult  to  express  in  fig- 
ures the  way  in  which  we  get  the  word  hole,  but  if  the  reader  will  count  down  the 
column  (74:1),  counting  in  the  bracketed  and  hyphenated  words,  he  will  find  that 
the  259th  word  is,  as  I  state,  the  word  hole.  The  same  is  true  of  the  word  fore, 
the  first  part  of  fore-head;  it  is  the  258th  word  by  actual  count  up  75:1  counting  in 
the  bracketed  words,  although  it  is  difficult  to  express  the  formula  in  figures.  And 
how  marvelous  is  it  that  we  not  only  find  the  word  forehead,  (which  only  occurs 
once  in  these  two  plays),  as  given  in  the  last  chapter,  cohering  with  338,  but  here 
we  have  again  the  elements  to  constitute  the  word,  and  each  of  the  two  words  is 
again  the  338th  word.     And  if  fore-tells  had  not  been  separated,  in  the  Folio,  into 


742 


THE  CIPHER   NARRATIVE. 


two  words  —  a  very  unusual  course  —  by  a  hyphen,  this  result  would  have  been 
impossible;  as  well  as  that  curious  combination  found-out,  and  half  the  cipher 
work  given  in  the  preceding  pages.  The  reader  will  thus  perceive  the  small 
details  upon  which  the  whole  matter  turns;  and  how  impossible  it  is  that  148 
bracketed  and  hyphenated  words  could  be  scattered  through  these  three  pages, 
by  accident,  in  such  positions  as  to  bring  out  this  wonderful  story.  Such  a  thing 
can  only  be  believed  by  those  who  think  that  man  is  the  result  of  a  fortuitous 
conglomeration  of  atoms,  and  that  all  the  thousand  delicate  adjustments  revealed 
in  his  frame  came  there  by  chance. 

Observe,  also,  that  in  the  foregoing  examples  the  count  for  the  words,  fell  upon 
the  earth;  they  thought  at  first  from,  originates  in  each  instance  from  the  fragment 
of  scene  2,  on  76:1;  and  the  words  are  all  found  on  74:1;  and  that  every  word  of 
the  whole  long  sentence  of  thirty-six  words,  with  two  exceptions,  originated  in  the 
same  fragment  of  a  scene,  the  49  or  50  words  at  the  bottom  of  76:1';  and  that  out 
of  the  thirty-six  words  thirty-one  are  found  on  74:1  or  75:1. 

505—167=338—30  (74:2)=308— 49  (76:1)— 259— 219 

(74:2)=40— 9  £  & /;  col.=31.  31  75:1  He 

505—167=338—49  (76:1)=289— 254  (75:1)— 85.    284 

—35=249  +  1=250+3  A  col.— 253.  253  74:1  lies 

505—167=338—50  (76:1)=288— 218  (74:2)— 70— 

24£&/i=46.  46  73:2  quite 

505—167=338—30  (74:2)=308— 49  (76:1)=259.     284 

—259=25+1=26. 
505—167=338—30=308—49=259. 
505—167=338.     448  (76:1)— 338=110+1=111  + 

3  h  col.— 114. 
505—167=338—50=288.     498  (76:1)— 288=210+1= 
505—167=338—30=308.     448  (76:1)— 308=140+1= 

141+3//  col. =144. 
505—167=338—50  (76:1)— 288. 
505—167=338—50  (76:1)=288— 5  h  col.— 283. 
505— 167— 338— 49(76:1)— 289— 218  (74:2)— 71— 9  b  &  h- 

Here,  again,  every  word  is  505 — 167=338,  minus  30  or  50;  every  one  begins 
on  76:1,  and  all  but  one  of  the  last  seven  are  found  on  76:1. 

We  have  the  whole  story  of  the  fight  told  with  the  utmost  detail.  I  am  not 
giving  it  in  any  chronological  order.  Shakspere,  before  Sir  Thomas  shot  him, 
had  not  been  idle.  Sir  Walter  Scott  was  right  when  he  supposed,  in  Kenilworth, 
that  William  was  a  good  hand  at  singlestick.     We  read: 

505—167—338—30—308—49=259—90=169.     237 

—169— 68+1— 69+3  £  col.— 72.  72  73:2  He 

505—167=338—30—308—50  (76 :2)=258— 90=168 

—50  (74:2)— 118.     284—118=166+1=167.  167  74:2  hath 

505—167=338—30—308—50—258—90—168.  168  74:1         beaten 

505— 167=338— 30=308— 50=258— 63  (79)=195— 

8  k  col.— 192.  192  76:1  one 

505—167=338—30=308—50=258—79=179—49 

(76:1)— 130.  508— 130— 378+1— 379+3  £—382.  382    76:1      of 
505— 167— 338— 50— 288— 49— 239— 90(73:1)— 149 

— 7  £  col.— 142.  142    74:2     the 


26 

74:1 

still. 

259 

76:1 

His 

114 

76:1 

wounds 

211 

76:1 

are 

144 

76:1 

stiff 

288 

76:1 

from 

283 

76:1 

the 

=62 

75:1 

cold. 

SHAKSPERE  CARRIED   TO  PRISON. 


743 


505—167=338—30=308—50=258—90=168—50 

(76:1)— 118.     508—118=390+1=391  +  1  4=392. 
505—167=338—50=288—193=95—3  b  col.=92 
305—167=338—49=289—254=35—15  b  &  4=20. 
505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15  b  &  h  col.=80 

— 9  b  &  h  col. =71. 
505—107=338—30=308—193=115.     193—115=78 

+  1— 79+3  £  col.— 82. 
505—167=338—30=308—50=258. 
505—167=338—30=308—50=258—79=179—50 

(76:1) — 129 — 1  h  col.— 128. 
505—167=338—50=288—193=95.     508—95=413 

+  1=414+1  4=415. 
505—167=338—50=288—193=95+193=288. 
505—167=338—30=308—49=259—90=169.     284 

—169=115+1=116+7  Acol.— 123. 
505—167=338—193=145—49  (71  :)=96. 
505—167=338—30=308—50=258—90=168—49 

(76:1)— 119.     508—119=389+1=390. 
505—167=338—30=308—50=258—90=168—50 

(76:!)— 118.     508—118=390+1=391. 
505—167=338—30=308—49  (79:1)— 259— 90  (73:1)= 
505— 167=338— 30=308— 50=258— 79(73 :1)— 179 

—20  b  &  h  col. =159. 
505—167=338—30=308—49=259—79=180. 
505—167=338—30=308—50=258—79=179—1  h  (79) 

=178—50=128.  508—128=380  + 1=381  +4  b  &  4= 
505—167=338—49=289—254=35. 
505—167=338—30=308—49=259—90=169.     193— 

169=24+1=25+6  b  &  4=31. 
505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15  b  &  4=80. 

284—80=204+1=205. 
505—167=338—30=308—50=258—63=195—50 

(76:1)— 145. 
505—167=338—30=308—49=259—90=169—145 

=24.     577—24=553+1=554. 
505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15  b  &  4  (193)= 
505—167=338—49=289  -254  (75:2)— 85. 
505—167=338—30=308—49=259—79=180—50 

(76:1)— 130.     508—130=378+1=379. 
505—167=338—49=289—254=35—15  b  &  4=20. 
505—167=338—30=308—50=258—28  (73:1)=230 

—22  b  &  4=208. 
505—167=338—30=308—50=258—28  (73:1)= 

230—1  4=229. 
505—167=338—30=308—50=258—28  (73:1)=230 

—145=85—3  b  (145)— 82. 
505—167=338—30=308—50=258—90=168— 

7  b  col. =161. 


Word. 

392 
92 
20 


390 


Page  and 
Column. 

75:2 
76:1 
74:1 

75:1 


75:2 


keepers 
o'er 

the 

head. 


82 

75:1 

sides 

258 

77:1 

and 

128 

76:1 

back, 

415 

75:2 

with 

288 

75:1 

the 

123 

74:1 

blunt 

96 

76:1 

edge 

of 


391 

75:2 

his 

169 

76:2 

stick, 

159 

74:2 

till 

180 

76:2 

it 

=385 

75:2 

breaks; 

35 

75:2 

or 

31 

75:1 

he 

205 

74:1 

fell 

145 

75:2 

down 

554 

77:1 

to 

80 

75:1 

the 

35 

74:1 

earth 

379 

75:2 

under 

20 

74:1 

the 

208 

75:1 

heavy 

229 

75:1 

weight 

82 

76:1 

of 

161 

75:1 

his 

744 


THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 


505— 1 67=338— 30=308— 50=258— 28  (73 : 1)=230 
—145=85—2  //col.  =83. 


Word. 


S8 


Page  and 
Column. 

76:1 


blows. 


It  was  then  that  Sir  Thomas  put  spurs  to  his  horse  and  charged  on  Shakspere, 
as  narrated  in  the  last  chapter,  and  shot  him. 

One  of  the  men  looked  at  Shakspere  and  said  : 

505—167=338—50=288—198=90—22  b  (198)=68. 

447—68=379+1=380. 
505—167=338—50=288—193=95. 
505—167=338—50=288—198=90.  447—90=357+1= 
505—167=338—50=288—198=90—22  £—68.     447 

—68=379+1=380+3  £=383. 
505—167=338—30=308—49=259—79=180—50 

(76:1)— 130.     508— L30=378+ 1=379+4  h  col.— 
505—167=338—30=308—50=258—90  (73:1)— 168 

—49=119.     603—119=484+1=485+3  b  col.— 
505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15  b  &  /i=S0— 49 

(76:1)— 81.    193—31=162+1=163. 
505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15  b  &  //— 80— 

50  (76:1)— 30— -7  b  col.— 23. 
505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15  b  &  //=80— 

50=30.     447—30=417+1=418+2  £=420. 
505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15/;  &  /;=80— 50= 
505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15  b  &  /i=S0 

—49  (76:1)— 31. 
505—167=338—30=308—198=110—1  h  col.— 109. 
505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15  b  &  A=S0 

_49  (76:1)— 31. 
505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15  £  &  /*— 80. 

447—80=367+1=368. 
505—167=338—50=288—198=90—24  £  &  h  (198) 

=66+193=259—3  £  col.  =256. 
505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15  b  &  /i=80 

4-193=273—3  b  col.— 270. 
505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15  b  &  //=80+ 

193=273. 
505—167=338—30=308—49  (76:1)=259— 90  (731)= 
505— 167=338— 30=308— 49(76 :1)=259— 90=169. 
505—167=338—30=308—49=259—143  (73:1)— 116. 
505—167=338—50=288—193=95—50  (76 : 1  )=45 

+193=238—2  /*=236. 
505-167=338—50=288—193=95—15  b  &  h—  80. 

447—80=367+1=368+3  £=371. 
505—167=338—30=308—193=115.     447—115= 

332+1=333+8  b  col.— 841. 
505—167=338—30=308—193=115.     193—115= 

78+1=79. 
505— 167— 338— 30— 308— 49— 259— 90(73 :1)=1G9. 

193—169—24+1—25+3  b  col. =28. 


380 
95 

=358 

75:1 
75:1 
75:1 

Why, 
he 

is 

383 

75:1 

dead. 

383 

75:2 

His 

488 

76:2 

Lordship 

163 

75:1 

then 

23 

75:1 

stopped 

420 

:  30 

75:1 

75:1 

his 
horse 

31 
109 

75:2 
75:1 

and 
said: 

31 

75:1 

He 

368 

75:1 

is 

256 

75:1 

in 

270 

75:1 

a 

273 
169 
169 
116 

75:1 
73:2 
74:1 
74.1 

faint. 

Bend 

down 

and 

236 

75:1 

put 

371 

75:1 

your 

341 

75:1 

ear 

79 

75:1 

against 

28 

75:1 

his 

SHAKSPERE  CARRIED   TO  PRISON. 


745 


Word. 
505—167=338—50=288—49  (76:1)=239— 90=149. 

248—149=99+1=100.  100 

505—167=338—30=308—50=258—145  (76:1)— 113.     113 
505—167=338—49=289—254=35—15  b  &  A— 20.  20 

505— 167— 338— 50=288— 198=90— <>4  b  ft  h  (198)= 

66.     193—66=127+1=128+1  A— 129.  129 

505—167=338—30=308—198=110.  110 

505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15  b  ft  A— 80. 

447—80=367+1=368.  368 

505—167=338—30=308—49=259—90=169— 

4  b  col. =165.  165 

505—167=338—30=308—49=259—79=180+193 

=373—4  //  col.  =369.  369 


Page  and 
Column. 


75:1 
75:1 

75:1 

76:1 

75:1 


heart, 
to 
see 

if 
he 

is 

yet 

living. 


Here  we  have  still  more  pages  upon  pages,  growing  out  of  that  same  number, 
505 — 167=338.  And  note  the  unusual  words:  beaten  —  keepers  —  blunt — edge —  stick 
—  breaks;  — earth  —  under —  heavy —  weight  —  blows;  —  bend —  down  — put — r  ear — 
against — heart — faint — living,  etc.  The  word  stick  occurs  only  one  other  time  in 
these  two  plays;  the  word  keepers  appears  only  on  this  occasion;  the  word  keeper  is 
found,  however,  once  in  this  play. 


505—167=338—30=308—49=259. 
505—167=338—30=308—49=259—28  (73:1)— 281 

—10/^  col. =221. 
505—167=338—30=308—49=259—143  (73:1)= 

116.     284—110=168+1=169. 
505- 167=338—49=289—254=35.     248—35=213 

+1—214+1  £—215. 
505—167=338—49=289—254=35.     248—35=213 

+  1=214+2  b  &  A— 216. 
505—1 67=338—30=308—49=259— 143=1 1 6 . 
505—167=338—30=308—198=110.     194+110=304. 
505—167=338—30=308—193=115—15  b  ft  //— 100 

—50  (76:1)— 50. 
505—167=338—49=289—254=35—7  b  col  =28. 
505—167=338—30=308—193=115—15  b  ft  //— 100. 
505—167=338—209  (73:2)— 129. 
505— 167=338— 49  (76:1)=289— 145=144. 
505—167=338—30=308—193=115—15  b  &  A— 100 

—49=51.     448—51=397+1=398. 
505—167=338—30=308—49—259—145—114— 

6  b  ft  //— 108. 
505—167=338—146  (76:1)— 192.     237—192=45+1= 
505—167=338—30=308—49=259.  284—259=25  + 1= 
505—167=338—30=308—50=258—28  (73:1)— 230— 

218  (76:1)— 12.     447—12=435  +  1=436. 
505—167=338—30—308—193=115—10  b  col. =105. 
505—167=338—30  (74:2)— 308— 193— 115— 15  b  &  h 

=100—7  b  col.  =93. 
505—167=338—30—308—49—259—193=66—5  b  col.- 


259 

76:2 

He 

221 

74:1 

stooped 

169 

74:1 

down 

215 

74:2 

to 

216 

74:2 

listen 

116 

74:1 

and 

304 

75:1 

found 

50 

75:1 

that 

28 

75:1 

his 

100 

74:1 

heart 

129 

74:1 

still 

144 

75:2 

beat. 

398 


76:1 


He 


108 

77:1 

lay 

46 

73:2 

quite 

26 

74:1 

still 

436 

75:1 

for 

105 

74:1 

a 

93 

74:2 

good 

=61 

74:1 

while; 

[  VNIVER8ITY  J 


746 


THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

99 

76:2 

at 

214 

74:2 

last 

213 

75:1 

the 

246 

74:1 

ragged 

170 

74:1 

young 

371 

75:2 

wretch 

284 

75:1 

drew 

39 

75:2 

a 

226 

74:1 

low 

=353 

75:1 

sigh 

12 

75:1 

and 

30 

74:1    commenced 

384 

277 

76:1 
61:1 

gasping 
for 

27 

75:2 

breath. 

505—167=338—30=308—193=115—15  b  &  h=100 

—1  h  col.=99. 
505—167=338—49  (76 :1)=289—  254=35.     248—35 

=213+1=214. 
505-167=338—49=289—254=35—15  b  &  /i=20 

+  193=213. 
505—167=388—49  (76:t)=289— 248=41— 2  //  (248) 

=39.     284—39=245 + 1=246. 
505-167=338—30=308—193=115.     284—115= 

169  +  1=170. 
505—167=338-145  (76:2)=193— 50  (76:1)=143. 

508—143=355+1=356+5  b  &  /;=371. 
505—167=338—50=288—193=95+193=288—4  //= 
505—167=338—30=308—254=54—15  b=39. 
505—167=338—30=308—50=258—193=65.     284— 

65=219+1=220+6  //=226. 
505—1 67=338—50=288—1 93=95.   447—95=352 + 1= 
505—167=338—30=308—50=258—28  (73:1)=230 

—219=12. 
505—167=338—49=289—254=35—5  b  col. =30. 
505—167=338—50=288—193=115.     498—115= 

383+1=384. 
505—167=338—49=289—12  b  col. =277. 
505—167=338—50=288—254=34—7  b  col.  =27. 

Those  who  may  insist  that  there  is  no  Cipher  here  will  have  to  explain  the  con- 
currence of  all  this  remarkable  array  of  words:  ragged — young — ivretch;  — 
stooped  —  dozvn;  —  listen  —  heart  —  beat;  —  low  —  sigh;  —  commenced  —  gasping  — 
Ireaih,  etc.  It  might  be  possible  to  work  out  a  pretended  Cipher  story,  consisting 
mainly  of  small  words  —  the  its,  the  thes  and  the  ands;  but  here  in  these  four 
pages  we  have  had  every  word  necessary  to  tell  not  only  the  story  of  the  kill- 
ing of  the  deer,  and  the  destruction  of  the  fish-pond,  but  the  subsequent  fight;  the 
•charge  of  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  on  horseback,  the  pistol  shot,  the  fall  of  two  wounded 
men,  the  apparent  death  of  Shakspere,  Sir  Thomas  stopping  his  horse,  the  exam- 
ination for  the  signs  of  life,  the  low  sigh  of  returning  animation,  and  even  the 
gasping  for  breath,  as  the  injured  Shakspere  regains  consciousness.  Surely,  if 
there  is  no  Cipher  here  we  can  say  of  the  text,  as  was  said  of  Othello's  hand- 
kerchief:  "There's  magic  in  the  web  of  it." 

But  the  miracle  does  not  end  here;  we  will  see,  hereafter,  this  same  root- 
number  going  on  to  tell  a  wonderful  story,  which  connects  itself  regularly  and 
naturally  with  all  that  we  have  given  in  these  pages. 

Take  the  following  sentence.  Here  every  word,  as  the  reader  will  see,  comes 
out  of  the  same  corner  of  the  text,  by  the  same  root-number,  to-wit:  338  minus  50 
or  30,  as  heretofore;  while  the  count  originates  either  from  the  end  of  the  second 
scene  or  the  beginning  of  the  third,  in  76:1,  the  two  being  separated  only  by  the 
title  of  the  scene. 

505—167=338—50  (74:2)=288— 49  (76:1)=239— 

4:b  col.  =245.  245  76:2  But 

505—167=338—49  (76:1)=289— 162  (78:1)=127— 

ll^col.=116.  116  78:2  it 


SHAKSPERE  CARRIED   TO  PRISON. 


747 


Page  and 
Word.       Column. 

505—167=338—49  (76 :1)=289— 145=144.     448— 

144=304+1=305+1  h  col.=306.  306  76:1        seemed 

■505—167=338—49  (76:1)=289— 161  (78:1)— 128. 

498—128=370  +  1=371.  371  76:1  his 

505— 167=338— 50  (76:1)=288— 30=258— 146=112 

— 3  ^(146)=1 09 +162=271— 5  b  col.=266.  266  78:1        injuries 

,505—167=338—50  (76:1)=288— 30=258— 146  (76:2) 

=112—5  b  &  //  col.=107.  107  76:1  were 

505—167=338—49  (76 :1)=289— 145=144.     448— 

144=304+1=305.  305  76:1  only 

505— 167=338— 49  (76:1)=289— 30=259— 146=113 

_3  b  (146)=110.  110  76:1  flesh 

505—167=338—49  (76:1)=289— 30=259— 145=114.      114  76:1  r^  wounds. 

And  observe  how  in  connection  with  all  the  words  already  given,  descriptive  of 
a  bloody  fight,  and  "  gasping  for  breath,"  come  in  these  words:  seemed  —  injuries 
—  were  —  only — flesh  —  wounds.  This  is  the  only  time  flesh  occurs  in  this  act; 
and  the  only  time  wound  occurs  in  this  scene;  and  this  is  the  only  time  injuries  is 
found  in  this  act.     Yet  here  they  are  all  bound  together  by  the  same  number. 

And  here  I  would  note,  in  further  illustration  of  the  actuality  of  the  Cipher, 
that  no  ingenuity  can  cause  505 — 167=338  to  tell  the  same  story  that  is  told  by 
505 — 193=312,  or  by  any  other  Cipher  number.  One  Cipher  number  brings  out 
one  set  of  words,  which  are  necessary  to  one  part  of  the  narrative,  while  another 
number  brings  out,  even  when  going  over  the  same  text,  an  entirely  different  set  of 
words.     This  will  be  made  more  apparent  as  we  proceed. 

But  what  did  Shakspere's  associates  do  when  he  went  down  before  his  Lord- 
ship's pistol?  They  did  just  what  might  have  been  expected  —  they  ran  away;  and 
the  Cipher  tells  the  story.  And  here  we  still  build  the  story  around  that  same  frag- 
ment of  49  words  on  76:1  (intermixed  with  the  first  and  last  fragments,  50  and  30, 
on  74:2)  which  has  given  us  so  much  of  the  recent  narrative;  assisted,  also,  by  the 
next  fragment  of  a  scene,  in  the  next  column, —  145  or  146,  76:2.  The  first  sub- 
division of  the  next  column  ends  at  the  457th  word;  the  second  begins  at  the  458th 
word.  And  to  the  end  of  the  column  there  are  145  or  146  words,  as  we  count  down 
from  457  or  458. 

505—167=338—145=193—1  h  col. =192. 
505—167=338—49  (76:1)=289.     508—289=219+1= 
505—167=338—50  (74.2)=288.     508— 288=220 +1= 
505—167=338—50  (74:2)=288— 50  (76:1)=238— 

20£col.=218. 
505—167=338—50  (76:1)=288— 30  (74:2)=258— 

1  h  col. =257. 
505—167=338—30  (74:2)=308.     508—308=200  + 1 

=201+3 //col.  =204. 
505— 167=338-30=308— 29  (73:2)=279. 
505— 167=338— 49=289— 30=259— 79(79 :1)=180 

_50(76:1)=130. 
505— 167=338— 49=289— 30=259— 146=113— 

3/;(146)=110. 
505—167=338—49=289—30  (74:2)=259— 10 />  col.— 
505—167=338.     448—338=110+1=111. 


192 

75:2 

All 

220 

75:2 

our 

221 

75:2 

men, 

218 

75:2 

so 

257 

75:2 

soon 

204 

75:2 

as 

279 

74:1 

they 

130 


r5:2 


110 

77:1 

that 

249 

76:1 

he 

111 

76:1 

was 

748 


THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 


Page  and 
Column. 

75:2 

75:2 

76:1 

75:2 

75:2 
75:2 

75:2 

75:2 


Word. 

505—167=338—50  (76:l)=288-30  (74:2)=258.  258 

505—167=338—49  (76:1)  289—30  (74:2)=259.  259 
505-  -167=338—30=308—146=162—3  b  (146)=159 

— 96  &  h  col.— 150.  150 
505—167=338—49=289—50=239.     508-239= 

269+1=270.  270 
505—167=338-49  (76:1)=289.     508—289=219 

+  1=220  +  3/;  col.  =223.  223 

505—167=338—50  (74:2)=288— 24  b  col. =(264).  (264) 
505—167=338—50  (76:1)=288— 50  (74:2)=238— 

22  b  &  h  col. =216.  216 
505—167=338—50  (74:2)=288.     508—288=220+1 

=221  +  13^  col.=234.  234 
505—167=338—50  (76:1)=288— 50  (74:2)  =238. 

508— 238=270+1=271+2  h  col.=273.  273 
505—167=338—50  (76:1)=288.    448—288=160+1=    161 

505—167=338—50  (76:1)=288-145  (76:1)=143.  (143) 

505—167=338—50  (74:2)=288.  288 

505—167=338—145=193.  193 
505—167=338—50  (74:2)=288— 50  (76:1)=238— 

1  h  col.=237.  237          75:2 

505—167=338—146  (76:2)=192— 22  b  &  h  col.=170.  170          75:2 

505—167=338.     508—338=170+1=171.  171          75:2 

505—167=338—145=193.  193          75:2 
505—167=338—30  (74:2)=308— 49=259.     508— 

259=249+1=250.  250          75:2 

505—167=338—49=289—30=259—193=66.  66          76:2 

505—1 67=338—30=308—254=54—50(76 : 1)=4 + 457=461  76 :2 
505— 167=338— 30=308— 49=259— 79(73 :1)=180. 

448—180=268+1=269.  269          76:2 

505— 167=338— 30  (74:2)=308— 13^  col.=295.  295          76:1 
505—167=338—30  (74:2)=308.     508—308=200+ 

1=201  +  16  b  &  h  col.=217.  217          75:2 

505— 167=338— 49  (76:1)=289— 50  (74:2)=239.      '  239          75:2 
505—167=338—30  (74:2)=308— 50  (76: 1)=258.     508 

—258=250+1=251.  251  75:2 
505—167=338—50  (76:1)=288— 50  (74:2)=238.     508 

-238=270+1=271.  271          75:2 
505—167=338—50  (74:2)=288— 49  (76:1)=239— 22 

b  &  h  col.  =21 7.  217  75:2 
505—167=338—30  (74:2)=308— 50  (76:1)=258— 145=  113  76-1 
505—167=338—30  (74:2,=308— 50  (76:1)=258— 22 

b  &  h  col.=236.  236          75:2 


taken 
prisoner 

or 

slaine,. 

in 
the 

greatest 

fear 


75:2  of 

76:1  being 

76:1  apprehended,, 
75:2         turned 
76:1  and 


fled 
away 
from 

the 

field, 
into 
the 

shadows, 

with 

speed 
swifter 

than 

the 

speed 
of 


Here  is  another  sentence  of  thirty-four  words,  growing  out  of  505 — 167=338;: 
every  word  found  on  75:2  or  76:1.  Observe  how  those  remarkable  words  taken  — 
prisoner — fear  —  slaine —  appreliended —  fled — speed —  swifter  —  arrows  —  all  come 
out  together,  at  the  summons  of  the  same  root-number,  cohering  arithmetically 
with  absolute  precision;  and  found  —  not  scattered  over  a  hundred  pages,  or  ten 
pages  —  but  compacted  together  in  two  columns  of  1,003  words!     If  this  stood? 


SHAKSPERE  CARRIED   TO  PRISON.  749 

alone  it  should  settle  the  question  of  the  existence  of  a  Cipher  in  the  Shakespeare 
Plays; — but  it  is  only  one  of  hundreds  of  other  sentences  already  given,  or  yet  to 
come,  bbserve  how  those  typical  words  speed — swifter — than —  speed — arrows 
—  all  come  out  of  the  same  number  and  the  same  modifications.  Speed  is  338  less 
30  up  the  column  phis  b  &  h;  swifter  is  338  less  50 down  the  column;  than  is  338  less 
50  up  the  column;  speed  (the  same  word)  is  338  less  50  down  the  column,///^  b  & 
A;  arrows  is  338  less  30  down  the  column,  plus  b  &  h.  See  how  the  same  word 
speed  is  so  adjusted  as  to  be  338  less  30  up  the  column  and  338  less  50  down  the 
column! 

But  if  further  evidence  is  needed  to  satisfy  the  incredulous  reader  of  the 
presence  of  the  most  careful  design  and  accurate  adjustment  of  the  words  of  the 
text  to  the  columns,  and  parts  of  columns,  of  the  Folio,  let  me  bring  together  three 
parallel  parts  of  the  same  story,  existing  far  apart  in  the  narrative,  it  is  true,  but 
joined  here  by  textual  contiguity.  We  will  see  that  some  of  the  same  words  are 
used  thrice  over  to  tell,  first  of  the  flight  of  the  actors  on  hearing  that  they  were 
likely  to  be  arrested  for  treason;  secondly,  the  flight  of  Hens/070,  the  theater  man- 
ager, with  his  hoarded  wealth;  and  thirdly,  the  story  of  the  flight  of  the  young  men 
of  Stratford,  when  interrupted  by  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  and  his  followers  in  the  work 
of  the  destruction  of  his  fish-pond.  Now  a  colossal  prejudice  might  insist  that  the 
story  I  have  just  given  could  come  about  by  accident,  —  so  as  to  precisely  fit  to 
that  fragment  of  a  scene  at  the  bottom  of  76:1,  and  that  other  fragment  of  a  scene 
on  74:2,  marshaled  by  the  key-note,  505 — 167=338;  but  I  shall  now  proceed  to 
show  that  the  text  of  the%  Folio  has  been  so  arranged  and  exquisitely  manipulated, 
that  these  very  same  words  are  made  to  match  to  the  subdivisions  of  another 
column,  75:1,  by  the  key-note  of  two  other  and  totally  different  Cipher  numbers, 
to-wit:  505  and  513;  making  a  sort  of  treble-barreled  miracle,  so  extraordinary  and 
incomprehensible,  that  I  think  the  Shakspereolators  will  have  to  conclude  that  if 
there  is  not  a  Cipher  in  these  Plays  there  ought  to  have  been  one. 

To  get  the  three  narratives  side  by  side,  into  the  narrow  compass  of  a  page,  I 
shall  have  to  abbreviate  the  explanatory  signs  and  figures;  but  I  have  already  given 
so  many  instances  of  these  that  I  think  the  reader  will  understand  what  is  meant 
without  them.  I  print  in  italic  type  those  words  which  are  duplicated  in  two  or  three 
columns.  To  save  space  I  do  not  give  the  column  and  page  before  each  word, 
because  they  are  all  found  on  75:2,  or  76:1,  or  74:1.  I  therefore  insert  simply  the 
figures  5,  6  or  4  before  the  words* — 5  meaning  75:2,  and  6,  76:1,  and  4,  74:1.  I 
place  the  root-numbers  which  work  out  the  story  at  the  top  of  each  column.  The 
15  b  &  h  means,  of  course,  the  15  bracketed  and  hyphenated  words  in  193  or  254, 
the  upper  and  lower  subdivisions  of  75:1.  Where  other  figures  are  added  or 
deducted  they  refer  to  the  bracketed  and  hyphenated  words  above  or  below  the 
Cipher  word,  as  the  case  may  be,  in  the  same  column.  Where  only  the  bracketed 
words  or  the  hyphenated  words  are  counted  by  themselves  I  indicate  it  by  b  or  //. 

I  do  not  pretend  to  give  the  words  of  these  sentences,  at  this  time,  in  their 
exact  order,  but  simply  to  show  howT  the  same  words  are  brought  out,  from  different 
starting-points,  by  different  root-numbers;  a  result  which  would  only  be  possible 
through  the  most  careful  double  and  triple  pre-arrangement  and  adjustment  of  the 
root-numbers  to  the  number  of  words  in  the  text,  and  the  number  of  bracketed 
and  hyphenated  words  in  the  columns,  creating  thereby  a  marvelous  parallelism, 
which  it  seems  to  me  utterly  excludes  the  thought  that  the  results  obtained  have 
occurred  by  chance. 


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SHAKSPERE  CARRIED  TO  PRISON.  75  * 

Here  the  reader  will  perceive  that  the  same  words:  men —  turned — backs  — 
Jled — swifter — than  —  arrows — greatest  —  fear,  are  used,  some  of  them  in  twor 
some  of  them  in  three  separate  narratives,  descriptive  of  three  different  flights; 
mingled  of  course  with  words,  in  each  instance,  which  do  not  occur  in  the  others. 
But  this  is  not  all.  Observe  how  carefully  the  hyphens  and  brackets  in  column 
75:2  are  adjusted  to  the  necessities  of  the  Cipher.  For  instance,  the  root-number 
505 — 30=475 — 254  gives  us  221;  and  this  carried  down  the  column  gives  us  men/ 
and  up  the  column  it  brings  us  to  288,  turned;  but,  if  we  count  in  the  two  hyphen- 
ated words,  it  gives  us  backs —  "  turned  their  backs."  On  the  other  hand,  513 — 
30=483 — 193  gives  us  290;  it  will  be  noticed  that  we  have  here  the  same  30;  and 
the  193,  the  upper  subdivision  of  75:1,  takes  the  place  of  254,  the  lower  subdi- 
vision of  the  same.  Now  if  we  carry  this  290  down  the  column  it  brings  us  to  the 
same  word,  backs,  which  we  have  just  obtained  by  going  up  the  column  with  221. 
But  there  are  also  two  hyphenated  words  above  290  as  well  as  below  it,  or  four  in 
all  in  the  column,  exclusive  of  the  bracketed  words;  and  if  we  count  these  in,  as 
we  did  before  with  221,  the  count  falls  again  on  turned — "turned  their  backs." 
Now,  if  there  had  been  five  hyphenated  words  in  that  column  this  could  not  have 
been  accomplished;  or  if  three  of  the  four  hyphens  had  been  above  288  and  290  the 
count  would  also  have  failed. 

If  Francis  Bacon  did  not  put  a  Cipher  in  this  play,  what  Puck  —  what  Robin 
Goodfellow  —  what  playful  genius  was  it, — come  out  of  chaos, — that  brought 
forth  all  this  regularity  ? 

Now  it  may  be  objected  that  Bacon  would  not  have  used  the  comparison  of 
great  speed  to  a  flight  of  arrows  twice;  but  observe  the  difference:  505  gives  us 
Jled  .  .  .  swifter  than  arrows  fly  toward  their  aim;  while  338  gives  us  fled  away 
with  speed  szuifter  than  the  speed  of  the  arrows.  And  it  must  be  remembered  that, 
although  the  words  for  these  two  comparisons  are  found  in  the  same  column,  the 
stories  spring  from  different  roots,  and  probably  stand  hundreds  of  pages  apart  in 
the  Cipher  narrative  itself.  And  then,  as  we  find  Bacon  constrained,  by  the  neces- 
sities of  the  Cipher,  to  depart  in  the  text  of  the  Plays  in  many  instances  from  both 
grammar  and  sense,  as  in: 

Or  what  hath  this  bold  enterprise  bring  forth  ? 

76:1;  or:  "  Therefore,  sirra,  with  a  new  wound  in  your  thigh  come  you  along  [sic] 
me,"  72:2;  or: 

Hold  up  they  head,  vile  Scot, 

72:1;  or:  "This  earth  that  bears  the  \sic\  dead,"  72:2,  etc.:  so,  without  doubt,  he 
was  compelled,  in  such  a  complicated  piece  of  work  as  the  Cipher,  to  use  the 
same  words,  —  for  instance,  swifter  than  arrows,  —  twice,  or  oftener,  when  it  was 
arithmetically  easier  to  use  them  than  to  avoid  using  them.  And  what  an  infinite 
skill  does  it  imply,  that  he  had  so  adapted  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  different 
parts  of  the  Cipher  narrative  to  each  other,  that  the  story  of  the  three  flights  given 
above  could  be  brought  around  so  as  to  fit  into  column  2  of  page  75,  and  avoid  the 
necessity  of  recurring,  in  different  other  pages  and  columns,  to  the  same  words  — 
turned — backs  —  fled — swifter — arrows,  etc.!  And  backs,  be  it  observed,  does 
not  occur  again  anywhere  else  in  either  of  these  two  plays.  And  the  word  backs  is 
found  only  six  times  in  all  the  Historical  Plays,  and  in  every  instance  we  find  the 
word  turn,  or  turned,  or  turning,  in  the  same  act,  and,  in  four  cases  out  of  the  six, 
in  the  same  scene  with  backs.  And  arrows  is  found  but  nine  times  in  all  the  Shake- 
speare Plays. 

But  it  may  be  thought  by  some  that  any  numbers  would  lead  to  these  same 


752 


THE  CIPHER  NARRA  TIVE. 


words.  Let  the  reader  experiment.  The  numbers  523  and  516  will  produce  some 
of  them,  as  I  shall  show  hereafter;  but  523  and  516  are  Cipher  numbers.  Let  us 
take,  however,  a  number  not  a  Cipher  number  —  for  instance,  500  —  and  put  it 
through  the  same  changes  as  the  above;  and  it  will  yield  us  such  incoherent  words 
as  was  —  lead —  with  — from  —  with  —  King —  well —  laboring —  and — gan  —  in  — 
three,  etc.  I  do  not  think  that  any  other  numbers  but  the  Cipher  numbers  can  be 
made  to  evolve  even  portions  of  any  of  the  significant  sentences  found  in  this 
three-fold  example. 

Let  me  give  one  more  extraordinary  proof  of  this  exquisite  adjustment  of  the 
text  to  the  Cipher;  and  I  again  place  it  in  parallel  columns  that  it  may  the  more 
clearly  strike  the  eye  of  the  reader.  We  have  the  same  words,  fear  of  being  appre- 
hended, used  in  two  different  portions  of  the  narrative.  Now  the  combination, 
being  apprehended,  is  one  not  likely  to  occur  by  chance;  apprehended  is  found  but  nine 
times  in  all  the  Plays  !  And  but  this  one  time  in  this  play.  And  being,  (signifying 
condition),  but  seven  times  in  all  the  Plays  !  And  only  this  once  in  this  play.  The 
reader  will  now  see  how  these  rare  words  come  together  twice,  at  the  summons  of 
two  different  Cipher  numbers: 


513. 

505—167=338. 

513 

513 

483 

338                      288 

193 

30 

193 

50  (74:2)             145 

320 

483 

290 

288                      143 

513—449=34. 

34    75:2 

Fear 

508—288=220+ 

290—5  h  col.— 

448—290=158+ 

1=159+2  h= 

448—320=128+ 

285    76:1 
161     76:1 

of 
being 

1=221  +  13/;=  234   75:2 

288—50=238. 

508— 238+2//=273   75:2 
448—288=160+ 

1=161.                161   76:1 

Fear 
of 

being 

1=129+11  £=  (143)  76:1  apprehended.    288— 145  (76:)=(143)  76:1  apprehended. 

Here  we  start  from  the  initial  word  of  scene  2  of  76:1  of  the  Folio,  and  513 
brings  us  to  fear;  the  same  less  193  (75:1)  and  less  50  (76:1)  carried  down  the  same 
column  gives  us  of;  the  same  up  the  column,  plus  the  hyphens,  gives  us  being;  and 
the  same  513  less  193,  up  the  same  column,  gives  us  apprehended.  The  formula  of 
this  last  word  cannot  be  clearly  stated  in  figures,  but  actual  count  will  satisfy  the 
reader  that  apprehended  is  the  320th  word  plus  the  brackets,  counting  up  from  448. 

Again,  505 — 167=338;  338  less  50  (74:2)  gives  us  2SS=fea?y  this  288  carried 
through  the  fragment  at  the  bottom  of  76:1  and  up  the  next  column  gives  us  of; 
and  288,  the  same  number,  up  the  column  (76:1)  gives  us  being;  and  the  same 
number,  288,  carried  through  the  adjoining  subdivision  (145,  76:2)  gives  us  143; 
and  actual  count  will  demonstrate  that  apprehended  is  the  143d  word  down  the 
column,  not  counting  in  the  bracketed  and  hyphenated  words  above  it. 

But  to  resume  our  narrative: 


505— 167=338— 50=288— 248=40+ 193=233+ b* 
505-167=338—49  (76 :1)=289— 248=41.     194+ 

41=235—^=235. 
505— 167=338— 49=289— 218  (74:2)=71. 
505—167=338—219  (74:2)=119. 


Word. 
(233) 

(235) 

71 

119 


Page  and 
Column. 

75:1 


75:1 
74:1 
75:1 


My 

Lord, 

who 

had. 


SHAKSPERE  CARRIED   TO  PRISON. 


753 


505—167=338—50  (74:2)===288— 49=239— 50  (74:2)= 
505—167=338—50=288—50=238—50=188— 

12  b  &  h  col.=176. 
505— 167=338— 50=288— 50  (76:1)=238— 50=188. 
505— 167=338— 50=308— 50=258— 90(73 :1)=168. 

508—168=340+1=341. 
505—167=338—30=308—193=115—15  b  &  //=100. 

248—100=148+1=149+3=160. 

505—167=338—50  (74:2)=288—  50  (76:1)=238— 193 

=45.  447—45=402+1=403+3  b  col.=406. 
505—167=338—49=289—248=41—24  b  &  k— 17. 
505— 167=338-30=308— 198=1 10 ;   83 + 1=84 

+3  3  col.     87. 
505—167=338—30=308—198=110. 
505—167=338—30=308—49=259-248=11+193= 

204—2  ^=202. 
505—167=338—49=289—248=41—22  b  &  /&— 19, 

284—19=265+1=266. 
505—167=338—30=308—193=115.     248—115= 

133+1=134+16  b  &  h  col. 
505—167=338—49  (76:1)=289— 248=41— 24  3  &  h 

(248)=17.     447—15=432+1=433. 
505—167=338—50  (74:2)=288— 248=40— 1  h  col.— 
505—167=338—49=289—248=41—22  b  &  /i— 19. 

447—19=428+1=429. 
505—167=338—30  (74:2)=308— 193=115— 15  b  &  h 

=100.     248—100=148  +  1=149. 


Word. 
289 

Page  and 
Column. 

75:2 

in 

176 

188 

74:1 
74:1 

the 
mean 

341 

76:1 

time, 

(160) 

74:2 

followed 
the 

406 
17 

75:1 
751 

others, 
came 

87 
110 

75:1 
75:1 

up. 
He 

202 

75:1 

tells 

266 

74:1 

them 

150 

74:2 

to 

433 
39 

75:1 
75:1 

make 
him 

429 

75:1 

a 

149 

74:2 

prisoner. 

It  seems  that  the  rioters  had  also  kindled  a  fire  to  light  their  destructive  work. 
For  we  have: 


505— 167=338— 50=288— 248=40— 243  &  h  (248)= 

16—1  A— 15. 
505—167=338—30=308—198=110.     284—110= 

174+5=175. 
505—167=338—50=288—198=90—22—  b  (198)=68. 
505—167=338—30=308—50=258—90=168—1 

h  col.  =167. 
505— 167=338— 30=308— 198=110— 9  b&  //=101. 
505—167=338—50  (74:2)=288— 49"  (76:1)— 239— 50 

(74:2)=189— 12  b  &  h  col. =177. 
505— 167=338— 50=288— 50  (76:1)=238— 298=40. 

284—40=244+1=245. 
505—167=338—50=288—198=90—24  b&  h  (193)=66. 
505—167=338—30=308—198=110.     284—110=174 

+1— 175+6 h  col.— 181. 
505—167=338—50  (74:2)=288— 50  (76:1)=238— 50 

(74:2)=188+ 193=381—8  3=373 
505—167=338—30=308—198=110+194=304— 

3  3  col— 301. 


15 


175 


167 
101 

177 


75:1 


75:2 
75:1 

74:1 


After 


74:1      quenching 
75:2  the 


fire, 
the 

flames 


245 

74:1 

of 

66 

75:2 

which 

181 

74:1 

even 

373 

75:1 

yet 

301 

75:1 

burned. 

754-  THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 

The  word  quenching  only  occurs  one  other  time  in  all  the  thousand  pages  of 
the  Plays;  and  here  it  coheres  arithmetically  with  flame,  fire  and  burned;  and  this 
is  the  only  time  when  flame  occurs  in  these  two  plays  of  ist  and  2d  Henry  1 V '. ;  and 
this  is  the  only  occasion  when  burned  \s  found  in  2d  Henry  IV.;  and  it  occurs  but 
once  in  ist  Henry  IV. 

And  here  the  narrative  changes  slightly  its  root-number;  heretofore  we  have 
elaborated  this  part  of  the  story  by  505 — 167=338;  but  in  that  167  (74:2)  there  are 
twenty-one  bracketed  words  and  one  hyphenated  word;  if  we  count  these  in,  then 
the  167  becomes  189;  and  189  deducted  from  the  root-number,  505,  leaves,  not  338, 
but  316.  Hence,  for  a  long  narrative,  hereafter,  316  becomes  the  root-number.  We 
have  seen  a  similar  change  take  place  on  page  718,  ante,  where  a  whole  chapter 
grows  out  of  516 — 167=349 — 22  b&/i  (i67)=327. 

We  read: 


Page  and 
Column. 

Word. 

261 

76:1 

my 

262 

76:1 

Lord 

58 

76:2 

litter 

253 

75:1 

and 

123 

76:1 

lift 

266 

76:1 

the 

267 

73:1 

corpse 

505—167=338—22  b  &  4=316—50=266—5  4=261. 
505—167=338—22  b  &  4=316—49=267—5  4=262. 
505—167=338—22  b  &  4=316—193  (75:1)— 128.     498 

—123=375+1=376.  379  76:1  tells 

505— 167=338— 223  &  4=3  16— 193=123.     457—123 

=334+1=335.  335  76:2  them 

505—167=338—22  b  &  4=316— 193=123— 15  b  &  A— 

108— 5b&  4  col  =103.  103  76:1  to 

505—167=338—22  b  &  4=-316— 50  (74:2)=266— 49 

(76:1)=217— 145=72.  72  76:1  make 

505—167=338—22  b  &  4=316—193=123.     449= 

123=326+1=327.  327  76:1  a 

505—167=338—22  b  &  4=316— 193=123— 15  b  &  k—> 

108—50  (76:1)=58. 
505—167=338—22/;  &  4=316—50=266—13  3=253. 
505—167=338—22  b  &  4=316—193=123. 
505— 167=338— 22  3  &  4=316—50=266. 
505—167=338—22  b  &  4=316—49  (76:1)=267. 
505—167=338—22  b  &  4=316—50=266.     603—266 

=337+1=338.  338  76:2  up. 

The  exquisite  art  of  the  work  is  shown  in  that  word  litter.  We  have  already 
(505 — 448=57)  used  the  57th  word,  her,  {her  Grace  is  furious,  etc.);  here  we  use  the 
58th  word,  litter;  and  after  a  while  we  shall  find  the  word  derzvhelmed,  the  55th  word, 
used  to  describe  Bacon's  feelings  when  he  heard  the  dreadful  news  that  Shakspere 
was  to  be  arrested  and  put  to  the  torture  to  make  him  disclose  the  author  of  the 
Plays.  Now  the  Cipher  story  brought  the  words  overwhelmed —  her —  Utter  into  jux- 
taposition. How  was  Bacon  to  use  these  words  in  the  external  play?  There- 
upon, his  fertile  mind  invented  that  grotesque  image,  wherein  the  corpulent  Fal- 
staff  says  to  his  diminutive  page: 

I  do  here  walk  before  thee,  like  a  sow  that  hath  overwhelmed  all  her  litter  but 
one. 

It  will  be  found  that  we  owe  many  of  the  finest  gems  of  thought  in  the  Plays 
to  the  dire  necessities  of  the  great  cryptologist,  who,  driven  to  straits  by  the  Cipher, 
fell  back  on  the  vast  resources  of  his  crowded  mind,  and  invented  sentences  that 
would  bring  the  patch-work  of  words  before  him  into  coherent  order.  Take  that 
beautiful  expression : 


SHAK'SPERE  CARRIED   TO  PRISON.  755 

O  Westmoreland,  thou  art  a  summer  bird, 
Which  ever,  in  the  haunch  of  winter,  sings 
The  lifting  up  of  day.1 

It  will  be  found  that  summer,  haunch,  winter,  sings  and  lifting  are  all  Cipher 
words,  the  tail  ends  of  various  stories,  and  the  genius  of  the  poet  linked  them  to- 
gether in  this  exquisite  fashion.  There  was,  to  the  ordinary  mind,  no  connection 
between  haunch,  a  haunch  of  venison,  and  summer,  winter  and  sings,  but  in  an 
instant  the  poet,  with  a  touch,  converted  the  haunch  into  the  hindmost  part  of  the 
winter.  It  is  no  wonder  that  Bacon  said  of  himself  that  he  found  he  had  "a 
nimble  and  fertile  mind." 

1  2d  Henry  IV.,  iv,  2. 


OfTHC 

vW/VER8/Ty 


CHAPTER   XIII. 


THE    YOUTHFUL  SHAKSPERE  DESCRIBED. 


We  will  draw  the  curtain  and  show  you  the  picture. 

Twelfth  Night,  i,  J. 

WHEN  "my  Lord"  (as  the  peasants  called  him)  —  Sir 
Thomas  —  captured  one  of  the  marauders  and  destroyers  of 
his  property,  he  was  of  course  curious  to  know  who  it  was.  And 
so  by  the  same  root-number  (playing  between  the  end  of  scene 
second,  76:1,  and  the  subdivisions  of  75:1)  we  find  the  following 
words  coming  out: 


505— 167=338— 50=288— 193  (75:1)=95. 

505— 167=338— 30=308— 50=258— 28  (73:1)=230— 

145=85.     448—85=363+1=364. 
505—167=338—30=308—49=259—90=169—145= 

24.     448—24=424+1=425. 
505— 167=338— 30=308— 50=258-63  (73: 1)=195— 

10  £=185. 
505—167=338—50=288—193=95.     447—95=352 

+1—853+3  b  col.— 856. 
505—167=338—30=308—50=258—28  (73 : 1)=230— 

145=85.     498—85=413  + 1=414. 
505—167=338—30=308—50=258—79=179—49=' 

130.     508—130=378+1=379+4  b  &  h  col.— 
505—167=338-30=308—49=259—79  (73 : 1)— 180— 

\b  col.=176. 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

95 

75:1 

He 

364 

76:1 

scraped 

425 

76:1 

the 

185 

74:1 

blood 

356 

75:1 

away 

414 

76:1 

from 

383 


176 


75:2 


76:1 


his 


face. 


And  when  the  blood  was  scraped  away  from  the  face  of  the  wounded  man,  he 
recognized  "  William  Shagspere,  one  thone  partie."  Little  did  Sir  Thomas  think, 
as  he  gazed  upon  him,  that  the  poor  wounded  wretch  was  to  be,  for  centuries,  the 
subject  of  the  world's  adoration,  as  the  greatest,  profoundest,  most  brilliant  and 
most  philosophical  of  mankind.  The  whole  thing  makes  history  a  mockery.  It 
is  enough,  in  itself,  to  cast  a  doubt  upon  all  the  established  opinions  of  the  world. 

I  would  note  the  fact  that  the  word  scraped  occurs  in  but  two  other  places  in 
all  the  Plays  ! 

505—167=338—30=308—49=259—90=169.  169  75:1  He 

505—167=338—30=308—50=258—63  (73 :l)— 195— 

50=145—50=95.  95         75:2    remembered 

756 


THE    YOUTHFUL  SHAKSPERE  DESCRIBED. 


757 


505—167=338—30=308—50=258—90=168—145= 
505—167=338—30=308—50=258—90=168.     458— 
168=290+1=291+8 £  &  h  col.  =299. 

505— 167=338— 30=308— 50=258— 63(73:1)— 195— 

50=145.     508— 145=363  +  1=364+3^  col.  = 
505—167=338—30=308—50=258—90=168.     508— 

168=340+1=341+6  b  col  =347. 
505— 167=338— 30=308— 50=258— 28  (73:1)=230— 

145=85.     193—85=108+1=109+6  b  &  £—115. 
505—167=338—30=308—50=258—90=168. 
505—167=338—50=288—193=95.     248—95=153+ 

1  h  col.— 155. 
505—167=338—30=308—49=259—90=169—145= 

24— 3  3(145)— 21. 
505—167=338—30=308—50=258—28  (73 :1)=230— 

145=85. 
505—167=338—30=308—50=258—248=10. 
505— 167=338— 50=288— 193=95— 50  (76:1)=45. 

193—45=148  +  1=149. 


Vord. 

Page  and 
Column. 

23 

77:1 

the 

299 

76:2 

rascally 
knave 

367 

75:2 

well; 

347 

75:2 

there 

115 

75:1 

was 

168 

76:1 

not 

155 

74:2 

a 

21 

77:1 

worse 

85 

77:1 

in 

10 

74:1 

the 

149 

75:1 

barony. 

And  here  follows  the  description  of  the  youthful  Shakspere,  as  he  appeared 
on  his  native  heath: — one  of  the  half-civilized  boys  of  "the  bookless  neighbor- 
hood" of  Stratford;  the  very  individual  referred  to  in  the  traditions  of  beer-drink- 
ing, poaching  and  rioting  which  have  come  down  to  us. 

To  save  work  for  the  printers  I  will  hereafter,  instead  of  printing  505 — 167= 
338,  in  each  line,  content  myself  with  commencing  each  line  with  338. 


X 


338—30  (74:2)=308— 145=163— 3  b  (145)=160. 
338—30=308—146=162.     457—162=295+1=296. 
338—30=308—146=162—3  b  (146)=159.     457—159 

=298+1=299. 
338—30=308—145=163. 

338—30=308—146=162—9  b  &  h  col. =153. 
338—30=308—145=163—5  b  &  h  col.=148. 
338—30=308—50=258—50  (76:1)=208.     457—208 

=249+1=250. 
338—163=175. 
338—49  (76:1)=289— 146=143— 3  b  (146)=140.     457 

—140=317+1=318. 
338—30=308—49=259. 

338—29  (74:2))=309.     456—309=148+1=149. 
338—50=288—146=192—3  b  (146)=189— 4  b  col.— 
338—49=289—146=193—3  b  (146)=190— 4  b  col.— 
338—49  (76 :2)=289— 146=143— 1  h  col.=142, 
338—49  (76 :2)=289— 146=143. 

338—49  (76:2)=289— 161=128+457=585— 3  b  col  — 
338—193=145—5  b  &  h  col.— 140. 
338— 193=145— 43  col.— 141. 


160 

77:1 

The 

296 

76:2 

horson 

299 

76:2 

knave 

163 

76:1 

was, 
at 

153 

76:1 

this 

148 

76:1 

time, 

250 

76:2 

about 

175 

78:2 

twenty; 

318 

76:2 

but 

259 

76:1 

his 

149 

76:2 

beard 

185 

76:2 

is 

186 

76:2 

not 

142 

76:2 

yet 

143 

76:2 

fledged; 

582 

76:2 

there 

140 

76:2 

is 

141 

76:2 

not 

758 


THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 


338—50  (74:2)— 288— 146=142. 

338—30=308—145=163.     457—163=294+1=295. 

338—145  (76:2)=193— 3  b  (146)— 190— 2  h  col  =188. 

338—29  (74:2)=309. 

338—30=308—145=163. 

338—50  (74:2)=288— 50  (76:1  )=238— 146=142 

—3  b  (146)— 189. 
338—49  (76:1)=289— 146=143.     577—143=434+1 

=435+17  b&  h— 452. 
338—30=308—50=258—15  b  &  h  col.— 348. 
338—193=145.     457—145=312+1=313. 
338—30=308—49=259.     603—259=344+ 1=345+ 

2  h  col.  =347. 
338—30=308—146=162—3  b  (146)=159— 4  b  col.— 
338—30=308—145=163—3  £(145)=160— 4  b  col.— 
338—30=308—49=259. 

338—30=308—49=259—145=114—3  b 'col.— 111. 
338—50=288—50  (76:1)— 288. 
338—50=288—162  (78:1)— 126. 
338—50=288—50  (76:1)— 238— 7  £  col.=231. 
338—49  (76:1)— 289— 161=128.     610—128=482+1— 
338—30=308—49=259—3  h  col.  =256 
338—49  (76:1)— 289— 162=127— 32  (79:1)— 95 

—11  b  col.— 84. 
338—50=288—162  (78:1)=126— 58  (80:1)=66. 
338—162=176—49  (76:1)— 127.     603—127=476  +  1— 

477+3  b  col.  =480 
338—162—176—49  (76:1)— 127.     458+127=585. 
338—50  (74:2)— 288.     603—288=315+1=316. 
338—49  (76:1)— 289.     603—289—314+1=315+2  /z— 
338—50  (74:2)— 288.     603—288=315+1=316+ 

2  /z— 318. 
338—30=308—145=163.     457—163=294  + 1=295. 
338—30=308—162=146—50=96—1  /z  col. =95. 
338—50=288—57  (79:1)— 231. 
338—30—308—162—146.     458—146—312+1—313+ 

7  b&  /z— 320. 
338—50  (74:2)— 288— 49  (76:1)— 289. 
338—49  (76:1)— 289.     603—289—314+1—315+ 

10  b  &  /z— 325. 
338—50=288. 

338—145—193.     577—193—384+1=385. 
338—30—308—49—259—4  b  col.— 255. 
338—30—308—50  (76:1)— 258. 

338—50=288—162  (78:1)— 126.     498—126=372+1= 
33*8— 145=193— 161— 32— 1  A— 81. 
338—145=193—3  *  (145)— 190. 
338—304  (78:1)— 34.     462—34—428+1—429. 
338—50—288—49  (76:1)=239— lb  &  £  col. =232. 
338—49—289—162=127—50=77.     603—77=526+1= 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

142 

76:2 

yet 

295 

76:2 

a 

188 

76:2 

haire 

309 

76:2 

on 

163 

76:2 

his 

139 


76:2 


chin; 


452 

77:1 

it 

243 

76:1 

is 

313 

76:2 

smooth 

347 

76:2 

as 

155 

76:2 

my 

156 

76:2 

hand. 

259 

76:2 

He 

111 

76:1 

was 

238 

76:2 

almost 

126 

78:2 

naked; 

231 

78:1 

without 

483 

77:2 

shirts, 

256 

76:2 

cloak 

84 

78:2 

or 

66 

80:2 

stockings, 

480 

76:2 

He 

585 

76:2 

doth 

316 

76:2 

weare 

317 

76:2 

nothing 

318 

76:2 

but 

295 

76:2 

a 

95 

76:2 

cap; 

231 

76:2 

his 

320 

76:2 

shoes 

239 

76:2 

out 

325 

76:2 

at 

288 

76:2 

the 

385 

77:1 

heels, 

255 

76:2 

short 

258 

76:2 

slops, 

373     ' 

76:1 

and 

31 

78:2 

a 

190 

76:2 

smock 

429 

78:2 

on 

232 

76:2 

his 

=  527 

76:2 

back, 

THE   YOUTHFUL  SHAKSFERE  DESCRIBED. 


759 


338—145=193—3  b  (145)— 190— 3  h  col.— 187. 
338—317  (79:1)— 21. 

338—49  (76:1)— 289— 162— 127+31  (79:1)— 158. 
338—50=288—162=126—32=94—3  h  col.— 91. 
338—50=288—162=126—58  (80:1)=66.     523—66= 

457+1=458. 
338-162  (78:1)=176— 32  (79:1)— 144.     462—144= 

318+1— 319+2  yfc— 321. 
338— 145=193— 3 />  (145)— 190— lb  col.— 189. 
338—145=193—3  b  (145)— 190.     577—190—387+1= 
338—50  (74:2)=288— 49  (76:1)— 239— 145=94.     577 

—94=483+1=484. 
338—50  (74.2)— 288— 50  (76 :1)=238— 145=93,     577 

—93—484+1=485. 
338—30—308—49  (76:1)— 289. 
338—50  (74:2)=288— 50  (76:1)— 238— 163— 75— 32 

(79:1)— 43.     462—43=419+1—420. 
338—50  (74:2)=288— 50  (76:1)=238— 163=75— 32 

(79:1)— 48. 
338—162=176—32=144.     468—144=324+1=325 

+  1  h  col.— 
338—30=308-145=163—5  b  &  h  col.— 158, 

338—50  (74.2)— 288— 49  (76 :1)=239— 145=94.    577— 

94—483+1=  484+5  b  &  /;— 389. 
338-50  (74:2)=288— 50(76:1)— 238— 145=93.     577 

—93=384+1=385+5  b  &  /*— 390. 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

187 

76:1 

out 

21 

79:2 

at 

158 

79:1 

elbow, 

91 

78:2 

and 

458 


484 


80:2 


77:1 


not 


321 

78:2 

over 

(189) 

77:1 

clean 

388 

77:1 

The 

truth 


485 

77:1 

is, 

259 

76:2 

he 

420 

78:2 

lived, 

43 

78:2 

at 

326 

78:1 

this 

158 

77:1 

time, 
in 

389 

77:1 

great 

390 

77:1* 

infamy, 

Here  we  have,  brought  out  by  the  same  root-number  (338),  a  whole  wardrobe: 
cap —  shirts  —  cloak  —  stockings  —  shoes — smock;  together  with  out  —  at  —  heels  — 
on  —  back  —  out  —  at  —  elbo7vs;  and  also  horson  —  knave  —  weare  —  nothing  — 
almost — naked.  Why  —  if  this  is  the  work  of  chance  —  did  not  some  of  these  words, 
descriptive  of  clothing,  come  out  by  the  other  root-numbers,  or  by  this  same  root- 
number,  when  applied  to  other  pages  ? 

Smock  occurs  but  once  in  this  play  and  but  six  other  times  in  all  the  Plays; 
elbow  is  found  but  once  in  this  act  and  but  twice  in  this  play;  shirts  occurs  but 
this  once  in  this  act;  slops  is  found  only  this  one  time  in  this  play,  and  b nt  one 
other  time  in  all  the  Plays;  this  is  the  only  time  stockings  is  found  in  the  play,  and 
it  occurs  but  eight  times  besides  in  all  the  Plays;  this  is  the  only  time  shoes  is  found 
in  this  play;  and  this  is  the  only  time  cap  occurs  in  this  act;  and  this  is  the  only  time 
infamy  is  found  in  this  play.  Can  any  one  believe  that  all  these  rare  words  came 
together,  in  so  small  a  compass,  by  chance;  and  that,  by  another  chance,  they  were 
each  of  them  made  the  338th  word  from  some  one  of  a  few  clearly  defined  points  of 
departure  in  counting? 

Observe  those  words  almost  naked.  Each  is  derived  from  33S;  nay,  each  is 
derived  from  338  minus  50=288.  We  commence  with  288  at  the  end  of  scene  2 
and  go  forward  to  the  next  column,  and  we  have  almost;  we  take  2S8  again,  and 
commence  at  the  end  of  the  next  scene  and  go  forward  again  to  the  next  column, 
and  we  have  naked  I  This  alone  would  be  curious;  but  taken  in  connection  with  all 
the  other  words  in  this  sentence,  which  cohere  arithmetically   and  in  sense  and 


760  THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 

meaning,  with  almost  naked — no  shifts  or  stockings  —  doth  wear  nothing  but  a  cap, 
and  shoes  out  at  the  heels,  and  a  smock  out  at  the  elboza,  not  over  clean,  it  amounts  to  a 
demonstration. 

The  word  slops  signified  breeches.  We  have  in  the  Plays:  "A  German,  from 
the  waist  downward  all  slops."*  We  also  find,  in  the  text  under  consideration, 
Falstaff  speaking  of  "the  satin  for  my  short  cloak  and  slops."  The  word  smack 
signified  a  rough  blouse,  such  as  is  worn  by  peasants  and  laborers.'2  In  the  text 
the  word  smock  is  disguised  in  smack,  which  was  pronounced  smock  in  that  age. 

Some  explanation  of  the  figures  used  as  modifiers  in  the  Cipher-work  are 
necessary.  We  are  advancing,  as  Bacon  would  say,  "into  the  bowels  of  the" 
play. 

Page  77  is  solid;  —  that  is  to  say,  there  is  no  break  in  it  by  stage  directions  or 
new  scenes.  The  first  column  of  page  78  contains  two  fragments;  one  of  162 
words,  being  the  end  of  scene  third;  the  other  the  first  part  of  Sccena  Quarta,  con- 
taining 306  words,  with  17  bracketed  words  and  3  hyphenated  words  besides.  If 
we  count  from  the  end  word  of  scene  third  upward,  exclusive  of  that  word,  as  we 
have  done  in  other  instances,  we  have  161  words;  if  we  count  from  the  beginning 
of  scene  fourth  we  have  162  words.  In  this  fragment  the  words,  "th'other,"  on 
the  14th  line,  are  counted  as  one  word —  "  t'other."  From  the  end  word  of  scene 
third  downward  there  are  306  words;  from  the  first  word  of  scene  fourth  downward 
there  are  305  words.  The  next  column  of  page  78  is  unbroken.  When  we  reach 
the  next  column  (79:1;  we  have  a  complicated  state  of  things.  The  column  is 
broken  into  four  fragments.  The  first  of  31  words,  with  5  words  in  brackets,  con- 
stitutes the  end  of  scene  fourth.  Then  we  enter  act  second.  The  .first  break  is 
caused  by  the  stage  direction,  Enter  Ealstaffe  and  Bardolfe,  and  ends  with  the 
317th  word  from  the  top  of  the  column;  being  the  286th  word  from  the  end  of  the 
last  act,  or  285  from  the  beginning  of  act  second,  or  284,  excluding  the  first  and 
last  word.  This  gives  us  the  modifier  286  or  285,  or  284.  And  to  the  bottom  of 
the  column  there  are  199  or  200  words. 

The  next  break  in  the  text  is  caused  by  the  stage  direction,  Enter  Ch.  Justice, 
ending  with  the  461st  word,  and  containing  143  or  144  words,  accordingly  as 
we  count  from  the  beginning  of  that  subdivision  or  the  end  of  the  preceding 
one;  and  the  fourth  fragment  runs  from  the  461st  word  to  the  end  of  the  column, 
and  contains  57  or  58  words.  The  second  column  of  page  79  is  broken  by  the 
stage  direction,  Enter  M.  Gower.  The  first  contains  533  words;  the  second  con- 
tains 64  or  65  words;  and  there  are  534  words  from  the  first  word  of  the  second 
subdivision,  inclusive,  to  the  top  of  the  column.  This  page  gives  us  therefore  these 
modifiers: 

31 — 32;  — 317 — 318;  —  284  —  285 — 286;  — 199 — 200;  — 461 — 462; — 143 — 144;  — 
57—58;  —  533—534;  —64—65. 

And  when  we  turn  to  the  next  column  (78:1)  the  remainder  of  the  scene,  scene 
1,  act  2,  gives  us  338  words,  with  12  b  &  5  h  words  additional;  and  the  fragment  of 
scene  second,  act  2  (78:1),  gives  us  57  or  58  words,  as  we  count  from  the  beginning 
of  scene  second  or  the  end  of  scene  first.  And  the  next  column  gives  us  two  frag- 
ments, yielding  461-2  and  61-2. 

And  here  I  would  call  the  attention  of  the  reader  to  the  curious  manner  in 
which  the  stage  directions  are  packed  into  the  corners  of  lines  on  page  79,  as 
compared  with  column  1  of  page  75,  where  the  words,  Enter  Morton,  axe  given 
about  half  an  inch  space;  or  on  page  64,  where  one  stage  direction  is  assigned 

1  Much  Ado  about  Nothing,  ii,  2. 

2  See  Webster  s  Dictionary,  "  Sinock""1  and  "Smock-frock." 


THE   YOUTHFUL  SHAKSPERE  DESCRIBED.  761 

three-quarters  of  an  inch  space;  or  page  62,  where  three  stage  directions  have 
nearly  an  inch  and  a  half  space,  while  three  others,  on  this  page,  79,  have 
not  even  a  separate  line  given  them.  The  crowding  of  matter  on  some 
pages,  as  compared  with  others,  is  also  shown  by  contrasting  the  small 
space  allowed  for  the  title  of  Actus  Secundus,  Sccena  Prima,  on  79:1,  with 
the  heading,  not  of  an  act,  but  a  scene,  on  the  next  column  (So:i).  In  the  one 
case  the  space  from  spoken  word  to  spoken  word  is  five-eighths  of  an  inch,  in  the 
other  it  is  an  inch  and  one-sixteenth.  And  that  this  is  not  accidental  is  shown 
also  in  the  abbreviations  used  on  page  79:  Chief  is  printed  67/./  remembered  is 
printed  remebred;  a  hundred  is  printed  a  100;  6°  is  constantly  used  for  and;  M.  is 
used  repeatedly  for  Master;  Mistress  is  printed  Mist.;  thou  is  repeatedly  printed  "!!;" 
twenty  shillings  is  printed  20  s.  And  observe  how  Lombard  street  and  silk  man 
(79:1,  29th  line)  are  run  together  into  one  word  each,  where  anywhere  else 
we  should  at  least  have  had  a  hyphen  between  their  parts.  And  that  these  things 
were  deliberately  done  is  shown  in  the  case  of  the  word  remembered (79:2,  16  lines 
from  end);  if  it  had  been  simply  printed  remebred  we  might  suppose  it  was  a  typo- 
graphical error,  but  the  printer  was  particular  to  put  the  sign  "  over  the  e  to  show 
that  there  had  been  an  elision  of  part  of  the  word.  Now  it  took  just  as  long  to  put 
in  that  mark  as  it  would  have  taken  to  insert  the  /;/  and  the  additional  e  between 
the  b  and  e.  (Did  the  ordinary  fonts  of  type  of  that  age  use  this  elision  sign?  Or 
were  these  types  made  to  order  ?) 

A  still  more  striking  fact  is,  that  while  by  uniform  custom  each  speaker  in  the 
text  of  the  Plays  is  allowed  his  line  to  himself,  yet  in  two  instances,  on  page  79, 
the  words  uttered  by  an  interlocutor  are  crowded  in  as  part  of  the  line  belonging  to 
another  speaker.     Thus  we  have  (79:1,  12th  line  from  end)  this  line: 

Falsi.    Keep  them  off,  Bardolfe.      Fang.    A  rescue,  a  rescue. 
And  again  (79:2,  3d  line): 

I  am  a  poor  widow  of  Eastcheap  and  he  is  arre- 
sted at  my  suit.       Ch.  Just.   For  what  summe  ? 

Here  we  see  that  the  printer  has  not  even  room  to  print  in  full  the  words  Chief 
Justice,  but  condensed  them  into  Ch.  Just. 

Now  every  printer  will  tell  you  that  unless  there  had  been  some  special  and 
emphatic  order  to  crowd  the  text  in  this  extraordinary  fashion,  it  would  not  have 
been  done;  but  a  dozen  lines  or  more  of  page  79  would  have  been  run  over  onto  page 
80,  where,  as  we  have  seen,  there  is  plenty  of  room  for  them.  Compare  79:1  or  79:2 
with  80:1.  There  are  in  So:i  no  abbreviations  in  spelling;  no  contractions,  with 
the  single  exception  of  one  M.  for  Master;  there  is  no  &  for  and;  no  using  of  figures 
for  words,  although  we  have  "  fifteen  hundred  foot,  five  hundred  horse;"  no  running 
of  the  speeches  of  two  characters  together  in  one  line.  And  there  are  631  words  on 
79:2  and  only  403  words  on  80: 1  !  And  yet  each  is  a  column,  the  one  following  the 
other.  Why  should  one  column  contain  228  words  more  than  the  other,  or  one- 
third  more  words  than  the  other  ?  There  is  on  page  79  matter  enough  to  constitute 
two  pages  and  a  half,  printed  as  column  1  of  page  80  or  as  column  1  of  page  62 
is  printed. 

But  the  exigencies  of  the  Cipher  required  that  column  79:2  should  contain  228 
words  more  than  column  80:1;  and  the  carrying  of  a  single  word  over  from  the  one 
to  the  other  would  have  destroyed  the  Cipher  on  both  pages;  and  hence  all  this 
packing  and  crowding  of  matter,  which  one  cannot  fail  to  observe  by  simply  glanc- 
ing at  the  page,  as  given  herewith  in  facsimile. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE  BISHOP  OF  WORCESTER  AND  HIS  ADVICE. 

The  curses  he  shall  have,  the  tortures  he  shall  feel,  will  break  the  back  of  a  man,  the  heart  of 
a  monster.  Winter's  Tale,  ii',3. 

505—167=338. 

Page  and 
Word.       Column. 

338—30=308—50=258—49=209.    603—209=394+1=395  76:2  The 

338—30=308—49=259.     498—259=239+1=240.  240  76:1        Bishop 

338—30=308—50=258—49=209—148=63.  63  77:1  said. 

Who  was  the  Bishop?  It  was  his  Lordship  Sir  John  Babington,  Bishop  of 
Worcester —  "  the  right  reverend  father  in  God,  Lord  John,  Bushop  of  Worcester  " — 
of  the  diocese  in  which  Stratford  was  situated, — for  whose  protection  was  executed 
that  famous  bond,  dated  November  28,  1582,  to  enable  "William  Shagspere,  one 
thone  partie,  and  Anne  Hathwey  of  Stratford,  in  the  dioces  of  Worcester,  maiden," 
to  marry  with  "  once  asking  of  the  bannes  of  matrimony  between  them."  ]  We 
know  that  the  Bishop  belonged  to  the  Cecil  faction,  and  when  Essex  was  arrested 
for  treason,  and  he  thought  he  could  do  so  safely,  he  took  advantage  of  the  oppor- 
tunity to  attack  him.      Hepworth  Dixon  says: 

Babington,  Bishop  of  Worcester,  glances  at  him  [Essex]  cautiously  in  a  court 
sermon;  but  when  sent  for  by  the  angry  Queen  he  denies  that  he  pointed  to  the 
Earl.2 

The  Bishop  belonged  to  the  Cecil  faction;  he  was  Sir  Robert's  superserviceable 
friend,  and  the  very  man,  of  all  others,  to  tell  him  all  about  Shakspere's  youth;  and 
we  will  see  hereafter  that  ' '  Anne  Hathwey  "  had  dragged  the  future  play-actor  before 
Sir  John,  as  Bishop  of  the  diocese;  and  that  Sir  John  had  compelled  Shakspere  to 
marry  her.  So  the  Bishop  knew  all  about  him.  And  herein  we  find  an  explana- 
tion of  the  bond  just  referred  to;  and  the  hurried  marriage;  and  the  baptism  tread- 
ing fast  upon  the  heels  of  the  bridal. 

And  it  was  the  Bishop  of  Worcester  who  gave  Cecil  the  description  of  Shak- 
spere's appearance  in  his  youthful  days  which  we  copied  into  the  last  chapter. 

And  there  is  a  great  deal  in  the  Cipher  story  about  the  Bishop  of  Worcester. 
When  Cecil  became  suspicious  of  the  Plays,  he  gave  Sir  John  the  plays  of  Richard 
II.  and  Measure  for  Measure  to  examine,  or,  as  Bacon  was  wont  to  say,  to  anato- 
mize —  ( The  Anatomy  of  Wit,   The  Anatomy  of  Melancholy,  etc.)     The  Bishop  found 

1  Halliwell-Phillipps'  Outlines,  p.  569.  8  Personal  History  of  Lord  Bacon,  p.  123. 

762 


THE  BISHOP  OF  WORCESTER  AXD  HIS  ADVICE.  763 

the  same  strain  of  infidelity  in  Measure  for  Measure  which,  centuries  afterwards, 
shocked  the  piety  of  Dr.  Johnson;  and  he  then  told  Cecil  the  story  of  Shakspere's 
life,  and  expressed  his  opinion  that  the  ragged  urchin  who  had  been  dragged  before 
him,  at  eighteen  years  of  age,  and  constrained,  perforce,  to  accept  the  responsi- 
bilities of  matrimony,  never  wrote  the  play  of  Measure  for  Measure  or  Richard  II. 
The  .Bishop  of  Worcester  is  also  referred  to  in  that  part  of  the  Cipher  narra- 
tive which  grows  out  of  the  root-number  523,  modified  by  commencing  to  count  at 
the  end  of  the  second  subdivision  of  74:2,  the  same  subdivision  which  gives  us  all 
the  33S  story;  but  instead  of  counting  only  to  the  beginning  of  the  subdivision, 
(167),  we  go  to  the  top  of  the  column,  which  gives  us  218  words  as  a  modifier.  We 
then  have: 

523—218=305. 

And  if  we  again  modify  this  by  deducting  193  (upper  75:2),  we  have  left  112; 
or,  if  we  deduct  254  (lower  75:2),  we  have  51  left;  and  if  we  deduct  50  at  the  end 
of  scene  second  (76:1)  we  have  255  left.  And  this  last  number,  255,  gives  us  the 
words  Bishop  and  Worcester.  Thus:  if  the  reader  will  commence  at  the  top  of  76:1, 
and  count  down  the  column,  counting  in  all  the  words,  bracketed  and  hyphenated, 
he  will  find  that  the  255th  word  is  the  end  word  of  the  240th  compound  word  Arch- 
bishop; and  if  he  will  carry  his  255th  number  down  the  next  preceding  column,  but 
not  counting  in  the  bracketed  and  hyphenated  words,  he  will  find  that  the  255th 
word  is  the  word  Worcester;  so  that  the  255th  word,  76:1,  is  Bishop,  and  the  255th 
word,  75:2,  is  Worcester.  And  observe  the  exquisite  cunning  of  the  work.  If  the 
reader  will  look  at  the  opening  of  this  chapter  he  will  see  that  that  same  last  word 
of  Arch-bishop  was  used  in  the  338  narrative.  That  is  to  say,  33S  minus  30  (the 
modifier  on  74:2)  equals  308,  and  this,  commencing  at  the  beginning  of  scene  third 
(76:1),  and  carried  down  the  column,  leaves  259;  and  259,  carried  up  the  column, 
counting  in  the  hyphenated  words,  brings  us  to  the  same  word  to//c/  —  the  last 
word  of  arch-bishop.  And  some  time  since  we  saw  the  arch  of  that  word  arch- 
bishop used  to  give  us  the  first  syllable  of  the  name  of  the  man  Archer,  who  slew 
Marlowe  ! 

But  lest  it  should  bt  thought  that  this  coming  together  of  Bishop  and  Worcester, 
by  the  same  number,  255,  was  another  accident,  I  pause  here,  and,  leaving  the  story 
growing  out  of  338  alone  for  a  while,  I  give  a  part  of  the  narrative  in  which  these 
words  Bishop  of  Worcester  occur.  And  here  I  would  ask  the  reader  to  observe  that 
you  cannot  dip  into  this  text,  at  any  point,  with  any  of  these  primal  root-numbers, 
505,  513,  516  or  523,  without  unearthing  a  story  which  coheres  perfectly  with  the 
narrative  told  by  the  other  numbers.  And  this  has  been  one  cause  of  the  delay  in 
publishing  my  book.  I  have  been  tempted  to  go  on  and  on,  working  out  the  mar- 
velous tale;  and  I  have  heaps  of  fragments  which  I  have  not  now  time  to  put  into 
shape  for  publication.  I  have  been  like  Aladdin  in  the  garden:  I  turn  from  one 
jewel-laden  tree  to  another,  scarce  knowing  which  to  plunder,  while  my  publishers 
are  calling  down  the  mouth  of  the  cave  for  me  to  hurry  up. 

Cecil  says  to  the  Queen: 

523—218=305. 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

305—50  (76:1)=255— 145=110— 3  ^  (145)=107. 

107 

77:1 

I 

305—50=255 

255 

77:1 

sent 

305—50=255. 

255 

76:1 

a 

305—50=255. 

255 

76:2 

short 

764 


THE  CIPHER  NARRA  TIVE. 


305—146  (76:2)=159— 1  b  col.— 158. 

305—50=255—32  (79:1)— 223. 

305—146=159—4//  col. =155. 

305—50=255—7  b  col.  =248. 

305—50=255.     449—255=194+1=195+2  A— 197. 

305—193=112—50  (76:1)— 62.  603—62=541  +  1=542. 

305—193=112—49  (76:1)— 63. 

305—193=112.     457+112=569. 

305—193=112—50=62+457=519. 

305—193=112—50=62. 

305—50=255.     508—255=253+1=254. 

305—193=112—15  b  &  h  (193)— 97.    448—97=351  +  1= 

305—49  (76:1)— 256— 146— 111.     577—111=466+1 

=467+3  b  (145)— 470. 
305—50=255—14  £  &  4  col.— 241. 
305—193=112—50=62.    458—62=396+1=397. 
305—50=255. 

305—49=256—5  h  col. =251. 
305—145=160—3  b  (145)— 157. 
305—193=112.     449—112=337+1=338. 
305—146=159.     449—159=290+1=291. 
305—146=159.     498—159=339+1=340. 
305—50=255—49  (76:1)=206— 32=174— 5  3  (32)= 

169—2  b  col.— 167. 
305—254=51.     508—51=457+1=458. 
305—193    112.    457—112=345+1=346. 
305—193=112—15  b  &  h  (193)— 97. 
305—50=255—11  3  &  A  col.— 244. 
305—50=255—10  £  col. =245. 
305—254=51.     448—51=397+1=398. 
305—50=255—162  (78:1)— 93. 
305—32  (79:1)— 273.     468—273=195+1=196. 
305—50=255.     610—255=355+1=356+9  b  col.— 
305—49=256.     610—256—354+1=355. 
305—50=255—32  (79:1)— 223+162— 385— 9  £—276. 
305—50—255—32  (79:1)— 223. 


Word. 

Page  and 

Column. 

158 

77:1 

time 

223 

76:2 

since, 

155 

248 
197 

77:1 
77:1 
76:1 

your 

Majesty, 

for 

542 
(63) 

76:2 
76:1 

my 
Lord 

569 

76:2 

Sir 

519 
62 

76:2' 
76:2 

John, 
the 

254 

75:2 

noble 

=352 

76:1 

and 

470 

77:1 

learned 

241 
397 

76:1 
76:2 

Bishop 
of 

255 

75:2 

Worcester, 

251 

76:1 

a 

157 
338 

77:1 
76:1 

good, 
sincere 

291 

76:1 

and 

346 

76:1 

holy 

167 

77:2 

man; 

458 

75:2 

and 

346 

76:2 

had 

97 

75:2 

a 

244 

77:1 

talk 

245 

76:1 

with 

398 

76:1 

him; 

93 

77:2 

and 

196 

78:1 

I 

365 
355 

77:2 
77:2 

gave 
him 

276 

78:1 

the 

223 

77:2 

scroll. 

Cecil  had  sent  a  short-hand  writer  to  the  play-house,  who  had  taken  down  the 
play  of  Richard  II. 

The  reader  will  observe  that  305,  in  this  example,  moves  either  from  the  lower 
subdivision  of  76:1,  or  the  upper  or  lower  subdivision  of  75:1;  255  yields  1  —  sent — 
a  —  short  —  since  — for —  noble  —  Bishop  —  Worcester  —  talk  —  with  —  and — gave  — 
scroll;  while  112  (305 — 193—1 12)  yields  my  —  Loi'd —  Sir — John  —  the1— of —  had — 
a.  Let  the  reader  look  at  the  words  Sir  John;  they  both  count  from  the  end  word  of 
the  first  subdivision  of  76:2,  counting  downward,  and  each  is  the  112th  word,  but 
while  Stria  112  words  from  457,  John  is  modified  by  deducting  50;  that  is,  instead 
of  commencing  to  count  with  112,  from  457,  we  begin  at  the  beginning  of  scene 
third,  count  in  the  50  words  therein,  and  then  carry  the  remainder  to  457,  and 
thence  down  as  before,  And  my  Lord  is  much  the  same;  my  is  again  112  less  50 
(from  the  end  of  scene  second  downward),  carried  up  76:2;  and  lord  is  112  less  49, 


THE  BISHOP  OF  WORCESTER  AND  HIS  ADVICE.  765 

from  the  beginning  of  scene  third,  carried  down  76:1.  Surely  all  this  cannot 
be  accident. 

And  the  Bishop  advised  Cecil  that  Shakspere  should  be  taken  and  put  to  the  tor- 
ture and  compelled  to  tell  who  wrote  the  Plays.  And  here  I  would  call  the  attention 
of  the  reader  to  one  or  two  other  points  which  prove  the  existence  of  the  Cipher, 
and  show  the  marvelous  nature  of  the  text. 

We  have  seen  that  523  minus  218  equals  305,  and  that  305  less  193  (upper  sub- 
division 75:1)  makes  112.  Now  if  we  go  down  75:2  the  112th  word  is  force,  while 
up  the  same  column  the  112th  word  is  limbs  (put  his  limbs  to  the  question  and  force 
him  to  tell),  while  in  the  next  column  the  112th  word  down  the  column  is  capable. 
And  if  we  apply  this  112  to  the  next  column,  we  find  it  giving  us  the  word  sincere 
(sincere  and  holy),  counting  upward  from  the  top  of  scene  third;  while  upward  from 
the  end  of  scene  second  it  yields  supposed  (the  Plays  it  is  supposed  Shakspere  was  not 
capable  of  writing);  and  down  the  same  column  the  112th  word  is  that  very  word, 
capable;  while  carried  forward  to  the  next  column  it  yields  Sir  John,  and  from  the 
same  column,  76:1,  and  the  next,  76:2,  it  gives  us  my  lord.  And  observe  how  cun- 
ningly supposed  and  sincere  are  brought  together,  the  one  being  the  112th  word 
from  the  end  of  scene  2,  the  other  the  112th  word  from  the  beginning  of  scene 
3;  and  note,  too,  the  forced  construction  of  the  sentence: 

Turns  insurrection  to  religion, 

Supposed  sincere  and  holy  in  his  thoughts. 

Of  course  there  is  a  clue  of  meaning  running  through  this,  but  every  word  is  a 
Cipher  word,  and  the  words  are  packed  together  very  closely;  turns  is  "turns  the 
water  out  of  the  fish-pond,"  given  in  Chapter  VI.,  page  697,  ante;  insurrection  is 
used  three  times  in  the  Cipher  story;  religion  was  used  in  telling  the  purpose  of  the 
Plays,  as  given  in  Chapter  VII.,  page  705,  ante;  and  we  will  find  it  used  again  and 
again;  and  here  in  this  chapter  we  have  supposed,  sincere  and  holy  employed  in  the 
Cipher  narrative. 

And  Cecil  expressed  to  the  Bishop  his  opinion  that  Shakspere  did  not  write  the 
Plays.      He  said: 

Page  and 

Word.      Column. 

305— 50=255— 145=110— 3  b  (145)=107.  107  77:1  I 

305—50=255.     448—255=193+1=194+2  h  col.=  196  76:1  ventured 

305—50=255—161=94.     498—94=404+1=405.  405  76:1  to 

305—50=255—145=110—3  b  (145)=107— 3  b&h  col.=104  77:1  tell 

305— 50=255— 32  (79. 1)=223.  223  74:2  him 

305—50=255—146=109.     577—109=468+1=469.  469  77:1  my 

305—50=255—50=205—146=59.     447—59=388+1=389  75:1  suspicion 
305—50=255—50=205—146—59.     447—59=388+ 

1=389+3^=392.  392  75:1  that 

305—50=255—32=223.  223  79:1  Master 

305— 50=255— 32  (79:1)=223— 145=78— 50  (76:1)=  28  75:2  Shak'st   ) 

305— 50=255— 50  (76: 1)=205— 145=60.  60  75:1  spur       ) 

305—50=255—50=205.     508—205=303+1=304.  304  75:2  is 

305— 50=255— 31=224— 145=79— 50  (76:1)=29.  29  76:2  not 
305—50=255—32=223.     248—223=25+1=26+ 

22  £  col.  =48.  48  74:2  himself 

305—193=112.  112  76:1  capable 

305— 50=255— 32  (79: 1)=223.  223  78:1  enough, 


766 


THE  CIPHER  NARRA  TIVE. 


305—50=255—32  (79:1)=223— 5  b  (32)=218— 50 

(76:1)— 168. 
305—50=255—32  (79 :1)=223— 146=77— 30=47. 

447-47=400+1=401. 
305—50=255—32  (79:1  =223-5/;  (32)=218— 50= 
305—50=255—32=223—146=77—30=47.    447—47 

=400+1=401  +  3  £—404. 
305—50=255—32=223—5/;  (32)=218— 49  (76:1)= 

169.  508—169=339+1=340+2/;  col.— 342. 
305—50=255—31=224.  498—224=274+1=275. 
305—50=255—31=224—5  b  (31)— 219— 50  (76:1)= 

169.     508—169=339  +  1=340. 
305—50=255—32  (79:1)=223— 3//  col.— 220. 
305—50—255—32  (79:1)— 223.    317(79:1)— 223— 94+1 
305-50—255—49  (76:1)=206— 161  (78:1)— 45. 
305— 50=255— 49=206— 161—  45— 32  (79:1)— 13. 

462—13=449+1—450. 
305— 50— 255— 31=224— 145— 79— 50(76:1)=29+ 

457=486. 
305—50—255—31=224—146=78. 
305—50=255.     449—255=194+1—195. 
305—50=255—50=205—32—173—5  b  (32)— 168. 
305—50—255—49—206—161—45—32—13. 
305—50—255—146=1 09—3  b  (146)— 106. 
305—161  (78:1)— 144.  457—144—313+1—314+5  b  col- 
305—50—255—146—109.     498—109—388+1—390. 
305—49  (76:1)— 256— 145— 111. 
305—50—255—32  (79:1)— 223— 50=173— 3  h  col.— 
305—193—112.     448—112=336+1=337. 
305—50—255—31—224—5  b  (31)=219— 50— 169— 49 

(76:1)— 120. 
305—50—255—162—93—50  (76:1)=43. 
305—193—112.     284—112—172+1—173. 
305—50—255—50=205—146—59.     448—59—389 + 1= 
305—50—255—31—224—5  b  (31)— 219— 50=169— 50 

—119— 2  b  col.— 117. 
305—50=255—32=223—146=77.     610—77—533+1 

—534+2// col. —536. 
305—50—255—31  (79:1)— 224. 
305—50—255—50=205. 
305—50—255—50=205—145=60—3  b  (145)— 57. 

284—57—227+1=228. 
305—50—255—32  (79:1)=223— 146=77— 30  (74:2)= 

47—9  b  &  h  col.  38. 
305—50—255—50=205—146—59.     449—59—390+1= 
305—50=255—50—205—146—59.     284—59—225+1= 
305—50—255—50—205—146—59.     193—59=134+1= 
305—145—160.     508-160—348+1—349+5  b  &  h= 
305— 50— 255— 31— 224—  hb  (31)— 219. 
305— 50=255— 31=224— 4  h  col.— 220. 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

168 

75:2 

and 

401 

75:1 

hath 

168 

76:2 

not 

404 


450 


117 


228 


75:1     knowledge 


342 

75:2 

enough, 

275 

76:1 

to 

340 

75:2 

have 

220 

76:2 

writ 

=95 

79:1 

the 

45 

78:2 

much 

(5:2 


74:1 


admired 


486 

76:2 

plays 

78 

76:1 

that 

195 

76:1 

we 

168 

76:1 

all 

13 

78:2- 

rate 

106 

77:1 

so 

=319 

79:2 

high, 

390 

76:1 

and 

111 

'77:1 

which 

170 

76:1 

are 

337 

76:1 

supposed 

120 

75:2 

to 

43 

75:2 

be 

173 

74:1 

his; 

=390 

76:1 

and 

which 


536 

77:2 

ever 

224 

76:2 

since 

205 

75:2 

the 

death 


38 

75:1 

of 

=301 

76:1 

More  j 

=226 

74:1 

low    ) 

=135 

75:2 

have 

(354) 

75:2 

been 

219 

76:1 

put 

220 

76:1 

forth 

THE  BISHOP  OF  WORCESTER  AND  HIS  ADVICE. 


767 


305—50=255—31=224—145=79. 

305—50=255—32=223—146=7;. 

305—50=255—31=224—5  b  (31) — 219 — 50=169— 145= 

305—50=255—162=93. 

305—50=255—20  b  col.— 335. 

305— 50=255— 32=223— 146=77— 3  b  col.— 74. 

305—50=255—32=223—1 46=77—50  (76:1)— 27. 

603—27=576+1=577. 
305—50=255—50=205—146=59.     284—59=225+1 

—226+6  h  col.— 282. 
305—50=255—50=205—146=59. 
305—50=255—50=205—146=59. 
305—50=255—50=205—145=60. 
305—50=255—50=205—146=59. 
305—50=255—50=205—146=59—6  b  &  h  col. =53. 
305—50=255—32=223—146=77—2  h  col.— 75. 
305—50=255—31  (79:1)=224— 145=79. 
305—50=255—31=224—145=79.     284—79=205+1= 
305—50=255—32=223—5  b  (82)— 218— 50— 168. 

458—168=290+1=291. 
305—50=255—50=205—146=59—3  b  (146)— 56. 

248—56=192+1=193+2/;  &  A— 195. 
305— 50=255— 31=224— 145=79— 30  (74:2)=49. 

447—49=398 +1=399 + 3=402. 
305—193=112—15  b  &  /i=91—10b  col  =87. 
305—50=255—50=205—145=60.     248—60=188+1= 
305—50=255—49  (76:1)— 206.     603—206=397+1= 
305— 146— 159— 3  £  (146)— 156. 

305—49  (76:1)— 256— 145— 111.     577—111—466+1— 
305— 50=255— 145=1 10. 
305—50—255—50=20."). 

305—50=255—32  (79:1)— 223— 50  (76:1)— 173. 
305—50—255—49  (76:1)— 206. 
305—50—255.    449—255—194+1—195. 
305—162—143—2  h  col. =141. 
305—50=255—31=224—5  b  (31)— 219— 4  h  col.— 
305—50=255—162=93.     577—93=484+ 1—485. 
305—50—255—49=206—162—44.     610—44=566+1 

567+2  A  col:— 569. 
305—50—255—32  (79:1)— 223— 146— 77— 5  b  &  h  col.= 
305—50=255—50=205—32=173.  603—173=430+1= 
305—49=256—30=226—50  (76:1)— 176— 1  h  col.— 
305—193=112.  248—112=136+1=137+12  b  &  h  col.= 
305—50=255—32=223.     610—223=387+1—388. 
305—49=256—145—111.     457—111—346+1=347. 
305—50—255.     508—  255— 253+1— 254—  3  h  col.— 
305— 50=255— 32— (79:1)— 223— 7  b  &  h  col.— 216. 
305—50—255—162=93—3  b  col.— 90. 
305—50=255—32=223.     518—223=295+1—296. 
305—162—143. 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

79 

76:1 

in 

77 

77:2 

his 

=  24 

77:1 

name. 

93 

77:2 

And 

235 

75:2 

that 

74 

76:1 

it 

291 


195 


r6:2 


232 

74:1 

rumoured 

59 

75:2 

that 

59 

74:2 

every 

60 

76:2 

one 

59 

74:1 

of 

53 

74:1 

them 

75 

76:1 

was 

79 

74:1 

prepared 

=206 

74:1 

under 

76:2 


W\ 


his 


402 

75  1 

by 

87 

74:1 

some 

=189 

75:1 

gentleman. 

398 

76:2 

His 

156 

77:1 

Lordship 

467 

77:1 

advised 

110 

77:1 

that 

205 

75:2 

the 

173 

75:2 

best 

206 

75:2 

thing 

195 

76:1 

we 

141 

76:1 

could 

215 

77:2 

do 

485 

77:1 

is 

569 

77:2 

to 

=  72 

76:1 

make 

=431 

76:2 

him 

175 

76:2 

a 

=149 

74:1 

prisoner, 

388 

77:2 

and, 

347 

76:2 

as 

257 

75:2 

soon 

216 

76:2 

as 

90 

76:1 

he 

296 

79:1 

is 

(143) 

73:1 

apprehendec 

768 


THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 


305—193=112—49  (76:1)— 63.     508—63=445+1= 
305—50=255—32=223—146=77-  50  (76:1)— 27. 

457—27=430+1=431. 
305—50=255—50=205—145=60.     508—60=448+1= 
31)5—50=255—50=205—145=60.     508—60=448 

+  1=449+1  *— 450. 
305—50=255—146=109.     498—109=389+1=390. 
305—146=159—3  b  (146)— 156. 
305—50=255—50=205—31  (79 : 1  )=1 74.     457—1 74= 

283+1=284. 
305—193=112—15  b  &  7^=97—49=48. 
305—50=255—31=224.     610—224=386+1=387+ 

2  A— 389. 
305—50=255—32  (79 :1)=223— 146=77.     498—77= 

421  +  1=422. 
305—193^112.     248—112=136+1=137. 
305—50=255—31  (79:1)=224.     610—224=386+1= 
305—193=112.     248—112=136+1=137+11  b  col.— 
305—50=255—31  (79:1)— 224.     448—224=224+1= 
305—50=255—32  (79:1)— 223.     448—223=225  + 1= 
305—50=255—50=205. 
305—50=255—32=223—5  b  (32)— 218.     448—218= 

230+1=231  +  5  b  &  £=236. 
305—146=159.     457—159=298+1=299. 
305—50=255—32=223—162=61. 
305—50=255—162=93.     498—93=405+1=406. 
305—50=255—50=205—31=174—5  b  &  A— 169. 

610—169=441  +  1=442+9  b  col. =451. 
305—49=256—162=94.     577—94=483+1=484. 
305—50=255—32=223.     610—223=387+1=388. 
305—50=255—145=110—  3  <H145)=107— 3  b  &  h  col.= 
305—50=255—31  (79:1)— 224.     284—224=60+1=61 

+  l/i  col. =68. 
305—50=255—31  (79:1)=224— 4  b  col.=220. 
805—50—2  55.     32 + 255=287 . 
305—50=255—32  (79:1)— 223.    457—223=234 

+  1=235. 
305— 50=255— 146=109— 3  £(146)— 106.     577—106 

—471  +  1—472. 
305—50—255—50—205—146=59—2  h  col. =57. 
305—50—255—49  (76:1)— 206— 145— 61— 3  b  (145)— 
305—50=255—32—223.     498—223—275+1=276+ 

2  b  col.— 278. 
305—50—255—32  (79:1)— 223— 5  b  (32)— 218. 
305—50=255—50  (76:1) — 205— 145=60—  3  b  (145)— 

57—1  h  col.— 56. 
305—50—255—31  (79:1)— 224— 5  b  (31)— 219.     457— 

219=238+1—239+11  b  &  £—250. 
305—193=112—1  h  col. —111. 
305—193—112—10  b  col  =102. 
305—50=255—31  (79:1)— 224— 5  b  (31)— 219. 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

446 

75:2 

bind 

431 

76:2 

him 

=449 

75:2 

with 

450 

75:2 

iron, 

390 

76:1 

and 

156 

76:1 

bring 

284 

76:2 

him 

48 

?6:2 

before 

389 


235 


56 


77:2 


76:2 


77:1 


the 


422 

76:1 

Council; 

137 

74:2 

and 

387 

77:2 

it 

148 

74:2 

is 

225 

76:1 

more 

226 

76:1 

than 

205 

76:1 

likely 

236 

76:1 

the 

299 

76:2 

knave 

61 

77:2 

would 

406 

76:1 

speak 

451 

77:2 

the 

484 

77:1 

truth, 

388 

77:2 

and 

104 

77:1 

tell 

68 

74:1 

who 

220 

76:2 

writ 

287 

79:1 

it. 

But 


472 

77:1 

in 

57 

76:1 

the 

58 

76:1 

event 

278 

76:1 

that 

218 

76:2 

he 

lied 


250 

76:2 

about 

111 

75:1 

the 

102 

74:1 

matter 

219 

77:2 

your 

Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

234 

76:2 

Grace 

111 

75:2 

should 

410 

76:2 

have 

109 

76:1 

his 

397 

75:2 

limbs 

351 

76:2 

put 

275 

76:1 

to 

=230 

236 

76:1 

the 

=   493 

76:2 

question 

61 

76:1 

and 

112 

75:2 

force 

398 

76:1 

him 

49 

76:1 

to 

211 

77:2 

confess 

42 

77:2 

the 

THE  BISHOP  OF  WORCESTER  AND  HIS  ADVICE.  769 


305—50=255—31  (79:1)— 224.     457—224=233+1= 
305—49  (70 :1)=256— 145=111. 
305—193=112—15  b  &  ,4=97— 49  (76:1)=48.     45" 

48=409+1=410. 
305—193=112—3  b  col.=109. 
305—193=112.     508—112=396^1=397. 
305—193=112.     457— 112=345 +1=346+ 5  £  col.= 
305—50=255—50=205—31  (79*1)— 174.     448—174 

=274+1=275. 
305—50=255—32=224—5  b  (82)— 219.     449—219= 

+  1=231  +  5  b  &  //=236. 
305—49  (76 :1)=256— 145=111.     603—111=492  +  1= 
305—50=255—49  (76:1)— 206— 145— 61. 
305—193=112. 

305—254=51.     448—51=397+1=398. 
305—254=51—2  h  col.  =49. 

305—50=255—31  (79:1)=224— 13  b  &  h  col.— 211. 
305—50=255—50=205—162=43—1  h  col.  =42. 
305—50=255—32=223—5  b  (32)=218.     449—218= 

231  +  1=232+5  b  &  //=237.  237  76:1  truth. 

Here,  it  will  be  observed,  we  have  two  more  instances  where  Shakst-spur  and 
More-lozv  come  into  the  Cipher  narrative  by  countings  different  from  those  already- 
given.  And  if  all  this  be  accident,  then  surely  we  have  a  wonderful  array  of  words 
growing  out  of  305.  Take  that  last  sentence:  Your  Grace  should  have  his  limbs 
put  to  the  question  and  force  him  to  con/ess  the  truth;  here  every  word  is  the  305th 
word,  and  they  are  all  found  in  four  columns,  75:2,  76:1,  76:2  and  77:2.  Confess 
only  occurs  two  other  times  in  this  play;  limbs  occurs  but  two  other  times  in  this 
play,  and  force  but  three  other  times  in  this  play.  I  think  an  examination  will 
show  that  wherever  limbs,  force  and  confess  are  found  in  the  Plays  the  word  question 
is  near  at  hand. 

"Alas  I  erShakspere"  was  used  in  that  day  where  we  would  say  "A/isterShakspere." 
And  observe  that  every  word  of  Master  Shakst-spur  is  the  255th  word  [523 — 21S 
(74:2) — 305 — 50  (76:i)=255].  Master  and  Shakst  are  each  255  minus  32,  the  frag- 
ment at  the  top  of  79:1,  and  Shakst  and  spur  are  both  taken  through  the  second 
section  of  76:2  and  then  carried  backward. 

As  a  curious  illustration  of  the  adjustment  of  the  length  of  columns  to  the 
necessities  of  the  Cipher  I  would  call  attention  to  the  first  column  of  page  74,  the 
first  of  the  play.  If  the  reader  will  turn  back  to  pages  724  and  725  he  will  find 
that  the  same  words,  prepared  (79 — 74:1)  and  under  (206 — 74:1),  which  are  used  in 
the  foregoing  narrative,  were  there  used  as  growing  out  of  a  different  Cipher  num- 
ber, to-wit,  516;  thus:  516 — 167=349 — 22  b  &  //=327 — 248=79.  Now  if  we  go  dozen 
the  column  (74:1)  the  79th  word  is  prepared;  and  if  we  go  up  the  column  the  79th 
word  is  under  ("  prepared  under  the  name  of,"  etc.)  But  we  have  just  seen  that 
305  minus  50  leaves  255,  and  this  minus  49  (76:1)  leaves  206;  now  if  we  carry  206 
down  that  same  column  (74:1),  it  gives  us  again  the  same  word  under;  and  if  we 
carry  it  up  the  column  it  gives  us  again  that  same  word  prepared.  So  that  the 
reader  can  perceive  that  the  number  of  words  in  the  column  between  79  and  206  was 
fixed,  and  therefore  the  length  of  the  whole  column,  by  the  necessity  of  making 
prepared  the  79th  word  from  the  top  and  the  206th  word  from  the  bottom,  and  under 
the  79th  word  from  the  bottom  and  the  206th  word  from  the  top  !  Was  anything 
more  ingenious  than  this  ever   seen  in  the  world? 


CHAPTER  XV. 


SHAKSPERE' S  ARISTOCRA  TIC  PRETENSIONS. 


Autolycus.     I  know  you  are  now,  sir,  a  gentleman  born. 
Clown.     Ay,  and  have  been  so  any  time  these  four  hours. 

Winter's  Tale,  v^3. 

EVERY  Cipher  word  in  this  chapter  grows  out  of  the  root-number 
$2j — 2iS'=j0j;  and  all  but  the  first  four  commence  from    the 
end  of  scene  4,  act  i,  or  the  beginning  of  act  ii,  scene  1. 

I  have  given  but  part  of  the  story  in  the  foregoing  chapter. 
The  Bishop  goes  on  to  tell  Cecil  his  reasons  for  thinking  that  Shak- 
spere, if  arrested,  will  tell  who  wrote  the  Plays.  He  says  that 
Shakspere  is  no  longer  in  poverty: 


305—50=255—31  (79:1)=224. 


Word. 
224 


Page  and 

Column. 

78:2 


Poverty 


174 

76:1 

loss 

193 

78:2 

heads 

223 

76:1 

goods 

And  that  neither  he  nor  his  men  will  risk  the  loss  of  their  heads  or  their  goods 
to  shield  the  real  writer  of  the  Plays: 

305—50=255—50=205—31  (79:1)=174. 
305—50=255—31=224—31  b  &  k— 193. 
305—50=255—32=223 

And  the  Bishop  tells  Cecil  that,  though  Shakspere — 

305—31=274—30  (74:2)=244— 199  (79:1)— 46.     468 

—45=423+1=424.  424  78:1  lives 

305— 31=274— 50=224— 5  3(31  )=21 9—4  h  col.  —  215  78:2  in 
305—31=274—50=224—5  b  (32)=219.     219—146= 

73— 3  3(146)=70.     577—70=507+1=508+2//=  510  77:1  great 

305—31=274—50=224.  224  78:2  poverty 

305— 31=274—  30=244—  5  b  (32)=239.  239  78:2  in 

305— 31=274— 50=224— 5  b  (32)=21 9.  219  78:2  his 
305—31=274—50=224.     610—224=386+1=387+ 

3 //col. =390.  390  79:2  young 
305—32=273—50=223—5  b  (32)=218— 50=168— 146 

=22-3  3(146)=19.    577— 19=558 +1=559 +l//=560  77:1  days, 

he  is  now  wealthy,  and  that  his  coffers  are  full.  In  that  age  there  were  no  banks, 
and  a  man's  money  was  contained  in  his  coffers.  We  are  told  that  when  the 
father  of  Pope   retired  from  business,  as  a  merchant  in  London,  he  carried  home 

770 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

274 

78:2 

His 

220 

78:2 

coffers 

190 

78:2 

are 

240 

78:2 

full. 

SUA  ASF  ERE'  S  A  RIS  TO  CRA  TIC  PRE  TENSIONS.  7  7 l 

with  him  $100,000  in  a  chest,  and  when   he  needed  money  he  went  to  his  chest 
and  took  it  out.     There  was  no  drawing  of  checks  in  that  day. 

And  here  I  would  ask  the  reader  to  note  the  evidences  of  the  Cipher  connected 
with  that  word  coffers.  The  root-number  we  are  working  with  is  305  [523 — 218 
(74:2)=305];  now,  there  is  at  the  top  of  column  1  of  page  79  a  fragment  of  scene 
4,  act  i,  containing  31  words;  this  deducted  from  305  leaves  274,  and  if  we  count 
down  the  next  column  forward  (78:2),  that  is,  if  we  return  into  the  scene  which  gave 
us  the  31  words,  the  274th  word  in  the  column,  and  the  305th  from  the  end  of  the  scene, 
is  the  word  his  ("  should  lead  his  forces  hither").  But  if  we  deduct  50  —  the  com- 
mon modifier  of  74:2 — from  274,  we  have  224,  and  the  224th  word  is  poverty,  just 
given  in  the  preceding  sentence;  but  if  we  count  in  the  four  hyphens  in  the  column, 
the  224th  word  is  then  the  220th  word,  coffers;  and  if  we  deduct  30  —  the  other  com- 
mon modifier  of  74:2  —  from  224,  and  count  down  the  same  column,  we  have  194. 
And  if  we  again  count  in  the  four  hyphenated  words,  this  makes  the  194th  word 
the  190th  word,  are;  and  if  we  take  274  again  and  deduct  30  from  that  we  have  244; 
and  if  we  again  go  down  the  same  column  and  again  count  in  the  same  four 
hyphenated  words,  the  244th  word  becomes  the  240th  word,  full.  Here  then  we 
have,  in  regular  order,  his  coffers  are  full;  thus: 


305—31=274. 

305—31=274—50  (74:2)=224—  4  h  col.=220. 
305—31=274—50  (74:2)=224— 30=194— 4  h  col.— 
305—31=274—30=244—4/^  col.— 240. 

Here  every  word  is  the  274th,  and  is  found  in  the  same  column,  and  the  last 
three  are  produced  by  counting  in  the  same  four  hyphenated  words. 

And  the  Bishop  goes  on,  by  the  same  root-number,  274,  to  tell  how  Shakspere 
got  so  much  money.  And  here  are  some  striking  evidences  of  the  Cipher.  We 
have  the  sentence  "divided  in  three  divisions,'"  referring  to  the  distribution  of  the 
money  made  out  of  the  Plays;  —  one  part  to  the  theater,  one  to  the  actors  and  one 
to  the  ostensible  author,  Shakspere,  who,  in  turn,  divided  with  the  real  author, 
Bacon.  Now,  the  word  divisions  is  very  rare  in  the  Plays;  it  occurs  but  twice  in 
this  play,  and  not  once  besides  in  all  the  other  nine  Histories  !  Yet  here  we  find  it 
co-related  arithmetically  with  divided  and  three;  and  this  is  the  only  time  divided 
occurs  in  this  play  !     And  it  is  found  but  seven  other  times  in  all  the  Histories. 

We  saw  that  305 — 31  (79:1)^274 — 30  (74:2)=244,  and  that  244,  minus  the 
hyphenated  words,  was  full.  But  if  we  deduct  from  244  the  27  bracketed  words 
in  the  same  column  (78:2)  we  have  left  217,  and  the  217th  word  in  the  same  col- 
umn is  divided.  Now  we  saw  that  305 — 31=274  carried  down  the  column  produced 
his  ("his  coffers  ");  but  if  we  carry  it  up  the  same  column  it  gives  us  as  the  189th  word 
that  rare  word  divisions,  the  only  word  of  the  kind,  with  one  exception,  in  all  the 
ten  Historical  Plays;  and  as  we  saw  that  counting  in  the  hyphens  produced  the 
words  coffers  are  full,  so,  if  we  count  in  the  hyphens  in  that  last  example,  we 
have  as  the  274th  word  up  the  column,  not  divisions,  but  three;  "divided  three 
divisions;"  and  if  we  deduct  the  common  modifier,  198  (74:2)»  from  274,  and  go  up 
the  next  preceding  column  with  the  remainder,  76,  we  have  the  393d  word,  into;  — 
"  divided  into  three  divisions."  But  to  make  the  division  of  the  profits  a  fair  one 
the  shares  ought  to  have  been  equal;  and  here  we  have  it:  305 — 31=274;  and  if  we 
deduct  from  274,  79,  the  common  modifier  of  73:1,  we  have  left  195;  and  if  we  count 
in  the  31  bracketed  and  hyphenated  words  we  have  the  164th  word,  equal.  But 
if  from  274  we  deduct  the  common  modifier  of  74:2,   50,  we  have  224  left,   and  if 


772 


THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 


we  deduct  from  224  the  same  79  (73:1)  we  have  145,  and  the  145th  word  down 
the  column  is  and,  but  carried  into  the  bracket  sentence  it  is  fair.  And  put 
together  we  have  this  sentence: 


305—31=274—30  (74:2)— 244— 197  (74:2)=47.     462— 

47=4154-1=416. 
305—31=274—30  (74:2)=244— 27  b  col.— 217. 
305—31=274.     462—274=1884-1=189+8  b  &  //— 
305—31=274—5  b  (31)=269.     610—269=341  + 1= 

342+9  b  col.— 351. 
305—31=274—198  (74:2)=76.  468—76=392  +  1=393. 
305—31=274.    462—274=188+1=189+3  h  col.— 
305—31=274—50=224—79=145. 
305—31=274—50=224—79=145. 
305—31=274—79  (73:2)=195— 31  b  &  h  col.=164. 
305—31=274.     462—274=188+1=189. 
305—31=274—50=224—50=174. 
305—31=274—50=224—5  b  (31)=219. 
305—31=274—50=224—79=145.  462—145=317+1= 
805— 81— 274— 3  h  col.— 371. 

305—31=274—50=224—30=194.  462—194=268+1= 
305—31=274—50=224—79  (73:2)=145— 22  b  col.— 
305—31=274—50=224+31=255—3  b  col.— 252. 
305—31=274—5  b  (31)— 269.     610—269=341+1= 

342+3  h  col.=345. 
305—31=274—50=224—30  (74:2)=194— 79  (73:1) 

=115.     462—115=347+1=348+6  b  &  k  col.— 
305—31=274—50=224—79=145.     462—145=317+ 

1=318+5=323. 
305—31=274—50=224—50  (76:1)— 174.     603—174 

=429+1=430. 
305—31=274—218=56. 
305—31=274—30  (74:2)=244— 219  (74:2)— 25.     462 

—25=437+1=438. 
305—31=274—5  b  (31)=269— 197  (74:2)=72. 
305—31=274—198=76.     76—57=19.     523—19= 

504+1=505. 
305— 50=255— 32=223— 30=193— 161=32 +  /z— 32 
305—32=273—30=243—198  (74:2)=45— 22  b  (198)= 

23.     518—23=495+1=496. 
305—31=274.     598—274=324+1=325. 
305—286  (31  to  317,  79:1)— 19.     462—19=443+1= 
305—31=274—50=224—50  (76:1)— 174. 
305—31=274—50=224—79=145.     32+145=177. 
305—31=274—218=56—2  /&— 54. 
305—31=274—219—55 . 

305—31=274.     598—274=324+1=325+1  h  col.— 
305—31=274—218=56—2  //=54. 
305—32—273—30=243—13  h  &  £—230. 
305—31=274—162=112—2  h  col.=110. 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

416 
217 

78:2 
78:2 

They 
divided 

197 

78:2 

the 

351 
393 

77:2 
78:2 

money 
into 

192 

78:2 

three 

[145] 

145 

78:2 
78:2 

fair 
and 

164 
189 

78:2 
78:2 

equal 
divisions, 

174 

78:2 

and 

219 

78:2 

his 

=318 

78:2 

own 

371 
=269 

77:2 
78:2 

part 
is 

123 

78:2 

five 

252 

79:1 

hundred 

345 

77:2 

marks. 

354 

78:2 

He 

323 


78:2 


hath 


430 

76:2 

bought 

(56) 

78:2 

a 

438 

78:2 

goodly 

72 

78:2 

estate 

505 

80:2 

called 

32 

78:1 

New 

496 

79:1 

Place, 

325 

79:2 

and 

444 

78:2 

he 

174 

76:2 

is 

177 

79:1 

going 

(54) 

78:2 

to 

(55) 

78:2 

pluck 

326 

79:2 

down 

54 

78:2 

the 

230 

77:2 

old 

110 

78:2 

house, 

SHAKSPERE'S  ARISTOCRA  TIC  PRETEXSIONS. 


773 


305—286  (31  to  317,  79:l)=19. 
305—31=274—50=224—50=174. 
305—31=274—5  b  (31)=269.     533 

265+^=271. 
305—31=274—50=224—50  (76:1)= 
305—31=274—218  (74:2)— 56— 2  h  col. 
305—31=274—5  b  (31)=269.     462—269=193+1= 

194+5  b  col.=199. 
305—31=274—30  (74:2)=244— 5  b  (31)=239— 197 

(74:2)=42. 
305— 3 1=2  74—50=224 +31=255 . 
305—31=274—50=224+162=386—2  h  col.  =384. 
305—31=274—5  b  (31)=269.     462—269=193+1= 
305—31=274—5  b  (31)=269+ 163=432—3  b  col.— 
305—31=274—50=224—50=174—4  h  col. =170. 
305—31=274—5  b  (3 1)=269+ 163=432. 
305—31=274—146  (76:2)=128— 3  b  (146)— 125.     508 

—125=383+1=384. 
305— 31=274— 50=224.    498—224=274 + 1=275 + 

2  b  col.  =277. 
305—31=274—198=76. 
305—31=274—50=224—30=194  -145=49.     577—49 

=528+1=529+2//  col.— 581. 
305—31=274+162=436—20/;  &  h  col. =416. 
305—31=274—50=224—162=62—2  h  col.— 60. 
305—31=274—30  (74:2)=244— 162=82— 14  b  &  A— 
305—31=274—50=224—50  (76:1)— 174.    498—174= 

324+1=325. 
305— 31=274— 197  (74:2)=77— 65(79 :2)=12— 2  b  (65) 

=10.     338—10=328+1=329. 
305—31=274—50=224—50  (76:1)— 174 —3  b  col.— 
305—31=274—50=224—50=174—145=29    449—29 

=420+1=421. 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

19 

78:2 

which 

174 

70:2 

is 

269=264+1= 

(271) 

79:2 

gone 

174—4  b  col.— 

170 

76:2 

to 

col.— 54. 

54 

76:1 

decay, 

199 


384 


325 


305—31=274—197  (74 
305—31=274—197  (74 
305—31=274—197  (74: 
305—31=274—198  (74 

12=326+1=327. 
305—31=274—30=244—5=239—31  b  &  h  col 


2)— 77. 

2)— 77— 11  £—66. 

2)=77— 65  (79:1)= 12— 2  b  (64)= 
2  =76— 64  (79:1)— 12.     338— 


r8:2 


and 


42 

78:2 

build 

255 

79:1 

a 

384 

7+.1 

great 

194 

78:2 

one 

429 

78:1 

in 

170 

78:2 

the 

432 

78:1 

spring 

fit 


277 

76:1 

for 

76 

78:2 

a 

531 

77:1 

prince. 

416 

78:1 

Indeed, 

60 

78:2 

the 

68 

78:2 

surveyors 

r6:l 


329 

80:1 

now- 

171 

76:1 

engaged 

421 

76:1 

and 

77 

79:1 

the 

66 

78:2 

foundation 

=  10 

80:1 

walls 

327 

80:1 

part 

208 

78:2 

up. 

Architects  were  in  that  age  called  surveyors;  this  is  shown  in  the  text  where  the 
word  is  used. 

Foundation  occurs  only  eight  times  in  all  the  Plays,  only  three  times  in  the 
Historical  Plays,  and  only  this  one  time  in  this  play.  Walls  occurs  but  this  time 
in  this  play  !  And  here  we  have  these  two  rare  words  coming  together,  one  on  page 
78:2,  and  the  other  on  page  80,  that  is  to  say,  in  two  contiguous  scenes,  and  linked 
together  by  the  same  root-number  and  the  same  modification  of  the  same  root-num- 
ber, to-wit:  305 — 31=274 — 197  (74:2)=77;  and  in  each  case  the  bracket  words  are 
counted  in  to  place  the  terminal  number.  And  the  same  remnant,  12,  which  gives 
us,  carried  down  80:1  {minus  the  brackets  in  65),  walls,  gives  US,  carried  up  from  the 
end  of  the  scene,  fiart(li  walls  part  up  ");  and,  modified  by  deducting  the  brackets,  it 


774 


THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 


gives  us  the  word  now;  while  the  12th  word  in  the  same  column    is  pretty,  which 
alludes  to  Shakspere's  daughter  Susanna: 


305—31=274—162=112. 
305—31=274—50=224—145=79—65  (79:2)=14— 2  b 

(65)— 12. 
305— 31=274— 50=224— 5  £  (32)=219.     420—219 

=201+1=202. 
305—31=274—197  (74 :2)=77+ 162=239. 
305—31=274—197=77. 
305— 31=274— 162=1 12+ 185=297. 
305—31=274—30=244—6  b  &  h  col.  =238. 
305—31=274—30=244—197=47—2  b  col. =45. 
305—31=274—3  h  col. =271. 


And    the    Bishop,   who  had    an    eye    for  the    beautiful, 
Susanna  more  particularly,  and  tells  that  she  has  — 


Page  and 
Column. 

Word. 

112 

78:2 

His 

12 

80:1 

pretty- 

202 

81:2 

daughter, 

239 

78:1 

to 

77 

78:1 

whom 

297 

81:1 

he 

238 

81:2 

is 

45 

78:2 

much 

271 

81:2 

endeered. 

proceeds   to   describe 


305—31=274.     420—274=146+1=147. 
305—31=274—30=244—5  b  (31)=239— 3  h  col.— 
305—31=274—50=224.     420—224=196+1=197+ 
9  b  col.  =206. 

And  has  been  well  taught: 

305—31=274—50=224—50  (76:1)— 1 74—146=28. 

577—28=549+1=550. 
305—31=274—30=244—197=47. 

1=293+2  4=295. 


339—47=292+ 


147 

(236) 

206 


550 


295 


81:2 
81:2 

81:2 


77:1 


a 
sweet 

visage, 


well 


80:1         taught. 


Which  the  Bishop  regards  as  foolish  in  a  man  in  Shakspere's  station  in  life: 
305—31=274—30=244—197=47.     339—47=292+1=293  80:1        foolish. 

And  the  Bishop  proceeds  to  tell  that  Shakspere  not  only  sought  to  "bear 
arms  "  as  a  gentleman,  but  that  he  was  trying  to  have  his  father,  John  Shakspere, 
knighted  !  This  statement  will  appear  astounding,  but  I  have  already  shown  (p.  51, 
ante,  et  set/.)  that  he  tried  to  obtain  a  coat-of-arms  for  his  father  by  false  representa- 
tions; and  he  might  have  hoped  that,  through  the  influence  of  his  friends  in  London 
and  about  the  court,  he  could  accomplish  the  other  and  greater  object;  or  it  may 
have  been  but  a  rumor  obtaining  among  the  aristocracy  of  the  neighborhood,  who 
were  indignant  at  the  rich  plebeian  setting  up  for  a  gentleman.  It  was  in  October, 
1596,  that  the  application  was  made  to  the  College  of  Arms  for  a  grant  of  coat- 
armor  to  John  Shakspere.     Halliwell-Phillipps  says: 

It  may  be  safely  inferred  from  the  unprosperous  circumstances  of  the  grantee 
that  this  attempt  to  confer  gentility  on  the  family  was  made  at  the  poet's  expense. 
This  is  the  first  evidence  we  have  of  his  rising  pecuniary  fortunes,  and  of  his  deter- 
mination to  advance  in  social  position.1 

And  Grant  White,  it  seems,  shrewdly  and  correctly  guessed  2  that  there  must 
have  been  some  protest  against  the  granting  of  the  coat-of-arms  and  that  this 
caused  the  delay  from  1596,  when  the  first  application  was  made,  to  1599,  when  it 
was   renewed  with  sundry  alterations.     And  here  we   are  told  that  Sir  Thomas 


1  Outlines,  p.  87. 


2  See  page  53,  ante. 


SHAKSPERE  S  ARISTOCRA  TIC  PRETENSIONS. 


775 


Word. 

27 
269 
=507 

Page  and 

Column. 

79:2 

78:2 
80:1 

It 
is 
the 

101 

80:1 

earnest 

385 

80:1 

desire 

37 
437 

78:1 

78:2 

of 
his 

337 

401 

78:2 
78:1 

heart 
to 

Lucy  was  the  one  who  blighted  the  actor's  hopes.     The  Bishop  tells  Cecil,  speaking 
of  Shakspere  and  his  daughter  Susanna,  that  — 


305—31=274—50=224—197  (74:2)— 27. 
305—31=274—5  b  (31)=269. 

305—31=274—50=224—197=27.     533—27=506+ 1= 
305—31=274—30=244—5  b  (31)=239.     339—239= 

100+1=101. 
305—31=274—198  (74:2)=76— 64  (79:2)— 12.     396— 

12=384+1=385. 
305—31=274—145  (76:2)=129— 3  />=126.     162—126 

=36+1=37. 
305—31=274—50=224—198=26.     462—26=436+1= 
305—31=274—145  (76:2)=129— 3  b  (145)=126.     462 

—126=336 -+-1=337. 
305—31=274—30=244—5  b  (31)=239+ 162=401. 
305—31=274—30=244—5  b  (31)=239.     338—239 

=99+1=100+7  b  col. =107. 
305—31=274—50=224—30=194.     534—194=340 

+1=341+8  b  &  h  col. =349. 
305—31=274—50=224—197=27.     186—27=159 

+1=160. 
305—32=273—50=223—16  b  &  h  col.— 207. 
305— 31=27*— 50=224— 198=26. 
305—31=274—5  b  (31)=269— 218=51  +  162=213. 
305—31=274—50=224-30=194  + 162=356. 
305—31=274—30=244—58  (80:1)=186. 
305—31=274—197=77. 
305— 31=274— 198  (74:2)=76+ 162=238. 
305—31=274—218  (74:2)=56. 
305—31=274—30=244—197=47.     598—47=551 

+  1=552. 
305—31=274—218  (74:2)=56.     468—56=412+1= 

The  word  file  was  used  in  that  age  where  we  would  say  list  or  catalogue  or  mem- 
bership.   Thus  in  Macbeth  we  have: 


10; 


349 


80:1 


make 


her 


160 

81:2 

a 

207 

79:2 

lady 

26 

78:1 

and 

213 

78:1 

advance 

356 

78:1 

himself 

186 

80:1 

among 

77 

79:2 

the 

238 

78:1 

file 

56 

78:2 

of 

552 

79:2 

the 

413 

78:1 

quality. 

In  Henry    V.,   iv, 
and  in  Lear,  v,  3,  we 


I  have  a.  file  of  all  the  gentry.1 

The  word  quality  was  the  old  expression  for   aristocracy. 
8,  we  have  the  phrase,    "gentlemen  of  blood  and  quality; 
have:  "  Any  man  of  quality  or  degree." 

And  here  I  would  note  that  Halliwell-Phillipps*2  shows  that  New  Place  had  been 
so  named  before  Shakspere  bought  it;  and  that  forty-eight  years  before  his  pur- 
chase, to-wit,  in  1549,  it  was  "  m  great  ruyne  and  decay  and  unrepayryd;"  after 
that  it  was  owned  by  different  parties  before  coming  into  Shakspere's  hands. 

And  here,  it  seems  to  me,  we  have  an  instance  of  Bacon's  profound  prevision. 
I  have  noted  elsewhere  how  passages  were  injected  into  the  quartos  to  break  up 
the  count,  so  that,  should  any  one  attempt  to  get  on  the  track  of  the  Cipher,  he 
would  be  thrown  off  the  scent;  for  a  few  words  added  upon  one  page  might  destroy 


1  Macbeth,  v,  2. 


2  Outlines,  p.  395. 


776  THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 

the  Cipher  for  half-a-dozen  pages.  And  I  have  also  noted  that  sometimes  these 
additions  contained  very  significant  words,  the  better  to  attract  and  mislead  the 
investigator.  And  in  this  instance  we  find  that,  in  act  ii,  scene  2,  in  Prince  Henry's 
speech,  commencing  "  Belike,  then,  my  appetite  was  not  princely  got,"  such  an 
additional  paragraph  was  thrown  into  the  text,  and  that  it  contained  the  word 
ruins: —  "  bawl  out  the  ruins  of  thy  linen."  Linen  is  preserved  in  the  Folio,  but 
the  rest  of  the  sentence  is  omitted.  Now  if  any  one  had  imagined,  in  159S,  that  he 
perceived  in  all  this :  botight  —  estate  — pluck  —  down  —  old  —  house  — foundation  — 
walls  —  build — surveyors  —  new — place — decay,  etc.,  a  Cipher  reference  to  Shak- 
spere's  home  at  Stratford,  he  would  naturally  fasten  on  that  word,  ruin s,  as  a  part 
of  the  story,  and  would  spend  his  acumen  on  it;  and  thus  "the  non-significants," 
as  Bacon  calls  them,  would  have  diverted  his  attention  from  the  significants. 

And  I  would  here  say  that  a  mark  or  marc  was  equal  to  13s.  4d.,  which  would 
be  about  ^380,  or  $1,900;  but  as  money  had  then,  we  are  told,  twelve  times  its 
present  purchasing  power,  this  would  be  equal  to  ^4,560,  or  $22,800  to-day.  This 
did  not  represent  probably  any  particular  division  of  the  profits,  but  the  amount 
with  which  Shakspere  returned  to  Stratford  about  1595  or  1596.  We  find  by  the 
records  that  he  paid  ^"60  for  New  Place;  in  1598  he  loaned  ^30  to  Richard  Quiney; 
in  1602  he  bought  107  acres  of  land  near  Stratford  from  the  Combes  for  ^320;  and  in 
1605  he  purchased  a  moiety  of  a  lease  of  the  tithes  of  Stratford,  Welcombe,  etc.,  for 
^■440.  So  that  of  the  ^380  which  he  had  in  1597-8,  according  to  the  Bishop,  we  can 
account  for  ^90,  expended  near  that  time,  besides  the  amount  which  he  expended  in 
repairing  and  reconstructing  New  Place.  And  here  I  would  note  that  Halliwell- 
Phillipps1  quotes  Theobald,  who  was  told,  by  Sir  Hugh  Clopton,  that  when  Shak- 
spere purchased  New  Place  he  "repaired  and  modell'd  it  to  his  own  mind;"  and 
Halliwell-Phillipps  thinks  that  "  the  poet  made  very  extensive  alterations,  perhaps 
nearly  rebuilding  it."  And  he  surmises  that  these  alterations  were  made  in  1598, 
because  in  that  year  Shakspere  sold  a  load  of  stone  to  the  corporation  of  Strat- 
ford for  rod. ;  but  it  does  not  follow  that  the  repairs  were  finished  in  the  same  year 
they  were  begun,  or  that  the  surplus  material  was  sold  at  once. 

And  the  Bishop  goes  on  to  speak  very  contemptuously  of  Shakspere's  aspira- 
tions. The  conflict  between  the  play-actor  and  his  neighbors  represented  the 
world-old  battle  between  money  and  blood;  between  mortgages  and  pedigrees; 
between  the  new-rich  and  the  old-respectable;  and  the  position  of  Shakspere  and 
his  family  could  not  have  been  a  very  pleasant  one. 

The  Bishop  says  of  Shakspere: 

Page  and 

Word.      Column. 

305—31=274—30=244.     610—244=366  +  1=367.          367  77:2  He 

will 

305— 31=274— 30=244— 197=47+162=209— 2  £  col=207  78:1  be 

305—31=274—30=244—197=47+162=209.                   209  78:1  satisfied 

305— 31=274— 218  (74:2)=56+ 162=218.                         218  78:1  with 
305—31=274— 50=224— 30=194— 50(76 :1)=144. 

458—144=314+1=315+2  b  col.  =317.                     317  76:2  nothing 

305—31=274—197=77.     577—77=500+1=501.           501  77:1  less 

305—31=274—50=224.     449—224=225+1=226.          226  76:1  than 

305—31=274—50=224—30=194—145=49.                      49  77:1  knighthood 

305—31=274—218=56.     577—56=521  +  1=522.           522  77:1  and 

305— 31=274.  577— 274=303+1=304+16  £  &  ^  col .=320  77:1  the 

1  Outlines,  p.  231 . 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

319 

80:1 

right 

78 

78:2 

to 

301 

70:2 

bear 

SUA  K  SEE  RE'  S  A  RIS  TO  CRA  TIC  PRE  TEA'S  J  OXS.  777 


505—30=275—197=78.    396—78=318+1=319 

305—30=275—197=78. 

305.     603—305=298+1=299  +  2  h  col  =301. 

305—31=274—5  b  (31)=269.     468—269=199+1= 

200+3  h  co).  =203.  203  78:1  arms. 

And  the  Bishop  says  that  Shakspere's  attempts  excited  the  indignation  of  Sir 
Thomas  Lucy. 

305— 31=274— 50=224—  7  b  col.=217.  217  77:1             Sir 

305—31=274—50=224—30=194—145=49.  49  76:1            To     ) 

305-31=274— 30=244— 5  £(31)=239— 50(76:1)=  189  76:2          amiss  ) 
305—31=274—50=224—50  (76:1)=174.     248—174= 

74+1=75+2  fccol— 77.  77  74:2         Loose 
305-31=274—50=224—30=194.     194+194=388— 

4/t  col.  =384.  384  75:1 


I 


This  To-amiss  for  Thomas  may  appear  forced;  but  I  give  it  as  it  stands,  because 
more  than  once  I  have  found  it  appearing  in  the  Cipher  to  represent  Thomas.  I 
•  find  that  Webster1  says  there  was  formerly  to  the  long  sound  of  o,  as  in  old,  hoe, 
etc.,  what  he  calls  a  vanishing  or  diphthongal  sound  like  oo;  and  I  have  myself 
heard  the  first  syllable  of  the  word  Thomas  pronounced  so  as  to  rhyme  with  Rome. 
Webster  thinks  the  dropping  of  the  diphthongal  sound  of  o  in  such  words  as  bolt, 
most,  only,  etc. ,  is  an  American  provincialism.  Thackeray  represents  ' '  the  cockney' ' 
of  London  as  saying  Turn' -as.  Thomas  appears  very  often  in  2d  Henry  IV.  (and 
not  once  in  1st  Henry  IV.),  and  Bacon  could  not  use  it  too  liberally  without  arous- 
ing suspicion;  hence  this  subterfuge.  It  must  be  remembered,  too,  that  the  pro- 
nunciation of  o  was  longer  and  softer  then  than  now.  For  instance,  the  word 
Ro?ne,  in  Bacon's  time,  was,  it  is  well  known,  pronounced  Room.  We  see  this  in 
the  expression  in  Julius  Casar,  i,  2: 

Now  is  it  Rome  indeed  and  room  enough 
When  there  is  in  it  but  one  only  man. 

We  have  modified  it  from  room  to  Rome,  and,  if  our  posterity  progress  in  the 
same  direction,  the  year  2000  may  see  the  city  of  the  Caesars  called  Rom  or  Rum. 

And  the  neighbors  are  very  much  disturbed  over  Shakspere's  pretensions. 
They  — 

305— 31=274— 219  (74:2)=55+162=217.  217  78:1  look 

305—31=274—162=112.  112  77:2  upon 

305—31=274.     468—274=194+1=195.  195  78:1             it 
305—31=274—50=224—50  (76:1)=174.     248—174 

=74+1=75+22  b=97.  97  74:2             as 

305—31=274—198=76.  76  78.2             a 

305— 145=160— G?>  col.  =154.  154  76:1  bold 

305—31=274—219  (74:2)=55.  55  78:2  plot 

to  force  himself  into  their  ranks. 

305—31=274—50=224—198  (74:2)=26.     462—26= 

436+1=437.  437  78:2  His 

1  Unabridged  Dictionary,  p.  xlii. 


778 


THE  CIPHER  NARK  A  TTVE. 


305—31=274—50=224—162  (78:1)=62.     610—62 

548+1=549. 
305—31=274—61  (80:2)=213.     489—213=276+1= 

277+2  //  col.=279. 
305—3 1  =274—50=224—146=78—3  b  (146)=75.     oy 

_ 75=502 +1=503 +2  h  col. =505. 
305—31=274—30  (74:2)=244— 197=47— 2  h  col.— 
305—32=273—50=223—5  b  (32)— 218.     468—218= 

250+1=251  +  12  3=263. 
305—31=274—50=224—50=174—162=12!   610—12 

=598+1=599. 
305—31=274—145=129—3  b  (145)=126.     577—126 

=451  +  1=452+3  h  col.=455. 
305—31=274—219=55.     163—55=108  + 1=109. 
305—31=274—219=55. 
305—31=274—50=224—30=194—1 62=32. 
305— 32=273— 30=243+162=405— 15  3  &  //=390. 
305—31=274—30=244—50=194+186=380—3  h  col 
305—31=274—197=77.     163—77=86+ 1=87. 
305—31=274—50=224—30=194—5  b  (31)=189— 

22  3col.=167. 
305—31=274. 
305—31=274—53  (31)=269.     468—269=199+1= 

200+3//  col.=203. 
305—31=274—31  b  &  h  col.=243. 
305—31=274—30=244.     489—244=245 + 1=246. 
305—31=274—50=224—162=62. 
305—31=274—50=224—49  (76:1)=175— 90  (73:1)= 
305—31=274.     468—274=194+1=195+3//  col.— 
305—31=274—4//  col.=270. 

Shakspere's  application  for  coat-armor  for  his  father,  in  1596,  was  made  to 
"  William  Dethick,  alias  Garter,  principal  King  of  Arms."  See  how  cunningly  the 
name  is  concealed  in  Death-thick.  And  observe  how  the  first  word  goes  out  from 
the  beginning  of  one  scene  (79:1)  and  the  other  from  the  end  of  the  preceding 
scene;  and  each  word  is  found  by  the  same  root-number  and  the  same  modifica- 
tion of  the  same  root-number:  death  is  305,  less  32,  less  30,  carried  one  scene 
backward  to  the  beginning  of  scene  4,  act  i  (78:1);  while  thick  is  305,  less  31,  less 
30,  less  50,  carried  two  scenes  forward  to  the  beginning  of  scene  3  of  act  ii  (81:2). 
And  this  word  thick  is  comparatively  rare  in  the  Plays.  It  occurs  but  three  other 
times  in  id  Henry  IV.;  but  once  in  King  John;  not  at  all  in  Richard  II,  1st  Henry 
IV.,  Henry  V.,  or  the  first  and  second  parts  of  Henry  VI.  Yet  here  we  find  it,  just 
where  it  is  needed  to  make  the  name  of  the  "  King  of  Arms,"  in  connection  with  the 
story  of  Shakspere  trying  to  procure  a  coat-of-arms.  If  this  be  accident,  it  is 
extraordinary. 

And  Sir  Thomas  reads  Shakspere's  pedigree  to  the  King  of  Arms  of  England. 
Referring  to  his  father,  he  says: 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

549 

77:2 

Lordship 

279 

81:1 

is 

71 

505 

77:1 

very 

45 

78:2 

much 

263 
> 

78:1 

incensed; 

599 

77:2 

he 

455 

77:1 

sent 

109 

78:1 

a 

55 

78:1 

letter 

32 

77:2 

to 

390 

78:1 

Death     j 

=377 

81:2 

thick,     S 

87 

78:1 

the 

167 

78:2 

King; 

274 

81:1 

of 

203 

78:1 

Arms, 

243 

78:2 

not 

246 

81:1 

to 

62 

78:2 

consent 

85 

78:2 

or 

198 

78:1 

allow 

270 

78:2 

it. 

305—31=274—30=244—50=194—50  (76:1)=144.  144  76:2 

305— 31=274-30=244— 50=194— 50(76 :1)=144— 

11  b  &h  col.  =133.  133  74:1 


I 


SHAKSPERES  ARISTOCRA  TIC  PRETENSIONS. 


779 


Page  and 

Word. 

Column. 

244 

76:2 

assure 

-50=194. 

191 

77:1 

you 

-  50=194.     458—194=264+ 

270 

76:2 

he 

=269.     577—269=308+1= 

309 

77:1 

hath 

284— 26=258+1=259+ 

262 

74:1 

not 

-50=194. 

194 

77:2 

the 

78:1       smallest 


87 
240 
239 

76:1 
76-2 
76:1 

drop 

of 

gentle 

359 

76:1 

blood 

488 

77:1 

in 

355 
144 

76:1 
74:1 

his 
body. 

305—31=274—30=244. 
305—31=274—30=244- 
305—31=274-  -30=24 1- 
1—265+5  £—270. 

305—31=274—5  b  (31)= 
305—31=274—248=26. 

3  h  col.  =262. 
305—31=274—30=244- 
305—31=274—30=244—5  b  (31  )=239— 146=93. 

468—93=375+1=376+1  k  col. =377. 
305—31=274—30=244—5  £=239—146=93—3  b  (146) 

=90— 3  b  col.  =87. 
305—31=274—30=244—4  b  col.  =240. 
305—31=274—30=244—5  £=239. 
305—31=274—30=244—5  £=239— 146=93— 3  b  (146) 

=90.     448—90=358+1=359. 
305—31=274—30=244—5  £=239—146=93—3  (146) 

.    =90.     577—90=487+1=488. 
305— 31=274— 50=224— 30=194— 50  (76:1)=144. 

498—144=354+1=355. 
305— 31=274— 50=224— 30=194— 50  (76:1)=144. 

I  would  ask  the  reader  to  observe  this  sentence  carefully.  Take  those  words, 
' '  smallest  drop  of  gentle  blood. "  This  is  the  only  '  'gentle  "  in  the  first  act  of  this  play; 
and  this  is  the  only  '  'drop  "  in  that  act.  And  drop  only  occurs  one  other  time  in  the  whole 
play.  And  this  is  the  only  time  the  word  blood  is  found  in  scene  2  of  act  i  of  the  Folio; 
and  this  is  the  only  time  smallest  occurs  in  this  entire  play.  And  body  is  only  found 
once  in  the  Induction,  where  we  find  the  word  used  above;  and  only  twice  in  scene 
second.  How  comes  it,  if  there  is  no  Cipher  here,  that  out  of  many  thousands  of 
words,  this  array  of  significant  and  rare  words  should  all  concur  in  the  same 
vicinity,  held  together  by  the  same  number?  For  it  will  be  observed  that  every 
word  here,  except  two,  is  from  the  root  305 — 31=274 — 30=244;  and  those  two  are 
words  carried  to  the  beginning  of  new  scenes  or  pages  (74:1  and  77:1);  and  many  of 
the  words  are  number  244,  modified  by  deducting  the  5  bracketed  words  in  the  31  at 
the  top  of  79:1,  making  239.  Gentle  is  the  239th  word  from  the  top  of  76:1;  drop  is 
again  the  239th  word  carried  through  the  second  section  of  76:2  (146),  leaving  90,  and 
the  90th  word,  including  the  brackets,  down  76:1,  is  drop;  and  the  90th  word  up  the 
same  column,  from  the  end  of  scene  second,  is  blood;  and  in  the  next  sentence  the 
90th  word  up  the  next  preceding  column  is  gluve. 

305—31=274—30=244—5  b  (31)=239— 7  b  &  h  col.—  232  76:2  His 

305—31=274—30=244—5  b  (31)— 239.     457—239= 

218+1=219  +  6  h  col.  =225.  225  76:2         father 

305—31=274—30=244—7  b  &  h  col. =237.  237  76:2  is 

305— 31=274— 30=244— 50  (76:1)=194.     498—194= 

304+1=305.  305  76:1  only 

305—31=274—30=244.     498—244=254+1=255.         255  76:1  a 

305—31=274  (74:2)— 30=244— 50  (74:2)=194— 50 

(76:1)=144— 4  b  &  h  col.  =140.  140 

305—31=274—30=244—5  b  (31)=239— 146=93- 

3  b  (146;=90— 5  b  &  /z=85.  85  76:1 


coster- 
•2     monger's 


780 


THE  CIPHER  NARRA  TIVE. 


305—31=274—248  (74:2)=26.     193—26=167+1= 
305—31=274—30=244—145=99. 
305—31=274—30=244—5  b  (31)=239— 146=93— 

3  b  (146)=90.     498—90=408  + 1=409. 
305-31=274—30=244—5  b  (31)=239— 50— 189— 

3  h  col.=186. 
305—31=274—30=244—50=194. 
305—31=274—30=244—10  b  col  =234. 
305-31=274—145=129—2  h  col  =127. 
305-31=274—5  b  (31)=269— 4  h  col.— 265. 
305—31=274—30=244—5  £=239—146=93—3  b 

(146)=90.     508—90=418+1=419+1  //= 420. 
305—31=274—248  (74:2)=26. 
305-31=274—50=224.     284—224=60+1=61. 
305—31=274—30=244—5  b  (31)=239-146=93- 

3  b  (146)=90.     468—90=378  + 1=379. 
305— 31=-274— 10  b  col.=264. 
305—31=274—30=244—7  b  &  /;=237. 
305—31=274—248=26.     193+26=219. 
305—31=274—5  b  (31)=269— 15  b  &  h  col.  =254. 
305—31=274.     447—274=173+1=174. 
305—31=274—50=224.  284— 224=60+1=61  +  7  h  col 
305—31=274.     284—274=10+1=11+18  b  &  h  col.— 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

168 

75:2 

who 

99 

76:2 

at 

409 


-248=26—22  b  (248)— 4. 
-254=20 
-145=129—50=79.     44^ 


305-31=274- 
305—31=274- 
305—31=274—145=129—50=79.     447—79=368+1 

=369. 
305—31=274—50=224. 

305—31=274—5  b  (31)— 269— 248— 21.     193+21— 
305—31=274—50=224—193=31—15  b  &  h  (193)— 

16.     508—16=492+1=493. 


493 


76:1 


present 


186 

76:1 

wrought 

194 

74:1 

at 

234 

74:1 

the 

127 

76:1 

trade 

265 

74:1 

of 

420 

75:2 

glove 

(26) 

74:1 

making; 

61 

74:1 

while 

379 

78:1 

his 

(264) 

76:1 

son 

237 

76:2 

is 

219 

75:1 

a 

254 

74:1 

crafty- 

174 

75:1 

fellow, 

=68 

74:2 

who 

29 

74:1 

acts 

4 

74:1 

for 

20 

75:1 

a 

369 

75:1 

living 

224 

74:2 

on 

214 

75:2 

the 

75:2 


stage. 


The  reader  will  here  observe  t^at  the  whole  of  act  i  of  this  play  of  ad  Henry 
IV.  is  used  as  a  basis  for  this  wonderful  Cipher,  and  the  two  ends  of  the  act  act 
and  react  on  each  other.  Thus  we  find  the  fragments  of  74:2,  the  beginning  of 
scene  second,  as  50,  30,  198,  218,  etc.,  used  to  modify  the  primal  root-number,  523, 
thus:  523 — 218—305;  and  when  we  carry  this  305  to  the  end  of  the  act,  in  79:1, 
and  deduct  the  fragment  of  scene  at  the  top  of  the  column,  containing  31  words, 
we  get  the  274  which  has  been  telling  the  Cipher  story  through  several  pages.  But 
this  is  not  all.  We  take  that  274,  and  again  modify  it  by  the  fragments  of  74:2,  to 
obtain  the  224  and  244,  etc.  (274 — 50=224  and  274 — 30=244),  which  so  abundantly 
occur  in  the  foregoing  pages;  and  this  again  is  modified  by  deducting  the  frag- 
ment of  76:1  (50),  the  beginning  of  the  third  scene  of  the  act,  producing  the  174  and 
194  seen  so  often  above.  But  even  this  does  not  end  the  marvelous  interlocking 
of  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  the  act  under  the  spell  of  the  Cipher,  for  we  see  the 
count  starting  from  the  end  of  the  act  (305 — 31—274),  carried  back  to  the  beginning 
of  the  act;  and  there  taken  up  the  column  to  yield  us  acts,  and  taken  through  74:2, 
to  yield  us  making  ("  glove-making");  and  up  75:1  it  gives  us  fellow,  and  down  74:1 
(274 — 5  b  (31)— 269)  it  produces  crafty;  while  224  (274 — 50—224),  carried  through 
the  first  section  of  75:1,  brings  us  to  stage. 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

420 

75:2 

glove      | 
I 

(26) 

74:1 

making  J 

SUA  KSPERE  S  A  RIS  TO  CRA  TIC  PRE  TENSIONS.  7  8 1 

If  the  reader  will  turn  back  to  page  729  he  will  find  those  words  glove  making 
produced  thus: 


516—167=349—22  b  &  //=327— 30=297— 193=104 

—15  b  &  /&— 89.     508—89=419+1=420. 
516—167=349—22  b  &  //=327— 50=277.     284—277 

—7+1—8+18*  *  h  col.=26. 

Now  compare  this  with  the  example  just  given.  Observe  how  an  entirely  dif- 
ferent primal  number,  modified  by  being  carried  to  the  end  instead  of  the  beginning 
of  the  act,  is  brought  back  to  the  same  place  and  brings  out  the  same  words: 

523—218=305—31=274—30=244—5  b  (31)=239— 

146=93— 3 />  (146)— 90.     508—90=418+1=419 

+  1  h  col.— 420.  420  75:2  glove      j 

523-218=305— 31=274— 248  (74:2)=26.  (26)  74:1       making     \ 

Now  consider  how  exquisitely  the  skeleton  of  the  text  must  have  been  adjusted 
to  bring  about  these  results:  —  in  the  first  instance,  the  count  goes  forward  to  pro- 
duce the  word glovet  and  the  one  hyphen  is  not  counted  in;  in  the  second  case,  the 
count  comes  from  the  end  of  the  act  and  moves  backward y  and  the  one  hyphen  is 
counted  in.  The  word  making  is  obtained,  in  the  one  case,  by  going  up  column  1 
of  page  74,  and  counting  in  all  the  bracketed  and  hyphenated  words;  in  the  other 
case,  the  root-number  comes  from  the  end  of  the  act,  passes  through  74:2,  and  goes 
down  74:1.  Thus  making  fits  to  274  down  the  column  and  to  277  up  the  column. 
But  some  one  may  think  that  glove  and  making  are  to  be  found  everywhere,  all 
through  these  Plays,  and  that  therefore  it  is  no  trick  at  all  to  produce  these  wonder- 
ful arithmetical  coordinations.  My  answer  is  that  this  is  the  only  time  "glove"  is 
found  in  this  play  !  And  this  is  the  only  time  "  making"  is  found  in  this  act.  It  is 
found  but  once  besides  in  the  play,  in  the  fourth  act,  and  once  in  the  Epilogue.  In 
other  words,  the  gentlemen  who  may  think  all  this  to  be  accident  would  have  to  go 
thirty-six  columns  forward  from  74:1  before  they  would  find  another  making  to 
match  \\\z.\x  glove,  to  produce  the  designation  of  the  recognized  trade  of  Shakspere's 
father. 

It  is  impossible  to  deny  the  accuracy  of  my  arithmetic  (occasional  typograph- 
ical errors,  of  course,  excepted),  and  it  is  impossible  to  deny  that  the  facsimiles 
given  herewith  are  faithful  copies  of  the  Folio  of  1623;  and  it  seems  to  me  that 
all  this  hundred-fold  accumulation  of  evidences  must  convince  even  the  most  skep- 
tical that  there  is  a  Cipher  in  the  Shakespeare  Plays.  I  am  aware  that  my  workman- 
ship is  not  complete,  but  it  is  approximately  so;  and  my  excuse  will  be,  to  all  just- 
minded  men,  the  incalculable  difficulties  of  the  work.  But  it  was  fit  and  proper 
that  the  Cipher  made  by  the  greatest  intellect  that  ever  existed,  and  embodied  in 
the  greatest  writings  possessed  by  mankind,  should  be  as  marvelous  as  the  source 
from  which  it  came,  or  the  vehicle  in  which  it  is  carried. 

But  this  is  not  all  —  nor  a  tithe  of  all.  The  Bishop  says  that  the  aristocracy 
of  the  neighborhood  fear  that  Shakspere's  friends  in  London  will  secure  him  his 
coat-of-arms. 

305—31=274—50=224—163  (78:1)=61.     498—61= 

437+1=438.  438  76:1         friends 

305— 31=274— 5/>(31)=269+185(81:l)=454— 2 /*  col. =452  81:1        London 

And  here  I  would  call  the  reader's  attention  to  the  microscopic  accuracy  of  this 


782 


THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 


work.  If  he  looks  at  column  i  of  page  81  he  would  say  it  was  solid: — he  will  see 
no  stage  directions  of  exits  or  entrances.  But  if  he  will  look  very  closely  at  the 
185th  word  he  will  find  this  following  it: 

Poin.     Letter.     John  Falstaffe  Knight. 

Poin.  is  the  abbreviation  of  the  name  of  Poins  or  Pointz,  one  of  the  characters; 
and  "  Sir  John  Falstaffe"  is  the  opening  part  of  the  letter  from  Falstaff  to  the 
Prince;  —  for  we  read  a  little  below,  "  Sir  John  Falstaffe  Knight,  to  the  son  of  the 
King  ....  greeting,"  etc.  But  what  is  letter?  It  is  not  part  of  the  letter.  Nor 
does  Poins  speak  the  word,  for  it  is  put  in  italics.  It  is  a  stage  direction,  meaning 
that  Poins  reads  the  letter.  And  on  this  little  hook  the  author  hangs  his  Cipher, 
for  it  breaks  the  column  into  two  fragments. 

And  they  fear  the  "villain's"  influence  with  the  Queen  because  of  the  Plays 
he  has  written.     And  hence  we  have: 


Page  and 
Word.      Column. 

305—31=274—50=224—79  (73:1)=145.  518—145= 

373+1=374.  374  79:1 

305—31=274—50=224—79  (73:i)=145.    518—145= 

373+1=374+4 //col. =378.  378  79:1         Queen 


villain's 


Here  is  another  cunning  piece  of  work.     The  Queen  is  disguised  in  Queane, — 
"a  woman,  a  wench": 

Cut  me  off  the  villain's  head;  throw  the  Queane  in  the  channel. 

And  so  they  go  on  to  tell  the  King  of  Arms  that  Shakspere  never  writ  them: 
that  he  has  not  the  wit  or  the  imagination: 

305—31=274—30=244—5  b  '31)=239.     458—239= 

219  +  1=220. 
305—31=274—30=244—5  b  (31)=239— 146=93— 3  b 

(146)=90— 50=40— 1  h  col.=39. 
305—31=274—30=244—5  b  (31)=239— 146=93. 

468—93=375+1=376. 
305—31=274—30=244—5  /;=239— 146=93.  468—93 

=375+1=376+8/;  col.  =384. 
305—31=274—30=244—5  ^=239—146=93.  468—93 

=375+1=376+9/;  &  h  col.=385. 

And  they  express  the  opinion  of  Shakspere  that — 

305—31=274—30=244—5  b  (31)=239— 3  h  col.— 
305—31=274—30=244—5  b  (31)=239.     458—239= 

219+1=220. 
305—31=274—30=244—5  /;  (31)=239— 50=189. 

489—189=309+1=310. 
305—31=274—30=244—50=194.     508—194=314 

+  1=315+8 />  &  h  col. =323. 
305—31=274—30=244—5  b  (31)=239— 146=93— 3  b 

(146)=90.  284—90=194+1=195. 
305— 31=274— 5  b  (31)=269— 193=76. 
305— 31=274— 30=244— 50=194— 22^  &  h  col. =172. 


220 

76:2 

Writ. 

39 

76:1 

Wit. 

376 

78:1 

The 

384 

78:1 

great 

385 

78:1 

imaginatio 

236 

76:2 

He 

220 

76:1 

was 

310 

76:1 

but 

323 

75:2 

the 

195 

74:1 

first 

76 

75:2 

bringer 

172 

75:2 

of 

Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

377 

76:1 

them 

239 

76:2 

out 

94 

76:1 

on 

20 

74:1 

the 

269 

81:1 

Nearest 

274 

81:1 

of 

194 

81:1 

kin 

SHAKSPERE'S  ARISTOCRA  TIC  PRE  TENSIONS.  783 


305— 31=274—  5  b  (31  )=269— 50=219— 146=73.  449 

*-73— 376+1— 877. 
305—31=274—30=244—5  b  (31)=239. 
305—31=274—30=244—5  b  (31)— 239— 145— 94. 
305—31=274—254  (75:1)=20. 
305—31=274—254=20—4  h  (254)— 16.  508—16=492 

+  1=493.  493  75:2  stage. 

I  have  not  the  time  or  space  to  work  it  all  out.  The  aristocracy  jest  over  poor 
Shakspere's  pretensions  of  relationship  to  the  blue  blood  of  the  county,  and  Sir 
Thomas  says,  in  his  letter  to  Sir  William  Dethick,  that  he  is  only  connected  with 
them  through  Japhet  ! 

305—31=274—5  b  (81)— 269 

305—31=274. 

305—31=274—30=244—50=194. 

305—31=274—30=244—5  b  (31)— 239.     489-  -239= 

250+1=251.  251  81:1  fetch 

305—31=274—30=244—5  b  (31)— 239.     489—239 

=250+1=251+2  /h=253.  253  81:1  from 

305— 31— 274— 20  b  &  h  col.—  254.  254  81:1        Japhet. 

I  do  not  pretend  to  work  out  the  sentence,  but  simply  to  jot  down  from  my 
notes  some  of  the  principal  words.  If  I  followed  the  root-numbers  into  all  their 
ramifications  each  chapter  would  grow  into  a  book. 

And'  here  I  would  call  attention  to  another  proof  of  the  arithmetical  adjustment 
of  the  text.      I  have  just  given  the  words,  '   first  bringer,"  thus: 

305—31=274—30—244—5  b  (31)=239— 146=93— 3  b 

(146)— 90.     284—90—194+1—195.  195  74:1  First 

305— 31— 274— 5  b  (31)— 269— 193— 76.  76  75:2        bringer. 

But  after  a  while  we  will  find  Bacon  expressing  his  fears  that  if  Shakspere  is 
taken  prisoner  he  will  say  that  he  was  not  the  author  of  the  Plays,  but  simply  the 
first  bringer  of  them  out  upon  the  stage.  And  the  words  come  out  from  the  primal 
root-number,  523.  If  we  commence  at  the  end  of  scene  2  (76:1)  and  count 
upward  and  then  go  backward  and  down  the  column,  the  523d  word  is  first;  and  if 
we  commence  again  with  523  at  the  top  of  column  1  of  page  75,  and  go  down  the 
column  and  down  the  next  column,  the  523d  word  is  bringer !     Thus: 

523— 448— {backward)  75        75:2       First 

523— 447— {forward)  76        75:2    bringer. 

And  it  will  be  seen  that  the  two  words  "  first  bringer  "  follow  each  other  in  the 
text.  It  would  have  been  difficult  to  have  placed  first  and  bringer  in  the  same  vicinity 
without  connecting  them;  hence  the  length  of  column  1  of  page  75  and  the  length  of 
the  fragment  of  scene  on  76:1  had  to  be  exactly  adjusted  to  bring  the  two  required  \ 
words  side  by  side.  If  there  had  been  448  words  in  75:1,  instead  of  447,  or  449 
words  on  76:1,  instead  of  448,  both  counts  would  have  fallen  on  the  same  words  1 
I  pity  the  man  who  can  think  all  this  was  accidental. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

SHAKSPERE'S  SICKNESS. 

Why,  thou  globe  of  sinful  continents,  what  a  life  dost  thou  lead  ! 

2d  Henry  IV.,  it,  4. 

EVERY  word  of  the  first  part  of  this  chapter  grows  out  of  the  root- 
number  323 — 2 18=303 ,  modified  by  deducting  31  or  32,  to-wit,  the 
number  of  words  in  yp:i  from  the  top  of  the  column  to  the  end  of  scene  4y 
act  i,  or  to  the  beginning  of  scene  I,  act  ii.  The  remainder  of  the  chapter 
is  derived  from  304 — 167=338,  and  shows  hoiv  substantially  the  same 
story  comes  out  of  the  same  text  by  two  different  root-numbers. 

My  publishers  advise  me  that  there  are  already  850  pages  in 
type,  and  that  I  must  condense  the  remainder  of  the  Cipher  story. 
I  shall  therefore  be  as  brief  as  possible,  and  instead  of  giving  a  con- 
tinuous narrative  I  shall  only  give  fragments  of  the  story. 

We  have  two  descriptions  of  Shakspere's  sickness,  one  given 
by  the  Bishop  of  Worcester  to  Cecil,  the  other  the  narrative  of 
Bacon  himself,  interjected  into  the  story;  the  former  is  the  briefer 
of  the  two.  The  first  grows  out  of  the  root-number  used  in  the 
last  chapter,  523 — 2i8==305;  the  other  from  the  root-number  505 — 
167=338,  which  gave  us  the  story  of  Shakspere's  youth,  his  quar- 
rel with  Sir  Thomas  Lucy,  the  fight,  etc. 

The  Bishop  says  to  Cecil,  after  describing  Shakspere's  intended 
house,  his  "plate"  (591  79:2,  96  80:1);  his  "  tapistry"  (594  79:2, 
37  80:1);  his  "  bed-hangins  "  (33  80:1),  etc.,  that  he  will  not  live  to 
enjoy  his  grandeur;  that  he  will  — 

Page  and 
Word.      Column. 

305— 31=274— 5/;(31)=269— 4/fc=col.=265.  265  78:2  never 

305—31=274—50=224.     462  -224=238+ 1=239+ 

8  A  col.— 242.  242  78:2  need 

305—31=274—4/^=270.  270  78:2  it 

305—31=274—50=224+32=256.  256  79:1  long. 

305—31=274—50=224—5  3=219—49  (76:1)=170— 

4£col.=166.  166  76:2  He 

784 


S//.I K'SPERE'S  S/CA'.YESS. 


785 


Word. 

174 

209 

230 


Page  and 
Column. 

76:2 

T7'9 


hear, 


305—31=274—50=224—50  (76:1)— 174. 
805—81—274—50—224—54  (31)=219— 10  0  col.— 

305—31=274—50=224—5  b  (31)— 219.     448—219= 
229+1*280. 

305—285  (31  79:1)=20— 2  h  (285)=18.     468—18= 

450+1=451. 
305—193=112.     162+112=274. 
305—50=255—32=223.     577—223=354+1=355. 
305-50=255. 

305-31=274—27  (78:1)— 347. 
305—31=274—50  (79:1)=224— 5  b  (31)  219.     610— 

219=391  +  1=392. 
305—31=274—50=224—5  0  (31)— 219.     610-219= 

391  +  1=392+3=395. 
305—31=274—50=224.     610—224=386+1=387+ 

\\b  &  /*=398. 
305— 31=274— 50=224—  5  b  (31)=219.     610—219= 

391  +  1=392+110  &  A— 408. 
305—31=274—50=224.  610—224=386+1=387+9  b= 
305—31=274—50=224. 
305— 32=273— 50=223— 54—218— 50=168— 162= 

6.     610—6=604+1=605. 
305—31=274—50=224. 
305—32=273—50=223—5  *— 21 8—50—1 68.     458— 

168=290+1=291. 
305—31=274—50=224.     610—224=386  +  1=387+ 

3  h  col.  =390. 
305—32=273—50=223—5  0=218—50=168—146= 

22— 3  0  (146)— 19.     577—19=558+1=559  +  1  A— 

The  reader  will  observe  how  singularly  the  words  match  with  the  count.  The 
root-number  305 — 31  (79:1)^274 — 5o(74:2>=224,  carried  up  the  column  (77:2),  count- 
ing in  the  bracketed  words,  yields  ashes;  but  counting  in  both  the  bracketed  and 
hyphenated  words,  it  gives  us  sack-cloth.  But  if  we  count  in,  in  that  31,  the  five  words 
in  brackets,  then  we  have:  305 — 50=255 — 31=224 — 5  b  (3i)=2i9;  and  219  taken  up 
the  same  column  gives  us  repents,  and  counting  in  the  three  hyphenated  words 
alone  it  gives  us  in,  and  counting  both  the  bracketed  and  hyphenated  words  it 
gives  us  and.  Here  we  have  repents  in  sack-cloth  and  ashes.  But  this  is  not  all. 
The  same  root-number  224  carried  up  the  same  column,  counting  in  the  three 
hyphenated  words,  yields  the  word  young;  and  the  same  root-number  255  modified 
by  deducting  32  gives  us,  less  5  b  (32),  218,  and  this  carried  to  the  beginning  of  the 
scene  and  brought  backward  and  up  77:1  gives  us  days:  —  voting  days. 

And  observe  that  the  word  lechery  occurs  only  this  once  in  this  play,  and  not 
again  in  all  the  ten  Histories.  A.nd  this  is  the  only  time  repents  is  found  in  this 
play,  and  it  does  not  appear  again  in  all  the  Histories.  And  this  is  the  only  time  sack- 
cloth occurs  in  this  play,  and  it  is  found  but  once  more  in  all  (he  Plays  !  I  mention 
these  facts  for  the  benefit  of  those  shallow  intellects  that  think  all  words  neces- 
sary for  all  sentences  can  be  found  anywhere. 

And  then  the  Bishop  goes  on  to  speak  again  of  Shakspere's  wealth: 

305—50=255—32—223—5  b  (31)— 218— 50— 168.     458 

—168=290+1=291.  291  76:2  His 


451 

78:1 

at 

274 

78:1 

present 

355 

77:1 

very 

255 

74:1 

sick; 

247 

78:2 

he 

392 

77:2 

repents, 

395 

77:2 

in 

398 

77:2 

sack-cloth 

403 

77:2 

and 

=  396 

77:2 

ashes, 

253 

78:1 

the 

605 

77:2 

lechery 

224 

77:2 

of 

291 

76:2 

his 

390 

77:2 

young 

560 

77:1 

days. 

;86 


THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 


Word. 

305—31=274—50=224—5  4—219—50=169—146=  23 
305—31=274—50—224—5=219—50=169—146=23. 

318—23=295+1=290.  296 

305—31=274—50=224—50=174—146=28.     477— 

28=449+1=450.  450 

305—32=273—50=223-30=193+162=355.  355 

305—32=273—50=223—193  (75:1)— 30.     448—30= 

418+1=419.  419 

305—31=274—193=81—15  4  &  A— 66— 49— 17.     603 

—17=586+1=587.  587 

305—32=273—50=223—5  4=218—50=168—50 

(76:1)— 118.  118 

305— 32=273— 30=243— 5  4=238— 145=93— 

3  4  col.— 90.  90 

305—31=274—193=81.     448—81=367+1=368.  368 

305—31=274—50=224—193=31.  31 

305—32=273—50=223—5  4=218—146=72+163= 

235—5  b  col. =230.  230 

305—32=273—50=223—5  4=218—50=168—50= 

118.     603—118=485+1=486.  486 

The  Bishop  admits  they  are  popular: 


31=274—50=224—5  4=219—50=169—146=  23 
32=273—50=223—5  4=218—50=168—50=  118 
31=274—50=224—50=174—145=29—5  4  col.—  24 


305 
305 
305 
305—31=274—50=224—5  4=219—50=169—146 


=23.     468—23=445+1=446. 
305-  31=274—50=224—50=1 74—1 61=13 

13=449+1=450. 
305—31=274—50=224. 
305—32=273—50=223—30=193—162=31- 
305—32=273—50=223—50=173. 
305— 32=273— 50=223— 5  4=218— 50=16S 

22—3  4  (146)— 19. 
305—32=273—50—223—5=218—146=72. 
305—32—273—50—223—5  4—218—50—168—163—5 

462—5=457+1=458. 
305—32=273—50=223—50=173—50  (76:1)— 123. 
305—31—274—193=81—15  4  &  h  (193)— 66.     458— 

60=392+1=393. 
305—31=274—50=224—5=219—50=169+162= 
305—31—274—50—224—50—174—146—28.     468— 

28=440+1—441. 
305— 31=  274— 193= 81— 49  (76:1)— 32. 
305—31—274—30—244.     468— 244— 224+ 1=225. 
305—31—274—30=244+162—406. 
305—32—273—50=223—5  b  &  4—218—50(70:1)— 

168—145=23  +  163—186. 
305—31—274—50—224—50—1 74—146—28—3  4  (146) 


446 
462— 

450 

224 

-1  h  col.—  30 

173 

—146— 

19 
72 


458 
123 

393 
331 

441 

32 

225 

406 

186 
=  9.S 


Page  and 
Column. 

78:1 
79:1 


77.1 

78:1 

76:1 
76:2 
76:2 

76:1 
76:1 
76:1 

78:1 

76:2 


r8:l 


78:2 
78:1 


purse 

is 

well 
lined 

with. 

the 

gold 

he 

derives. 

from 

the 

Plays. 


77:1  The 

78:1  Plays- 

79:1  are 


much 


78:2  admired,. 

79:2  and 

78:2,  draw 

78:1  great 

79:1  numbers, 

77:1  and 


yield 
great 


76:2  abundance. 
78:1  of 

78:1  fruit, 

76:2  in 

78:1  the 

78:1  forms 


78:1 
78:1 


of 
groats 


SHA KSPERKS  SICKNESS. 


787 


305—50=255—31=224—5=219—145=74—3  b  (145) 

=71.     577—71=506+1=507. 
305—50=255—31=224—50=174—146=28. 


Word. 
507 

28 


Page  and 

Column. 


:1  and 

\:\         pence. 


Observe  here  how  plays  comes  out  twice  by  the  same  number,  once  as  please 
(plase),  118  up  76:2,  and  the  second  time  as  plays,  118  down  78:1.  And  note  how 
cunningly  the  word  is  worked  in  the  second  time:  "  For  the  one  or  the  other  plays 
the  rogue  with  my  great  toe." 

Observe  also  how  the  same  numbers  bring  out  purse — gold — abundance  — 
groats — pence — much — admired — dra7c> — great  —  numbers,  etc.,  just  as  we  saw 
another  number  bringing  out  of  these  same  pages  shoes,  stockings,  cloak,  slopsf 
smock,  cap;  in  fact,  a  whole  wardrobe.  This  is  the  only  time  groats  occurs  in  this 
play.  It  is  found  but  four  other  times  in  all  the  Plays.  And  this  is  the  only  time 
pence  occurs  in  this  play.  It  is  found  but  five  other  times  in  all  the  Plays.  Purse 
occurs  but  four  times  in  this  play.  T»his  is  the  only  time  admired  appears  in  either 
/st  or  2d  Henry  IV.;  and  this  is  the  only  time  numbers  is  found  in  this  act. 
Abundance  occurs  but  twice  in  this  play,  and  but  eight  other  times  in  all  the  Plays. 
I  should  be  sorry,  for  the  credit  of  human  intelligence,  that  any  man  could  be 
found  who  would  think  that  all  these  unusual  words  —  rare  on  a  thousand  pages  — 
have  concurred  arithmetically  on  two  or  three  pages  by  accident. 

And  the  aristocracy  are  in  dread  of  the  wealthy  parvenu  absorbing  the  territory 
around  him.     The  Bishop  says: 

305—50=255—31=224.      610—224=386+1=387. 
305—50=225—31=224—5  b  (31  )=2 19-  50=1 69- 

146=23.     318—23=295  +  1=296. 
305—  50=255—31=224—50=174—146=28—3  b 

(148)— 26.     318—25=293+1=294 
305—50=255—32=223—5  b=2 1 8—50=1 68—50 

(76:1)=118.     603—118=485+1=486+3  b  col. 
305—50=255—32=223—5  /;=218— 50=1 68—146= 

22—3  b  (146)=19+31=50. 
305—50=255—32=223-5  /;  (32)=218— 50  (76:1)= 

168.     603—168=435+1=436. 
305— 50=255— 32=223— 5=218— 50=16S— 146= 

22— 3  b  (146)=19+ 162=181.    . 
305—32=273.     610-273=337+1=338  +  12  b  &  h= 
305—31=274—193=81—15  b  &  h=66.     448-66= 

382+1=383. 
305—50=255—31=224—5  b  (31)=219— 49  (76:1)= 

170—5  b  &  //=165. 
305— 50=255— 31=224— ob  (31)=219-49  (76)= 
305—50=255—31=224—5  b  (31)=219.     610—219= 

391  +  1=392+9  b  col. =401. 
305— 50=255— 31=224— 5  <*(31)=219— 50  (76:1)= 

169—146=23.     518—23=495+1=496. 


387 

77:2 

It 

296 

79:1 

1ST 

294 

79:1 

thought 

489 

76:2 

he 

50 

79:1 

will 

436 

76:2 

buy- 

181 

78:1 

all 

350 

77:2 

the 

383 

165 
170 


496 


76:1 


land 


77:2     appertinent 
76:2  to 


r9:l 


New 


Place. 


And  note  this  group  of  words :  buy  —  all —  land  —  appertinent  — to  —  A"e'o  Place, 
How  lawyer-like  is  the  language.  Appertinent  occurs  but  once  in  this  play  and  but 
twice  besides  in  all  the  Plays  !  Yet  here  it  coheres  arithmetically  with  buy  —  land — 
Nezv  Place.     And  this  is  the  only  time  buy  and  land  are  found  in  this  act,  and  buy 


788 


THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

311 

78:1 

We 

69 

78:2 

know 

402 

81:2 

him 

31 

77:2 

as 

22 

81:2 

a 

219 

78:2 

butcher's 

372 

72:2 

rude 

140 

78:1 

and 

386 

78:2 

vulgar 

164 
224 

81:2 

78:2 

'prentice, 
and 

occurs  but  once  besides  in  the  whole  play.     And  this  is  the  first  time  place  appears 
in  eighteen  columns  of  the  Folio  — since  ist  Henry  IV.,  act  5,  scene  1. 

And  the  Bishop  expresses  the  opinion  of  his  friends,  the  gentlemen  around 
Stratford,  that  the  village  boy  they  had  known  so  well  as  a  poacher  could  not  have 
written  these  "  much  admired  plays." 


305—32=273—50=223—5  4=218—50  (76:1)=168. 

468—168=300  +  1=301  +  10  4  col.=311. 
305— 31=274— 30=244— 162=82— 13  b  &  h  col.— 
305—32=273—50=223—5  4=218—50=168—146= 

22-3  />  (146)=19.     420—19=401  +  1-402. 
305— 32=273— 50=223— 30=193— 162=31. 
305—32=273—50=223—5  4=21 8—50=1 68—146= 
305—31=274—50=224—5  4=219. 
305—31=274—30=244—5  4=239.     610—239=371 

+  1=372. 
305—31=274—50=224—5  4=219—50  (76:1)=169— 

146=23.     162—23=139+1=140. 
305—31=274—30=244—162=82.     462—82=380+ 

1=381+5  4  col. =386. 
305—32=273—50=223—5  4=218—50  (76:1)=168— 4 

4  &  h  col. =164. 
305—31=274—50=224. 
305—32=273—50=223—5  4=218—50=168—50= 

118.     162—118=44+1=45. 
305—32=273—50=223—50=173—50=123.     468— 

123=345+1=346. 
305—31=274—193=81—49  (76:1)=32. 
305—31=274—50=224—5  4=219—50  (76:1)= 

169—146=23—5  4  col.=18. 
305—31=274—50=224—5  4=219—50=169—146= 

23+162=185. 
305—32=273—50=223—50=173+ 162=335. 
305—31=274—30=244+162=406—2  k  col  =404. 
305—32=273—50=223—193  (75:1)=30.     462—30 

.     432+1=433. 
305—31=274—193=81—49  (76:1)=32.     457+32= 
305—31=274—50=224—4  4  col. =220. 
305—32=273—50=223—5  4=218—146=72.     448— 

72=376+1=377. 
305—31=274—193  (75:1)=81— 50  (76:1)=31.     458+ 

31=489. 
305—31=274—254  (75:1)=20. 
305—32=273—50=223—5  4=218—50=168—51=117 

—1  h  col. =116. 
305—31=274—1 93=81—50=31. 
305—31=274—254=20—15  4  &  4=5.  448—5=443+1= 
305—31=274-50=224—5=219—50=169—50(76:1) 

=119.     577—119=458+1=459+11 4=470. 
305—32=273—50=223. 
305—31=274—30=244—50=194—162=32. 


45 

346 
32 

18 


78:1 

78:1 
76:2 

79:1 


was, 
in 


our 


185 

78:1 

opinion! 

335 

78:1 

not 

404 

78:1 

likely 

433 

78:2 

that 

489 

76:2 

he 

220 

76:2 

writ 

r6:l 


them; 


489 

76:2 

he 

20 

78:1 

is 

116 

76:2 

neither 

31 

76.2 

witty 

444 

76:1 

nor 

470 

77:1 

learned 

223 

78:1 

enough. 

32 

78:2 

The 

SUA  KSPERE  S  SICKNE  SS. 


789 


305—31=274—50=224—50=174—145=29—3  £  (145)= 
305— 31=274— 50=224— 5  £=219—145=74. 
305—32=273—50=223—5  £=218—58  (80:1)=160. 

468—160=308  +  1=309. 
305—32=273—162=111. 
305—31=274—162=112. 
305—31=274—50=224—5  £=219—50  (76:1)=169 

—145=24. 
305— 32=273— 50=223— 5  £=218— 50=168— 50=118 

—2  h  col.  =11 6. 
305—31=274—50=224—5 £=219—50  (rJ6:l)=169— 

146=23.     318—23=295+1=296. 
305—31=274—50=224—50=174—146=28—1  h  col.= 
305—31=274—50=224—50=174—146=28—3  £  (146) 

=25.     317—25=292+1=293. 
305—31=274—30=244—50=194—162=32+32= 
305—32=273—50=223—5  £=218—50=168.     489— 

168=321  +  1=322+1  h  col  =323. 
305— 31=274— 50=224— 50—1 74— 146=28+317= 
305—31=274—30=244—50=194—162=32.     610— 

32=578+1=579. 
305— 31=274— 50=224— 5  £=219— 50=169— 145= 
305—31=274—5  £=269—162=107.         • 
305— 32=273— 50=223— 38  (80 :1)=185. 
305—31=274—30=244—50=194. 


Word. 

=  26 

74 

Page  and 
Column. 

79:1 

79:1 

subjects 
are 

309 
111 
112 

78:1 

78:2 
78:2 

far 

beyond 

his 

24 

78:2 

ability. 

116 

78:2 

It 

296 

■  27 

79:1 
81:2 

is 
even 

293 
64 

79:1 
79:1 

thought 
here 

323 
345 

81:1 
79:1 

that 
your 

579 
24 
107 
185 
194 

77:2 
81:2 
81:2 
81:1 
82:1 

cousin 

of 

St.  Albans 

writes 

them. 

This  is  the  only  time  cousin  appears  in  this  act,  and  the  only  time  St.  Albans  is 
found  in  this  play;  and  this  is  the  only  time  writes  occurs  in  this  play;  and  writ  is 
found  but  twice  in  this  play;  yet  here  in  the  same  sentence  we  have  writ  and  writes, 
cousin  and  St.  Albans,  all  united  by  the  same  number.  This  is  also  the  only  time 
witty  occurs  in  this  play;  it  is  found  but  fourteen  times  besides  in  all  the  Plays. 
It  does  not  appear  in  King  John,  Richard  II,  1st  Henry  IV.,  or  Henry  V.  The  last 
time  it  appears,  previously  to  this  instance,  is  in  the  Comedy  of  Errors,  iii,  1,  289 
pages  or  57S  columns  distant !  learned  is  found' but  two  other  times  in  this  play. 
Opinions  appears  but  once  besides  in  this  play,  and  but  ten  times  in  all  the  Plays. 
And  this  is  the  only  time  that  either  butcher  or  vulgar  or  'prentice  occurs  in  this 
play;  and  'prentice  is  only  found  three  times  in  the  thousand  pages  of  the  ]  olio;  and 
both  butcher  and  vulgar  are  comparatively  rare  words  in  the  Plays.  And  butcher 
is  305 — 31=274 — 50=224 — 5=219;  and  'prentice  is  305 — 32=273 — 50=223— 5  £= 
218  less  50.  That  is  to  say,  one  commences  to  count  from  the  last  word  of  the  first 
section  of  79:1,  and  the  other  from  the  first  word  of  the  next  section.  And  this 
is  the  only  time  ability  is  found  in  this  play,  or  in  all  the  ten  Histories;  and  it  only 
occurs  nine  times  besides  in  all  the  Plays. 

If  all  this  be  accident,  surely  it  is  the  most  marvelous  piece  of  accidental  work  » 
in  the  world. 

And  then  the  Bishop  recurs  to  Shakspere's  health.  He  thinks  that  if  Shakspere 
is  brought  before  the  Council  to  answer  for  his  offense,  he  is  so  enfeebled  by  disease 
that  the  fear  of  the  rack  will  compel  him  to  tell  all  he  knows  about  the  authorship 
of  the  Plavs. 


305—31=274—30=244—50=194—162=32.    457+32=489 


rG: 


He 


79° 


THE  CIPHER  NARRA  TIVE. 


305— 31=274— 145=129— 2  £  col. 
305—31=274—50=224—146=78 

=533+2// col —535. 
305— 31=274— 5  £=269.     518—269=249+1 

6  h  col. =256. 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

=127.                          127 

77:2 

cannot 

610—78=532^1 

535 

77:2 

last 

=250+ 


256 


r9:l 


long. 


Observe  how  cunningly  long  is  made  the  224th  word  from  the  beginning  of  act 
ii,  scene  1,  and  the  274th  word  from  the  end  of  the  same  column: 

305—31=274—50=224+32=256.  256  79:1  long 

305—31=274—5  b  (31  =269.     518—269=249^-1= 

250+6// col. =256.  256  79:1  long 

And  this  250  is  answer — brought  to  answer  before  the  Council.     And  here  is 
Council: 


305—31=274—50=224—50=174—146=28.     449— 

28=421  +  1=422. 
305-  31=274—50=224—146=78.     448—78=370 

+  1=371. 
305-32=273—50=223—7  h  col.=216. 
305—32=273-50=223—146=77—3  b  (146)=74. 

577—74=503+1=504. 
305—32=273—50=223—145=78—3  b  (145;=75. 

577—75=502+1=503+2//  col. =505.    , 
305—32=273—50=223—50  (76:1)=173.     577—173 

404+1=405. 
305—31=274—50=224—145=79—5  b  &  h  col.=74. 
305—32=273—162  (78:1)— 111. 
305—32=273—50=223—50  (76:1)=173,     577—173 

=404+1=405+3  h  col.=408. 
305—31=274—50=224—145=79—2  //  col.=77. 
305  -32=273—50=223—145=78. 
305—31=274—162=112. 
305—31=274—30=244—5  £=239—146=93.     577— 

93=484+1=485. 
305—31=274. 

305—32=273—50=223—5  £=218. 
305—31=274—254  (75:1)=20— 15  b&  h  (254)=5. 
305—32=273—50=223—5  b  (32)=218.     462—218= 

244+1=245. 
305—31=274—50=224.     577—224=353+1=354+ 

11  b  col —365. 
305—31=274—50=224.     610—224=386+1=387  + 

2  //=389. 
305—31=274—162  (78:1)=112. 
305—31=274—162=112.     318—112=206+1=207 

+  1  //=208. 
305—31=274—145=129—3  b  (145)=126. 
305—31=274—162=112.     162—112=50+1=51. 
305—32=273—50=223—5  b  (32)=218.     577—218= 

359+1=360+11  b  col. =371. 


422 

371 
216 

504 

505 

405 

74 
111 

408 
77 
78 

112 

485 

274 

218 

5 

245 


389 
112 

208 

126 

51 


76:1        Council. 


76:1 
77:1 

77:1 

77:1 

77:1 
76:1 
76:1 

77:1 
76:1 
76:1 
79:1 

77:1 

77:2 
78:1 
76:1 

78:2 

77:1 

77:2 
78:1 

79:1 
76:1 

78:1 


His 
health 


very- 
poor; 

it 
was 

my 

presurmise 

that 

he 

is 

blasted 

with 

that 

dreaded 

disease, 

the 


a 

most 

incurable 


77:1        malady. 


SUA  KSPERK  S  SICKNE  SS. 


791 


.-305—31=274—30=244—5  4=239—145=94.    448- 

94=354  +  1=355. 
305—32=273—162=1 1 1 . 
305— 31=274— 50=224— 50  (76:1  )=1 74— 145=29. 

468—29=439+1=440. 
305-31=274—50=224.     610—224=386+1=387. 


Word. 

355 
111 

440 
387 


Page  and 

Column. 


76:1 

77:2 

78:1 

77:2 


His 
looks 

prove 
it. 


Observe  the  cunning  of  this  workmanship.  The  name  of  Shakspere's  disease 
is  the  112th  word  down  the  fragment  of  scene  3,  in  78:1,  and  incurable  is  the  112th 
word  up  the  same.  After  a  while  we  will  see  this  reversed,  incurable  answering  to 
a  Cipher  number  (51)  down  the  column,  and  the  other  word  answering  to  the  same 
number  up  from  the  end  of  the  scene.  Let  the  reader  try  the  experiment,  and  he 
will  see  herein  another  of  the  ten  thousand  evidences  of  arithmetical  adjustment 
in  the  text. 

This  is  the  only  time  incurable  occurs  in  this  play,  and  it  is  found  but  three 
■other  times  in  all  the  Plays  !  And  this  is  the  only  time  malady  appears  in  this 
play;  and  it  occurs  but  twice  besides  in  all  the  ten  Histories,  and  but  eight  other 
times  in  all  the  Plays  ! 

305—31=274—30=244—5  £—239—57  (80:1)=182 

—11  b  col  =171.  171  90:2  One 

305—31=274—162=112.     610—112=498+1=499.  499  77:2  day 

505— 32=273— 50=223— 5=218— 58  (80:1)=160.  160  80:1  I 

305— 31=274— 50=224— 5  4=219— 162=57— 2  4col.=  55  77:2  did 
305—31=274—30=244—5  4=239.     317—239=78+ 

1=79  +  5  b  &  4=84.  84  79:1  chance 

305— 31=274— 50=224+185=409— 16  4  col. =393.  393  81:1  to 
505—32=273—50=223—5  4=218—58  (80:1)=160— 

10  b  &  h  col.=150.  150  80:1  meet 
305—31=274—30=244—5  4=239.     317—239=78 

+1=79.  79  79:1  him, 
305-31=274— 30=244— 50=194— 58  (80:1)=136. 

461—136=325  +  1=326.  326  80:1  and, 
305—31=274—50=224—5  4=219.     338—219=119 

+  1=120.  120  80:1  although 

305—31=274-30=244.     598—244=354+1=355.  355  79:2  I 
305—31=274—30=244—5  h  (31)=239.    598—239= 

359+1=360+9  4  col. =369.  369  79:2  am 
305—32=273—30=243—5  /;=238.     598—238=360 

+  1=361+9  4  col.  =370.  370  79:2  well 
305-32=273—30=243—5  //=238.     598—238=360 

+  1=361  +  10  4  &//=371.  371  79:2  acquainted 

305—31=274—30=244—145=99.     448—99=349+1=350  76:1  with 

305—31=274—30=244.  244  79:1  him, 

305—31=274—50=224  +  185=409.  409  81:1  I 

305— 31=274— 50=224— 58(80 :1)=166— 10  4=156  156  80:2  would 

305—32=273—30=243.  243  78:2  not 
305—31=274—30=244—5  4  (31)=239.     598—239= 

359  +  1=360.  360  79:2  have 

305—31=274—30=244-5  4  (31)=239  239  79:1  known 

305—31=274—162=112+31=143.  143  79:1  him, 


792 


THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 


305—31=274—50=224—5  £=219.     598—219=379 

+  1=380. 
305—32=273—50=223—5  £=218—50=168—1  £= 
305—32=273—50=223—5  £=218—58  (80:1)=160— 

4  £  &  /I— 166. 
305—31=274—30=244-162=82.     462—82=380+ 

1+4  £&  /&— 385. 
305—31=274—30=244—5=239—234  (81:2)=5— 3  h 

(234)=2.     338-2=336  +  1=337. 


Page  and 
Word.       Column. 


380  79:2  the 

167  81=2  transformation 

156  81:2  was 

385  78:2  so 

337  80:1         great. 


This  is  the  only  time  transformation  appears  in  this  play,  and  it  is  found  but 
six  other  times  in  all  the  Plays. 

Then  the  Bishop  goes  on  to  tell  the  conversation  he  had  with  Shakspere.  He 
beseeches  his  "worshipful  Lordship"  to  go  to  his  father's  house,  to  see  his 
father,  who  was  lying  sick. 


305—32=273—50=223—5  £=218—58  (80:1)= 
305—32=273—50=223—5  £=218—58  (80:1)=160— 

50=110. 
305—31=274—50=224—58=166. 
305—31=274—50=224—5  £=219—58=161. 
305—31=274—50=224—58=166-3  h  col  =163. 


160 


1:2 


father's 


110 

78:2 

house 

166 

80:2 

is 

161 

80:2 

lying 

163 

80:2 

sick. 

John  Shakspere  died  about  four  years  after  the  events  here  related. 

I  give  these  fragments  because  I  have  not  the  space  to  tell  the  whole  story, 
and  I  give  the  more  significant  words  to  show  the  reader  that  I  am  not  drawing  on 
my  imagination. 

And  the  Bishop  is  invited  to  supper.     Shakspere  says: 


305—32=273—50  (74:2)=223— 5  £  (32)=218— 50  (76:1) 

=168.     396—168=228+1=229.  229 

305—31=274—30=244-50=194.  194 

305—32=273—50=223—5=218—50=168.     396— 

168=228+1=229+2  £  col. =231.  °31 

305—32=273—30=243—57  (80:1)=186.  186 

305— 32=273-30=243— 5  £  (31)=238— 145  (76:2)=93. 

338—93=245  +  1=246.  246 

305—32=273—30=243—5  £=238—145=93—57  (80:1) 

=36.     523— 36=487+ 1=488+4  £  &  h  col .=  492 

305—31=274—30=244.     338—244=94+ 1=95.  95 

305—31=274—30=244.  396—244=152+1=153.  153 
305—32=273—30=243—5  £=238—145=93.     338— 

93=245+ 1=246+2  £  col  =248.  248 

305—32=273—30=243—5  £=238—145=93—3  £  (145) 

=90.     338—90=248+1=249.  249 

305—32=273—50=223—5  £=218—58  (80:1  =160.  160 
305—31=274—30=244—50=194.  338-194=144+1=145 
305—32=273-30=243—50=193.  193 

305—32=273—30=243-50=193.   338-193=145+1=146 


305—31=274—30: 
305—31=274—30= 


=244- 
=244- 


-50=194. 
-50=194— 14  £& 


h  col.= 


194 

180 


80:1 

80:2 

80:1 
81:2 

80:1 


80:1 

80  si 
80:1 
80:1 
81:2 
80:1 
81:2 
80:1 


Come, 
go 

along, 

I 

entreat 

you, 

to 

supper 

with 

me; 

I 

will 

give 

you 

an 

excellent 


SUA KSPERE'  S  SICKNESS. 


793 


305—33=273—50=223—5  0—218—50  (76:1)— 168— 
62  (80:2)— 103.     489—100=383+1=384. 

305— 32=273— 30=243— 50=193— 13  £  &  h  col.— 

305—32=273—50=223—5  ^ — 218 — 58  (80:1)— 160. 
523—160=363+1=364. 

305—31=274-30=244—50=194.     396—194=202+ 
1=203+2*  col.  =205. 


Word. 

384 
(180) 

364 

205 


Page  and 
Column. 


81:1 
80:1 

80:2 

80:1 


sack, 
my 

worshipful 

Lord. 


And  the  Bishop  and  Shakspere  hold  a  conversation  during  supper. 


305—31=274—50=224—185  (81:1)— 89. 
305—32=273—50=223—5  4=218—58=160—14  b  &  h 

col. =146. 
305—31=274—30=244—3//  col.— 241 
305—31=274—30=244—50=194—10  b  col. =184. 
305—31=274—30=244. 
305— 32=273— 30=243— 5^=238—145=93— 57 

(80:1)— 86— 2J  col.— 84. 
305—31=274—30=244—5=239—145=94—3  b  (145) 

=91.     489—91=398+1=399. 
305—32=273—30=243.     523—243=280+1=281. 
305—32=273—30=243—58  (80:1)— 185.     462—185 

=277+1=278. 


39 


81:2 


We 


146 

80:2 

talk 

241 

80:2 

upon 

181 

80:1 

the 

244 

80:2 

subject 

34 

399 

281 

278 


80:2 

81:1 
80:2 

80:2 


of 

his 
sick 

father. 


blessed 


hypocrite 


Entreat  appears  but  twice  in  this  play  —  here  and  in  the  Epilogue.  Supper 
occurs  four  other  times  in  this  play  —  where  Percy  describes  the  supper  at  Shak- 
spere's  house.  This  is  the  only  time  excellent  appears  in  this  scene.  It  is  not  found 
at  all  in  King  John  or  Richard  II.  This  is  the  only  time  subject  occurs  in  this  act. 
Worshipful  is  found  but  five  other  times  in  all  the  Plays.  This  is  the  only  time 
talk  occurs  in  this  act. 

I  need  hardly  explain  that  sack  was  a  kind  of  Spanish  wine,  something  like  our 
sherry. 

And  Shakspere  professes  great  love  for  his  father;  but  the  Bishop  thinks  he  is 
a  blessed  hypocrite: 

305—31=274—30=244—50=194.    523—194=329+1=330 
305  -31—274—50—224—5  /;— 219— 50  (76:1)— 169. 

523— 169— '354+1=355+2  b  col.— 357.  357 

And  that  he  is  trying  to  make  use  of  him,  the  Bishop: 

305—31—274—30=244—57=187.   523—187=336+1= 
305—31=274—50=224+185=409—16  b  col  =393. 
305—31=274—50=224—5  4=219+185  (81:1)— 404 

—16/;  col. =388. 
305—31=274—50=224—5=219+185—404. 
305—31=274—30=244—5=239—57—182.     598— 

182=416+1=417. 
305—32=273-  -30=243—5  4=238—145=93—3  b  (145) 

=90-58  (80:1)— 32. 

And  that  he  has  taken  advantage  of  his  father's  sickness  to  ingratiate  himself 
with  him,  the  Bishop,  in  the  hope  of  making  his  way  among  the  aristocracy.  And 
the  Bishop  concludes  he  will  let  him  think  so: 


=337 

80:2 

Think: 

393 

81:1 

to 

388 

81:1 

make 

404 

81:1 

use 

417 


32 


'9:2 


80:2 


of 


me. 


794  THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 

Page  and 
Word.      Column. 

305—31=274.     610— 274=336+1=337+9  £  col.  =  346  77:2  Let 

305— 31=274—  30=244—  5  /;=239— 18/.  col.  221  81:1  him 
305—31=274—30=244—50=194.     523—194=329+ 

1=330+3  h  col  —333.  333  80:2  think 

305— 31=274—  30=244— 5  /;=239  + 185  (81 :1)=424.  424  81:1  so. 

And  Shakspere  assures  the  Bishop  that  he  himself  stands  high  as  a  gentleman- 

305-31=274—30=244—50=194—57=1 37.     523— 

137=386+1=387+4  b&h  col.  =391.  391  80:2  I 

305—31=274—30=244—50=194—57=137.     523— 

137=386+1=387.  387  80:2  am 

305—32=273—30=243—50=193—57=136.     523— 

136=387+1=388.  388  80:2  well 

305—31=274+30=244—50=194—57=137.     523— 

137=386+1=387+2^=389.  389  80:2        spoken 

305—32=273—30=243—50=193—57=136.     523— 

136=387+1=388+2  /=390.  390  80:2  of. 

And  the  Bishop  gives  a  rapturous  description  of  the  sweet  looks  and  good  breed- 
ing of  Shakspere's  daughter,  Susanna;  her  low  curtesy  and  her  gentle  accents;  but  we 
will  find  this  hereafter  given  more  fully  by  another  party  —  by  Percy  when  he  visits 
Stratford. 

And  the  Bishop  examines  Shakspere  during  this  interview  and  thus  describes 
his  appearance: 

305—31=274—30=244—162=82.     462—82=380  +  1= 
305—32=273—30=243—5^=238—27  b  col.— 211. 
305—31=274—30=244—5  £—239. 
305—32=273—50=223—5  £=218—58  (80:1)=160— 

5  b  col. =155. 
305—31=274. 
305—32=273—30=243—5  b  (32)— 238.     534—238= 

296  +  1=297+2  h  col.—  299. 
305—32=273-30=243—27  b  col. =216. 

Shakspere  was  born  about  April  23d,  1564;  consequently  in  1597,  which  I  sup- 
pose to  be  the  date  of  the  events  described  in  the  Cipher  story,  he  was  just  thirty- 
three  years  old.  Observe  that  this  three  is  a  different  one  from  the  three  employed  to 
tell  of  the  division  of  the  profits  of  the  Plays  into  three  parts:  this  three  is  the  216th 
word  in  78:2;  while  the  other  was  the  io,2d  word  in  the  same  column.  There  are 
only  three  threes  in  act  i  of  the  Folio, —  in  sixteen  columns, —  and  here  we  have  two 
of  them  within  four  lines  of  each  other.  Thirty  occurs  but  eleven  times  in  all  the 
Histories,  and  three  times  in  this  play;  and  this  is  the  first  time  we  come  across  it 
in  this  play,  and  we  will  have  to  go  eight  columns  forward,  or  twenty-four  back- 
ward, before  we  find  it  again.  If  there  is  no  Cipher  "here,  surely  it  is  marvelous 
to  find  the  words  necessary  to  tell  Shakspere's  age  coming  together,  separated  only 
by  one  column,  and  each  one  growing  out  of  the  same  formula:  305 — 32=273 — 
30=243. 

305—31=274—50=224—5  *— 219— 50— 169-4  b  col. =165  76:2  yet 

305—31=274—30=244.     610—244=366+1=367.  367  77:2  he 

305—32=273—5  /;=268— 10  b  col.— 258.  258  77:2  is. 


=381 
211 
239 

78:2 
78:2 

77:2 

He 
is 
not 

155 

274 

80:1 

81:2 

more 
than 

299 
216 

79:2 

78:2 

thirty 
three, 

SHAA'SPEAE'  S  S/CA'ATESS. 


795 


305—31=274—30=244—5  b  (31)=239. 
305—31=274. 

305—32=273—30=243—5  ^ — 238 — 13  b  &  £—225. 
305—32=273—30=243—5  b  (32)=238— 10  b  col.— 
305—31=274—30=244—5  £=239—10  b  col.  =229. 
305—32=273—30=243—13  b  &  k— col.— 230. 
305— 31=274— 30=244— 13*  &  h  col  =231. 
305—3 1  =274—50=224—5=219—58  (80 : 1  )=1 61 . 
305—31=274—50=224—50=174—4  h  col. =170. 
305—31=274—30=244—10  b  col.  =234. 
305—31=274—50=224. 

305—31=274—30=244—5  4=239—3  k  col. =236. 
305—32=273—50=223—50=173—1  h  col.— 172. 
■305—32=273—50=223—5=218—50  (76:1  )=1 68— 

4  b  col. =164. 
305—31=274—50=224—50  (76:1)— 174. 
305—31=274—50=224—5  *=°19— 145=74— 3  b  (145) 

=71—2//  col. =69. 
.305—32=273—50=223—5  /;— 218— 50=1 68— 

5b  &  k— 163. 
305—31=274—13  b  &  k  col  =261. 
.305—32=273—50=223. 
305—31=274—50  (76:1  )— 224. 
305—32=273—28  (73:1)— 246. 
505—81—274—30—244. 

305—31=274—30=244—146=98—2  h  col.=96. 
305—32=273—50=223—5  />— 218— 146— 72— 2  h  col.= 
305—31=274—30=244—5  *=239— 145=94— 3  b  (145) 

=91.    420—91—329+1—330+7  b&  h  col.  =337. 
305—31=274—30=244—5  £— 239— 145— 94.     420— 

94=326+1=327. 
305—32=273—30=243—79  (73:1) — 1 64+ 162=326 

—9b  &  h<— 317. 
S05— 31— 274— 50— 224— 5  £—219—50  (76:1)— 169. 

468—169=299+1=300. 
305—31=274—50=224—5  £—219—50  (76:1)— 169. 
;305— 31=274— 30=244— 5  ^=239—145=94.     448— 

94=354+1=355. 
305— 31— 274— 50— 224— 5*— 219— 146— 73. 
305—32=273—50=223—10  b  col. =213. 
305—32=273—30=243—5=238—145=93—3  b  (145) 

=90.     420—90=330+1=331  +  1  h  col. =332 
:305— 32=273— 30=243— 5=238— 145=93— 3  b  (145)= 
305—31=274—30=244—5  b  (31)=239— 145=94—  3 

b  (145)— 91. 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

239 

78:2 

in 

274 

78:2 

his 

225 

77:2 

youth, 

228 

77:2 

written 

229 

77:2 

down 

230 

77:2 

old 

231 

77:2 

with 

161 

77:2 

all 

170 

78:2 

the 

234 

77:2 

characters 

224 

77:2 

of 

23G 

77:2 

age. 

172 

76:2 

His 

164 

76:2 

cheek 

174 

7Q:2 

is 

69 


f7:2 


white, 


163 

76:2 

his 

261 

77:2 

voice 

223 

78:2 

hollow, 

224 

76:2 

his 

245 

77:2 

hand 

244 

77:2 

dry, 

06 

77:2 

his 

-  70 

77:2 

hair 

337 

81:2 

grey, 

327 

81:2 

his 

317 

78:1 

step 

300 

78:1 

feeble; 

169 

78:1 

and 

355 

76:1 

his 

73 

76:1 

head 

213 

77:2 

wags 

332 

81:2 

as 

.  90 

76:1 

he 

91 

76:1 

walked. 

I  regret  to  set  forth  these  facts  concerning  Shakspere's  sickness.  They  are 
much  worse  than  even  the  most  earnest  Baconian  had  suspected.  And  yet  this 
statement  is  not  in  itself  improbable.  If  any  class  were  especially  liable  to  the 
dreaded  social   scourge  it  would  appear  to  be  the  poor  actors  of  that  age,  who,  by 


^fct'1/      /.?««  Kll 


796  THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 

law,  were  "  vassals"  and  "  vagabonds,"  and  who  were  necessarily  surrounded  by  all 
the  temptations  incident  to  their  mode  of  life;  their  theaters  being  the  favorite  re- 
sort for  all  the  vicious  of  both  sexes  in  the  great  city.  I  have  already  quoted  what 
Taine  says: 

It  was  a  sad  trade,  degraded  in  all  ages  by  the  contrasts  and  the  falsehoods 
which  it  allows. 

Only  in  the  justice  and  sweetness  of  our  modern  civilization  has  it  risen  to  the 
dignity  which  it  deserves;  and  the  future  will  accord  it  an  even  higher  standing,  for 
the  pleasure  and  the  benefit  which  it  can  afford  to  mankind.  As  an  instrument  of 
good  it  has,  as  yet,  been  but  partially  developed. 

We  know,  also,  that  Shakspere's  contemporary,  George  Peele,  actor  and  play- 
writer,  died  of  that  same  "shameful  disease."1  And  we  can  see  in  the  Cipher 
statement  an  explanation  of  Shakspere's  early  death.  He  left  the  world  at  the  age 
of  fifty-two;  at  a  time  when  he  should  have  been  in  the  meridian  of  his  mental  and 
the  perfection  of  his  physical  powers.  This  will  also  explain  his  early  retirement  to 
Stratford,  and  the  little  we  know  of  his  personal  history,  it  being  probable  that  he 
spent  much  of  his^time,  in  the  latter  part  of  his  life,  in  Warwickshire.  In  1604  we 
find  him  suing  Philip  Rogers  at  Stratford  for  £\.  15s.  iod.  for  malt  sold.  In  1608 
he  is  sponsor  for  William  Walker,  at  Stratford.  In  1609  he  sues  John  Adden- 
brooke,  at  Stratford.  It  is  also  probable  that  Bacon  desired  to  keep  Shakspere  out 
of  sight,  and  therefore  out  of  London,  as  much  as  possible,  so  as  to  avoid  the  keen 
eyes  of  his  critical  enemies:  —  for  "he  had  been  wronged  by  bruits  before;  " 
and  the  Cipher  shows  that  it  was  shrewdly  suspected  that  the  man  of  Stratford  had 
not  the  ability  to  write  the  Plays. 

And  this  may  also  explain  why  it  was  that  Shakspere  acted  parts  that  required 
no  particular  action,  such  as  the  Ghost  in  Hamlet,  or  the  old  man,  Adam,  in  As 
You  Like  It.    One  of  his  younger  brothers,  according  to  Oldys,  ■  described  him  as: 

Acting  a  part  in  one  of  his  own  comedies,  wherein,  being  to  personate  a 
decrepit  old  man,  he  wore  a  long  beard,  and  appeared  so  weak,  that  he  was  forced 
to  be  supported  and  carried  by  another  person  to  a  table. 

And  the  reader  cannot  help  but  note  this  wonderful  array  of  words  descriptive 
of  sickness  brought  out  by  the  same  modifications  of  the  same  root-number. 
Observe  how  the  bracketed  and  hyphenated  words  in  77:2  are  employed,  in  con- 
junction with  the  five  bracketed  words  in  31,  79:1,  to  bring  out  the  striking  sen- 
tence: "He  is  written  down  old  with  all  the  characters  of  age."  We  have  also  the 
word  his  repeated  six  times,  and  always  making  its  appearance  in  the  proper  place 
in  the  text.  There  are  whole  columns  of  the  play  where  his  cannot  be  found,  but 
here  they  are  in  abundance  when  required.  Characters  appears  but  once  in  this  play, 
and  but  twice  besides  in  all  the  ten  Histories;  written  occurs  but  once  in  this  play, 
and  but  four  times  besides  in  all  the  ten  Histories.  Hollow  is  found  but  three  times 
in  this  play  and  but  once  in  this  act  Wags  occurs  but  this  time  in  this  play,  and 
but  twice  besides  in  all  the  Plays  !  This  is  the  only  time  step  appears  in  this  play. 
And  this  is  the  only  time  feeble  (not  used  as  a  man's  name)  is  found  in  this  play; 
and  the  same  is  true  of  grey. 

And  here  I  would  say  that,  if  the  reader  is  curious  in  such  matters,  he  might 
turn  to  Mrs.  Clarke's  Concordance  of  Shakespeare,  p.  187,  and  observe  how  often: 
the  words  disease  and  diseases  occur  in  this  play  of  2d  Henry  IV.  as  compared  with 
the  other  Plays.  They  are  found  tivelve  times;  this,  with  the  Cipher  system  of 
using  the  same  word  over  many  times,  probably  implies  thirty-six  different  refer- 
ences, nearly  all,  I  take  it,  to  Shakspere's  diseases.     As  against  twelve  times  in  this 

1  Fleay's  Skaktpere  Manual,  p.  5.  a  Outlines,  p.  123. 


SHAKSPERES  SICKNESS. 


797 


play,  these  words  are  not  found  once  in  the  p'.ay  of  ist  Henry  IV.,  which  precedes  it, 
•or  in  Henry  I  \ ,  which  follows  it.  Neither  are  either  of  them  found  in  Love's  Labor  Lost, 
The  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  As  You  Like  It,  Twelfth  Night,  Richard  II.,  the 
third  part  of  King  Henry  VI. ,  Richard  III.,  Titus  Andronieus,  Romeo  and  Juliet, 
Julius  Cccsar,  Othello,  or  Cymbeline.  These  words  are  found,  in  fact,  as  often  in  this 
one  play  of  2d  Henry  IV.  as  they  are  in  all  the  following  plays  put  together:  The 
Tempest,  The  Merry  Wires,  Much  Ado  About  Nothing,  Midsummer  Night's  Dream, 
The  Merchant  of  Venice,  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  Pericles,  Hamlet,  King  John,  and  2d 
Henry  VI.  Now  the  play  of  2d  Henry  IV.  has  no  more  to  do  with  diseases  than 
any  other  of  these  Plays;  the  plot  does  not  in  any  wise  turn  upon  any  disease;  the 
references  to  it  are  all  apparently  incidental  in  the  play,  but  are  really  caused  by 
the  necessities  of  the  internal  Cipher  narrative.  And  all  this  tends  to  show  the 
-artificial  character  of  the  text  of  these  Plays.  It  is  a  curious  study  to  examine  the 
Shakespeare  Concordance  and  observe  how  strangely  some  plays  are  crowded  with 
a  particular  word  which  is  altogether  absent  from  others.  Note  the  words  glove 
and  please  (plays),  for  instance.  Please  occurs  once  in  King  John,  twice  in  Romeo 
-and  Juliet,  three  times  in  ist  Henry  I]'.,  fourteen  times  in  2d  Henry  IV.,  and 
twenty-eight  times  in  Henry  VIII.  !  And  yet  as  a  colloquialism  —  "please  you,  my 
Lord,"  etc. —  it  might  be  expected  to  occur  as  often  in  one  play  as  another. 
And  the  Bishop  continues  with  the  description  of  Shakspere's  appearance: 


305—32=273—50=223—5  /,  (3C)=218—  50  (76:1)= 

168.     297— 168=129- 1=1 30 
305— 31=274— 30=244— 50=194— 50  (76:1  )=144— 

=4  b  col.— 140. 
305—32=273—50=223—5  0— 218—30= 188— 9  b  col.- 
305— 32=273— 162=111 . 
305— 32=273— 50=223— 5 /;=21 8— 50=168— 145= 

23—3  b  (145)— 20.     577—20=557-1=558. 
305—32=273—50=223—5  0—218—50—168—145— 

23.     577 — 23=554  - 1=555  —  2  A— 557. 
305—31=274—5  b  (31  )=209— 162=107.     468—107= 

361  +  1=362.  ' 
305— 32=273— 50=223— 5 /'=218— 50=168— 145= 
305—31=274—162  (78:1)— 112— 8  0  col. =109. 
305—32=273—30=243—162=81—2  h  col. =79. 
305—32=273—30=243—162=81. 
305—32=273—162=111—6  b  &  //  col. 
305—31=274—5  b  (31)=269— 162=107.     462—107= 

355+1=356. 
305—32=273—162=111.     318—111=207+1=208. 
305—3 1  =274—30=244—5  i =239— 145=94 - 1 62= 
305—32=273—50=223—5  0—218—50  (76.1)— 168 

—2  0—166. 
305—32=273—30=243—1-15=98-13  b  ft  //  col.— 
305-  32=273—50=223—5  0—2 1 8— 50=1 08—  1 45= 

23.     577—23=554-1= 
305—31=274—30=244—145=99—3  //  col. =96. 
305—31=274—5  /;=269— 162=107.     610—107=503 

+  1=504. 
305—32=273—30=243—145=98—3  b  (14~)=95. 


Word. 

130 

140 

=179 

111 


Page  and 
Column. 


82:1 

76:2 
82:1 

79:1 

77:1 


There 

is 

a 
beastly 

wound 


77:1     new-healed 


362 

78:1 

on 

23 

77:1 

the 

109 

77:1 

side 

79 

77:2 

of 

81 

77:2 

his 

105 

82:1 

neck, 

356 

78:2 

and 

208 

79:1 

a 

256 

78:1 

gre?t 

166 

81:1 

wen 

85 

78:2 

or 

0") 

77:1 

gall, 

96 

81:2 

some 

504 

77:2 

thing 

95 

77:2 

like 

798 


THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 


=244- 

=89. 
=111 


S  b  (31)=239— 145=94— 3  b 
111=407+1=408+ 


518- 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

89 

77:2 

the 

411 
97 

79:1 

77:2 

King's 
Evil, 

111 

77:1 

which 

423 

99 

112 

76:1 
82:1 
77:1 

every 

day 

grows 

521 


77:1        greater, 


326 

80:2 

and 

219 

78:2 

his 

185 

82:1 

strength 

572 

79:2 

more 

300 

78:1 

feeble. 

305—31=274—30= 

(145)=91— 2  h 
305—32=273-162 

8  h  col.— 411. 
305—31=274-30=244—145=99—2  h  col. =97. 
305—32=273—1 62=  111. 
305—31=274—50=224—145=79—3  b  (145)=76. 

498—76=422+1=423. 
305—31=274—30=244—145=99. 
305—31=274—162=1 1 2. 
305—31=274—50=224—5  4=219—162=57.     577- 

57=520+1=521. 
305— 31=274—  30=244— 50=194— 57  v80:l)=137. 

462—137=325+1=326. 
305—31=274—50=224—5  4=219. 
305—31=274—162=112.     296—112=184+1=185 
305— 32=273— 50=223— 50=1 73— 146=27.     598- 

27=571  +  1=572. 
305—31=274—50=224—5  4=219—50  (76:1)=169. 

468—169=299+1=300. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  for  me  to  explain  that  "  the  King's  Evil  "  was  the  old-time 
name  for  scrofula,  because  it  was  believed  by  our  wise  ancestors  that  the  touch  of  the 
king's  hand  would  cure  it;  nor  is  it  necessary  to  add  that  scrofula  is  generally  accom- 
panied by  glandular  ulcerations  on  the  sides  of  the  throat  —  precisely  as  described 
in  the  Cipher  story.  King  is  a  common  word  in  the  Plays,  but  kings  is  compara- 
tively rare.     This  is  the  only  strength  in  this  act,  and  this  is  the  only  greater. 

litis  is  the  only  "  win"  in  all  the  Shakespeare  Plays  !  And  yet  here  it  appears, 
just  where  it  is  wanted,  to  describe  poor  Shakspere's  scrofulous  condition.  And 
observe  that  gall  and  ivcn  are  both  derived  from  precisely  the  same  terminal  root- 
number  168  [305 — 32=273 — 50=223 — 5  4  (32)=2i8—  50  (76:i)=i68].  And  this  is 
the  only  time  gall  appears  in  this  play  !  And  it  is  found  but  four  other  times  in  all 
the  Histories  ! 

And  the  Bishop  says  that  Shakspere  is  full  of  hope  that  he 

305—31=274—30—244—146=98—3  4  (146)=95— 5 

b  &  h  col.  =90. 
305—31=274.     318—274=44+1=45. 
305— 31  =274— 162=1 12.     468— 1 12=356+ 1=357  + 

4  &  h  =366. 
305—32=273—30=243—50=193+163=356. 
305—31=274—162=112.     468—112=356+1= 
305—31=274—30=244+185=429. 
305—32=273—1 62=1 1 1 .     468—1 1 1  =357  +  1= 
305—31=274-50=224—5  4=219—50  (76:1)=169— 

145=24.     457—24=433+1=434. 
305—32=273— 50=223— 5  4=218—50  (76:1)— 168+ 

162=330— 2  h  col. =328. 
305—31=274.     610—274=336+1=337. 
305—32=273—30=243—50=193—162=31 .     577— 

31=546+1=547. 


e  that 

he  will  n 

^cover: 

90 

76:1 

He 

45 

79:1 

is 

366 

78:1 

flattering 

356 

78:1 

himself 

357 

78:1 

with 

429 

81:1 

the 

358 

78:1 

hope 

434 

328 
337 

547 


76:2 


and 


78:1    expectation 
77:2  that 

77:1  he 


SHAHS  FERE'S  SICK AT ESS. 


799 


305— 32=273.     610—273=337+1=338. 
305—32=273—30=243—50=193—162=31. 
305—32=273—50=223.     577—223=354+1=355 

+3/*  col.  =358. 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

338 

77:2 

will 

31 

78:1 

get 

358 


:1 


well. 


Flattering  occurs  but  once  besides  in  this  play,  and  but  eight  times  in  all  the 
Histories.  Expectation  is  found  but  twice  in  this  act,  and  but  eleven  times  in  all 
the  Histories. 

And  Shakspere  thinks  he  is  yet  young  and  his  case  not  so  bad: 

305—31=274—30=244—50=194  +  162=356—9  b  &  /;=  347  78:1  young; 

305—31=274—30=244—50=194+162=356—7/;=  349  78:1  case 
305— 31=274— 50=224— 50  (76 : 1)=1 74 + 163=337— 

2  £=335.  335  78:1  not 
305—32=273—30=243—162=81.     462—81=381  +  1 

=382+4  b  &  £=386.  386  78:2  so 

305—32=273—30=243—50=193—162=31—1  £=  30  77:2  bad. 

But  the  Bishop  feels  certain  that  he  cannot  recover  from  his  terrible  disease. 
It  is,  he  says, — 

305—32=273—50=223—5  £=218— 50=168—  50=118. 

468—118=350+1=351+8/;  col. =359. 
305-31=274—50=224—50=174—145=29. 
305—31=274—30=244—163=81. 
305—32=273—50=223—9  6  col.  =214 

He  cannot  escape  the  grave: 

305—31=274—30=244—162=82.     577—82=495+1 

=496+2 //col.  =498.                                                      498  77:1 

305— 32=273— 50=223— 5£=218—50(76:l)=168+32=200  79:1 

305—31=274—30=244—50=194—162=32.  32  78:2 
305-31=274—30=244—50=194—162=32.     462— 

32=430+1=431.                                                          431  78:2 


359 

78:1 

Eating 

29 

81:1 

away 

81 

77:2 

his 

214 

82:1 

life. 

Cannot 

'scape 

the 


grave. 

Here,   with  all  these  words  descriptive  of  disease  and  weakness,   we  find  the 
inevitable  grave.     And  this  is  the  only  time  grave  is  found  in  this  act. 


505  —  167=338. 
But  I  shall  now  go  farther  and  show  that  these  words  descrip- 
tive of  Shakspere's  sickness  not  only  come  out  at  the  bidding  of  523 
— 218=305 — 31  or  32,  but  that  they  are  called  forth  Irom  the  same 
text  by  an  entirely  different  Cipher  number,  to-wit:  505 — 167=338  —  f 
to  which  we  now  return.  This  must  demonstrate  beyond  cavil  the 
most  exquisite  adjustment  of  the  words  of  the  play  to  certain  arith- 
metical requirements.  I  shall  have  to-be  brief,  for  the  story  is  an 
endless  one  and  the  temptation  is  almost  irresistible  to  follow  it 
out  into  its  ramifications. 


8oo 


THE  CITHER  NARRATIVE. 


It  must  be  remembered  that,  though  these  two  stories  are  here 
brought  together  on  the  same  pages,  they  are  probably  separated  by 
hundreds  of  pages  in  the  Cipher  narrative. 

Neither  must  it  be  forgotten  that  I  have  worked  out  but  a  tithe 
of  the  story  growing  out  of  523 — 218=305.  I  have  given  part  of 
that  which  flows  from  305  minus  31  or  32,  at  the  top  of  79:1;  but 
305  is  also  modified  by  deducting  the  other  fragments  of  79:1,  as 
284  and  285  (31  or  32  to  317),  57  or  58,  the  last  section  in  the  column, 
and  199  or  200  (318  to  518),  etc. 

In  the  following  statement  Bacon  speaks  himself: 


338—31=307—30—277.     396—277=119+1=120. 

338—57  (79:1)=281— 30=251. 

338—31=307—163=144. 

338—32=306—5  £=301  +  163=464—20  b  &  h  col.= 

338—31=307—5  £=302—30=272—145=127—3  b  (145) 

=124—4  b  &  h  col.=120. 
338—32=306—5  b  (32)=301— 2  h  col. =299. 
338—31=307—5  £=302—50=252.     462—252=210+ 

1=211  +  5/;  col.=216. 
338—31=307—50=257—4  h  col. =253. 
338—57  (79:1)=281— 27  b  col.  =254. 
338— 31=307— 5  £=302— 50=252.  462—252=210+1= 
338—57  (79:1)— 281— 50  (76:1) — 231 — 10  £=221. 

338—57=281—50=231 . 
338—57=281—49  (76:1)=232— 162=70. 
338—32=306—50=256—50=206—145=61 . 
338—57  (79 :1)=281— 30=251. 
338—58  (79:1) — 280 — 30=250— 50. 
338—31  (79:1)=307— 162=145. 
338—57=261—50=231—162=69. 
338—31=307—5  £  (31)— 302— 30=272— 162=110. 

610—110=500+1=501  +  2//  col. 
338—57  (79:1)=281— 50=231— 31  £  &  h  col. =200. 
338— 31=307— 50=257— 7  £  col. =250. 
338—31  =307—30=277—1 62=1 15. 
338—31=307-50=257—50=207—145=62—50(7! 

=12+457=469. 
338— 31=307— 145=162+162=324— 9£  &  h  col.= 
338—58  (79 :1)=280— 27=253. 
338—31=307—30=277—162=115—4  £  &  h  col.— 
388—32=306—50=256—50=206. 
338— 32=306— 9  £  &  h  col.— 297. 
338—31=307—50=257—162=95. 
338— 162=  171  i. 


Page  and 

Word. 

Column. 

120 

80:1 

Although 

251 

78:2 

he 

144 

77:2 

is 

444 

78:1 

not 

) 
120 

77:2 

yet 

299 

79:2 

thirty 

216 

78:2 

three, 

253 

78:2 

his 

254 

78:2 

back 

=211 

78:2 

is 

221 

74:1 

stooped 
and 

231 

78:2 

his 

70 

77:2 

hair 

61 

76:1 

and 

251 

77:2 

beard 

200 

80:1 

are 

145 

77:2 

turned 

69 

77:2 

white. 

503 

77:2 

Any 

200 

78:2 

one 

250 

77:1 

would 

115 

77:2 

take 

469 

76:2 

him 

315 

78:1 

by 

253 

78:2 

his 

111 

77:2 

looks 

206 

79:1 

to 

297 

78:1 

be 

95 

76:1 

an 

176 

77:2 

old 

SHA  KSPERE'  S  SIC  AWE  SS. 


801 


A'ord. 

Page  and 
Column. 

252 

76:1 

man. 

112 

79:1 

He 

62 

77:1 

had 

:;ss 


great 


338—31=307—5  b  (32)=302— 50=252. 
338—31=307— 50=257— 145=1 12. 
33S_31=307— 50=257— 50=207— 145=62. 
338— 32=306— 50=256— 50(76: 1)=206— 145=61. 

448— 61— 387-<-l— 888. 
338—32=306—102=144.     458—144=314^-1=315+ 

1b  &  //col. =322. 
338—161=177.     577—177=400+1=401+3  A— 404. 
338—31=307—30=277—50=227—5  b  col.— 282. 
338—32=306—50=256—5  £— 251— 162— 89.     598— 

89=509+1=510^-2  £=512. 
338—32=306—50=256. 
338—31=307—145=162. 
338—31=307—50=257—145=112. 
338— 31=307— 50=257— 50=207— 145=62— 3  £=59 

—2  h  col. =57. 
338—31=307—50=257—145=112—3  h  col.— 109. 
338—31=307—50=257—50=207—145=62—3  b  (145) 

=59—2  h  col.— 57. 
338—32=306—146=160+162=322—9  b  &  h  col.— 
338—31=307—50=257—50=207—145=62—3  b  (145)=  I 
338—32=306—50=256—50=206—145=61. 
338— 31=307— 50=257— 50  (76:1)=207— 145=62. 

448—62=386+1=387. 
338—31=307—50=257—4  b  col. =253. 
338—32=306—162=144—5  b  &  h  col.— 189. 

Here,  instead  of  7oen  and  gall,  we  have  bunches;  and  throat  instead  of  neck. 
And  observe  how  the  same  significant  words,  thirty  three,  are  brought  out  by 
totally  different  numbers. 

338—161=177. 

338—162=176—5  £  &  £  col.— 171. 
338—162=176—4  £= 172. 
338—32=306—50=256.     610—256=354+1=355+ 

12  b  &  h= 867. 
338—162=176—1  b  col.— 175. 
338—32=306—5  £=301—30=271—50=221.     577— 

221=356+1=357. 
338—162=176. 

338—31=307—50=257.  598—257=341  +  1=342. 
338—32=306—50=256—50=206—145=61—4  b  &  *— 
338—32=306—5  £=301—50=251.  610-251=359 

+  1=360. 
338—31=307—30=277—57  (79:1)— 220. 
338—31=307—5  £  (31)=302— 50=252  +  162=414. 
338—162=176—27  £  col. 
338—161=177.  577—177=400+1=401. 

Physician  is  comparatively  a  rare  word  in  the  Plays,  — it  is  not  found  in  more 
than  half  the  Plays; — yet  it  occurs  in  this  play  three  times.  Observe  how  338 — 
161  up  the  column  is  physician,  while  338 — 162=176  down  the  column  is  sick. 


822 

76:2 

bunches 

404 

77:1 

as 

222 

78:1 

big 

512 

79:2 

as 

256 

80:1 

my 

162 

79:1 

fist 

112 

77:2 

upon 

57 

76:1 

the 

109 

77:1 

side 

57 

77.2 

of 

313 

78:1 

his 

■  59 

27:1 

throat 

61 

76:1 

and 

387 

76:1 

under 

253 

78:2 

his 

139 

76:2 

chin. 

177 

77:1 

I 

171 

77:1 

heard 

172 

77:1 

say 

367 

77:2 

he 

175 

77:1 

was 

357 

77:1 

very 

176 

77:1 

sick 

342 

79:2 

and 

57 

77:1 

in 

360 

77:2 

the 

220 

77:1 

care 

414 

78:1 

of 

149 

78:2 

a 

401 

77:1 

physicia: 

802 


THE  CIPHER  NARRA  TIVE. 


338—32  (79:1)— 306— 50=256-162=94— 11  b  col.= 
338—32=306—50=256—162=94—50  (76: 1)— 44— 

1  h  col.  =43. 
338—31=307—50=257.     462—257=205  +  1=206+ 

5  b  col.— 211. 
338— 32=306— 50=256— 30=226— { 
338—31=307—7  b  col.=300. 
338—31=307—162  (78:1)— 145. 
338—57  (59:1)— 281  -50=231. 
338—31=307. 
333— 31=307— 49  (76:1)— 258.     462- 

205+8  6  &  *— 218. 
338—32=306—197=109. 
338—31=307—50=257—30=227—50=177.     468— 

177=291  +  1=292+11  b  &h  col.— 303. 
338—31  (79:1)=307— 50=257— 57— (79:1)  200. 

577—200=377+1—378. 
338—31=307—13  b  &  h  col.— 294. 
338—57  (79 : 1)— 281— 50=231 .     462—231—231 + 1— 
338—57=28 1—50=23 1—50=181 
338—32=306—146—160. 
338—30—308—57—251. 
338—284—54—2  b  &  h= 52. 
3  38—49—289—162=127. 
338  -50=288—162=126, 

338—284  (79:1)=54— 5  b  &  //— 49.     162—49=113+1= 
338— 2S4  (79:1)— 54.     162—54=108+1=109. 
338—31=307—218  (74:2)=89. 
338—32=306—5  b  (32)— 301— 30— 271— 146— 125— 

13  b  *  A— 112. 
338—32=306—50=256—50—206—145—61 .     448— 

61=387+1=388. 
338—31=307—218  (74:2)=89.     162—89=73+1=74. 
338—30=308—32  (79:1)— 276. 

338—31=307—197  (74:2)— 110.  610—110—500+1— 
338—32—306—5  0  (32)— 301— 30— 271— 11  3  &  h  col.- 
338—31—307—5  £  (31)— 302— 30— 272— 11  *  &  A  col.- 
338—31—307—5  b  (31)— 302— 30— 272— 161— 111— 

2  /;— 109. 
338-31—307—5  b  (31)— 302— 30— 272.     577—272— 

305+1—306+3  h  col.— 309. 
338—31=307—5  b  (31)— 302— 30— 272— 7  *  col  — 
338—32—306—5  b  (32)— 301— 30=271— 5  h  col.— 
338— 57— 281— 50— 231— 50— 181  - 145=36. 


Word. 
83 

43 


Page  and 
Column. 

78:2 


76:1 


His 


health 


211 

78:2 

is 

)— 176+163— 

339 

78:1 

very 

300 

78:1 

feeble 

145 

78:2 

and 

231 

78:2 

his 

307 

78:1 

step 

■258—204+1= 

213 

78:2 

unfirm. 

109 

77:2 

He 

303 


378 

77:1 

troubled 

294 

77:2 

with 

232 

78:2 

several 

181 

76:1 

dangerous 

160 

78:1 

diseases; 

251 

78:2 

he 

[52] 

78:2 

is 

127 

78:2' 

subject 

126 

79:2 

to 

114 

79:1 

the 

109 

79:1 

gout 

89 

78:2 

in 

112 


109 

309 

265 

266 

36 


78:2 


his 


388 

76:1 

great 

74 

78:1 

toe; 

276 

78:1 

and 

501 

77:2 

I 

=260 

77:1 

hear 

=261 

77:1 

moreover 

77:2 

77:1 
77:1 

77:1 


he 

hath 
fallen 
into 


78:1  consumption. 


Consumption  occurs  but  once  in  this  play,  and  but  four  other  times  in  all  the 
Plays.  Yet  here  we  have  it  cohering  with  gout  and  the  shameful  disorder.  And 
gout  also  appears  here  twice  together  and  but  three  other  times  in  all  the  Plays  ! 
And  toe  appears  but  this  time  in  this  play  and  but  twelve  times  besides  in  all  the 
thousand  pages  of  the  Plays. 


SNA  KSPERE  S  SICKNE  SS. 


803 


338— 32=306— 30=2  70 . 

338-31=307—5  b  (31)=302— 30=272.     577—272— 

305+1—806. 
338— 32=306— 5—301— 30=271.     577—271=306+1= 
338—31—807—94  &  h  col. =298. 
338—284=54—5  b  &  h  (284)=49. 
338—3 1=307—50=257.     402—257=205  +  1=206. 
338—31=307—50=257.     396—257=139+1=140+ 

7  4  col.— 147. 
338—50=288—50  (79:1)— 231— 4  h  col. =227. 
338— 32(79:1)— 306— 30— 276—  31  b  &  h  col. =245. 
338—284  (32  to  316,  79:1)— 54— 54  &  h  (284)— 49. 
338—57  (79:1)— 281— 10/;  col.— 271. 
338—31=307—50=257.     534—257=277+1—278+ 

74  col.— 285. 
338—31=307. 
338—31—307—50=257. 

338—284  (79:1)=54— 3  b  (284)— 51.    162—51=111  +  1= 
338—284  (32  to  316,  79:1)— 54— 3  b  (284)— 51. 
338—31=307—50=257.     462—257=205-1=206+ 

54(31)— 211. 
338—284  (32  to  316,  79:1)— 54— 50— 4    3  b  (284)=1. 
338—30=308—200  (318</)= 108. 
338—284  (32  to  316,  79:1)— 54. 
338—285=53—50—3. 
33S— 284=54—  3  b  (284)— 51. 
338—50=288—284  (32  to  316,  79:1)— 4.     598—4= 

594+1—595. 
338—57  (79:1)=281— 50.     231—50=181. 
338—50—288—284  (31  to  316,  79:1)— 4.     163—4= 

159+1=160. 
338—30=308—50=258—162=96.     610—96=514+ 1= 
338— 285  (79:1)— 53.     533—53=480+1=481. 
338— 31=307— 218  (74:2)=89+ 163=252. 
338—32=306—30=276—50=226—162=64. 
338—31=307—50=257—64  (79:2)— 193. 
338—31=307—50=257—63  (79:2)=194— 161  (78:1)= 
338—31=307—50=257.     598—257=341+1=342+ 

94  col.— 851. 
338—162=176—49=127—11/;  col.— 116. 
338—31=307—5  4—302—30—272.  577—272=305+1= 
338—32—306—284  (79:1)=22— 3  b  (284)— 19. 
338—31—307.     610—307—303+1—304+124  &  h= 
33s— 31=307— 50=257— 27  4  col.— 880. 
338—32=306—50—256—50=206—162—44. 
338—31=307—50=257—162=95. 
338—284  (33  to  317,  79:1)=54. 
338— 31— 307— 50— 257— 50  (76:1)— 207. 
338—32—306—50—256—162—94. 
338— 31— 307— 50— 257— 57  (79:1)— 200. 


Page  and 
Column. 

Word. 

272 

78:1 

And 

306 

77:1 

it 

=307 

77:1 

is 

298 

78:1 

thought 

49 

79:2 

he 

206 

78:2 

must 

147 

80:1 

have 

227 

78:2 

that 

245 

78:2 

dreaded 

49 

78:1 

disease 

271 

74:1 

they 

285 

79:2 

call 

307 

78:2 

the 

257 

78:2 

French 

=112 

78:1 

(51) 

78:2 

which 

211 

78:2 

is 

1 

78:1 

one 

108 

78:2 

of 

54 

78:2 

the 

3 

79:2 

most 

51 

78:1 

incurable 

595 

79:2 

of 

181 

78:1 

all 

160 

78:1 

diseases; 

=515 

77:2 

there 

481 

79:2 

is, 

252 

78:1 

in 

64 

77:2 

truth, 

193 

80:1 

no 

33 

78:1 

remedy 

351 

79:2 

for 

116 

78:2 

it. 

=306 

77:1 

It 

19 

79:1 

seems 

316 

77:2 

to 

230 

78:2 

draw 

44 

78:2 

all 

95 

78:2 

the 

54 

79:2 

substance 

207 

76:2 

out 

94 

78:2 

of 

200 

79:2 

one, 

804 


THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 


338— 31 =307— 49— 258. 

338—31=307—5  b  (31  )=302— 50=252. 

338—284  (79:1)  =54— 49  (76:1)=5. 

338— 31=307— 50=257— 31  b  &  h  col. =226. 

338—32=306—50=256—31  b  &  h  col.  =225. 

338—32=306—50=256—50=206—162=44.     396— 

44=352+1=353. 
338—284=54—30=24. 
338—32=306-30=276—50  (76:1)=226. 
338—31=307—145=62.     577—62=515  + 1=516. 
338—31=307.     610—307=303+1=304+3//  col .= 
338—284  (32  to  316)=54— 50=4+162=166. 
338—31=307—50=257—63  (79:2)=194— 2£  (63)= 
338—31=307—30=277—3 1=246. 
338—32=306—30=276 . 

462—277=185  +  1=186+ 


146—145  (76:2)— 1. 
•162=114.     339-114=225 


338—31=307—30=277. 

5*  col  =191. 
338—32=306—50=256. 
338—31=307—161=146 
338—32=306—30=276- 

+  1=226. 
338—50=288—284=4—2  h— 2.     462—2=460+1= 
338—50=288—31  (791:1)=257.     462—257=205+1= 
338-  163  (78:1)=175.     462—175=287+1=288. 
338— 31=307— 1 6 1=146— 145=1 .     498—1=497 + 1= 
338—58  (79:1)=280— 58  (80:1)=222. 
338—32=306—30=276—50=226. 
338—57=281.     598—281=317+1=318+9  b  col.— 
338—57  (79:1)=281— 7  b  col.=274. 
338—31  (79:1)=307— 162=145.     518—145=373  +  1= 

374+4  //  col. =378. 
338—50=288—31  (79)=257— 5  b  &  h  col.  =252. 
338—144  (317  d  79:1)=194. 
338—31=307  (74:2)— 50=257— 5  b  (31)=252. 
338—57  (79:1)=281. 
338—31=307—50=257—63  (79:2)=194. 
338—31=307—30=277.     462—277=185+ 1=186+ 

5  b  col.— 191. 
338—284=54—5  b  &  h  (284)=49.     162—49=113+1= 
338—284  (32  to  316,  79:1)=54.     463—54=414+1  = 
338—32=306—30=276—50=226.  462—226=236  + 1 
338—31=307—30=277. 
338—57=281—50=231—64  (79:2)=167.     462—167 

=295+1=296. 
338—284  (32  to  316,  79:1)==54.     163+54=217—3  b 

(284)=214. 
338—30=308—162=146.     339—146=193+1=194 

+2  b  col. =196. 
338—50=288—10  b  col.  =278. 
338—31—307—30=277.  317  (79:1)— 277=40+1= 


Word. 

258 
252 
5 
226 
225 

353 
24 
226 
516 
307 
166 
192 
246 
276 

191 
256 

1 

226 
461 
206 
288 
498 
222 
226 
327 
274 

378 
252 
194 
252 
281 
194 

191 

114 

415 

=237 

277 

296 

214 

196 

278 

41 


Page  and 
Column. 

78:2 
78:2 
80:1 

78:2 
78:2 

80:1 
79:2 

76:2 
77:1 

77:2 
78:1 
78:1 
79:1 
78:1 

78:2 
78:2 
76:1 

80:1 

78:2 


79:1 

78:1 
80:1 
80:1 
78  f2 
80:1 


and 

leaves 

only 

emptiness 

and 

weariness. 

It 

was, 

I 

have 

heard 

say, 

brought 

hither 

in 

the 

reign 

King 

Harry, 

the 
father 

of 

the 
present 

Queen, 

in 

fifteen 

hundred 

and 
fifteen. 


78:2  In 

78:1  the 

78:1  war 

78:2  against 

78:2  the 

78:2  French 

78:1  our 

80:1  foot 

80:1  soldiers 

79:1  entered 


SHAKSPERE  S  SICKNESS. 


805 


338—144  (317  d  79:1)=194— 58  (80:1)=136— 3  h  col 
338— 32=306— 30=276— 50=226-27  //  col.=199. 
338—144=194. 

338—144=194—57=137—14  b  &  h  col.=123. 
338—57  (79:1)— 281. 

The  story  of  the  war  is  told  with  great  detail. 

338-31=307—50=257. 

338—32=306—218  (74:2)=88. 

338— 32=306— 50=256— 50(76 :1)=206—1  h  col.= 

338—32=306—50=256—50=206.  533—206=327+ 

338—32=306—50=256—15  b  &  //=col.=241. 

338—32=306—30=276 

338—32=306—30=276—50=226+185=411— 

3  //  col  =408. 
338— 57=231— 50=231— 161=70. 
338—32=306—31  b  &  A— 375. 
33^—32=306—50=256.     462—256=206+1=207. 
338—32=306—218  (74:2)=88. 
333—145  (317  to  462)=193— 5  //  (145 )=188— 50=11 
338—284  (33  to  317)=54. 
338-U5  (317  to  462,  79:l)=i93— 50=143. 
338—32=306—30=276. 

And  then  we  are  told: 

338—32=306—50=256—50=206 .     468  —206=262 + 

1=263+10  £  col.  =273. 
388—32=306—197=109—11  b  col. =98. 
338—32=306—50=256—5^=251—50=201  +  186= 

387—9=378. 
338—32  (79 :1)=306— 50=256. 
338—32=306—30—276—2  h  col. =2 74. 
338—32=306—30=276—50=226—4  h  col.  =222. 
338—32=306—30=276—50  (10:1)=226.     508—226= 

382+1=383. 
338— 145=193— 186  (81 :2)=7— 4  £  &  h     3.     489—3 

=486+1=487. 
338—32=306—50=256—50=206. 
338—32=306—30=276—162=114. 
338—32=306—50=256—50=206—186=20.     489— 

20=469+1=470+1  4—471. 

And  contracted  the  dreadful  disorder.     We  then  read: 

338—32=306—30=276.  276 

338—57=281.     588— 281— 252+1— 258+15  b  &  A—       268 

33^—32=306— 30=276— 50=226— 15  b  &  h  col. =211.  211 
338—32=306—30=276—50=226.  396—226=170+1=171 
338—57=281—50=231—64=167—22  b  &  A— 145.  145 

338—57  (79:1)— 281— 50=231.  ■  231 

338—32=306—50=256—50=206.  396—206=190+1=191 
338—200  (218  to  518,  79:1)=138.      338—138=200+1=201 


Page  and 
Column. 

Word. 

.=  133 

80:2 

Holland 

199 

78:2 

and 

194 

78:1 

the 

123 

80:2 

Low 

281 

80:1 

Countries, 

We  read  of  the  French  that — 

257 

79:2 

They 

88 

78:2 

fortify 

205 

76:1 

the 

-1=328 

79:2 

town 

241 

76:1 

of 

276 

75:2 

Gan-  \ 

408 

81:2 

Gate.  ^ 

70 

7+2 

Our 

275 

78:2 

forces 

207 

78:2 

take 

88 

80:1 

it 

38.    138 

80:2 

after 

54 

80:1 

a 

143 

80:2 

hard 

276 

76:1 

fight. 

273 

78:2 

Our 

98 

78:2  ' 

men 

378 

81:2 

became 

256 

75:2 

too 

274 

79:2 

familiar 

222 

78:2 

with 

383 

487 
206 
114 

471 


75:2 

81:1 
80:1 
78:1 

81:1 


78:1 
79:2 
80:1 
80:1 
78:2 
78:2 
80:1 
80:1 


the 

women 
of 
the 

place — 


And 
when 

the 
King 

and 

his 

forces 

marched 


8o6 


THE  CIPHER   NARKA  rfVE. 


338—50=288—31  (79:1)=257— 63  (79:2)— 194— 2  b 

(68)— 192. 
338—31  (79:1)— 307— 50— 257— 63  (79:2)— 194. 
338—57  (79:1)— 281.     338—281=57+1=58. 
338—57—281—30  (74:2)— 251.     533— 251=282+1— 
338— 31— 307— 5  A— 30  .'—30—272—50—222,     461— 

222—239+1=240+6  //— 246. 
338—284  (79:1)— 54.     462—54—408+1=409. 
338—50  (74:2)— 288— 57  (79:1)— 231. 
338— 30— 308— 162— 146— 3&— 114.     462—114—348 

+  1=349+1/;— 350. 
338—31—307—5  0—302—285  (79:1)— 17— 2  h  (285)— 

15.     468—15—453+1—454. 

And  then  we  are  told  of  the  ravages  of  the  dreadful  disorder. 


IVord. 

Page  and 
Column. 

192 

80:1 

back 

194 

78:1 

to 

58 

80:1 

England 

283 

79:2 

they 

246 

79:1 

brought 

409 

78:2 

it 

231 

80:1 

along 

350 

78:2 

with 

454 

78:1 

them. 

338—57  (79:1)— 281.  396— 281— 115+1— 116+8 h  col. 
338—31—307—5  0  (31)— 302— 50— 252.     598—252— 

346+1—347. 
338—144—194—57—137—11  b  col —126. 
338—58—280—58—222—3  h  col.— 219. 
338—57—281—50—231  +  163=394. 


=119 


It 


-50= 


57—57  (80:1)=200— 14  0  &  //  col. 


347 

79:2 

hath 

126 

80:2 

made 

219 

80:2 

sad 

394 

78:1 

destruction 

486 

80:2 

among 

184 

80:1 

the 

318 

79:2 

poor 

375 

80:2 

lewd 

278 

79:2 

people 

226 

80:1 

of 

61 

75:8 

this 

=328 

79:2 

town. 

338—31—307- 

338—144—194—10  0  col. =184. 

338—57  (79:1)— 281.     598—281—317  +  1—318. 

338—32—306—50—256—50—206—57—149.     523— 

149—374+1—375. 
338—58  (79:1)— 280— 2  A  col.— 278. 
338—32—306—30—276—50—226. 
338— 32— 306— 50— 256— 50(76:1)— 206— 145— 61. 
338—56—281.    598—281—317+1—318+100  &  h  col. 

The  reader  will  observe  that  the  same  root-number  produces  very  significant 
words.  For  instance,  338  minus  284  (284  is  the  number  of  words  in  the  first  sub- 
division of  79:1  above  the  terminal  word  317)  leaves  a  remainder  of  54;  but  in  the 
284  there  are  three  words  in  brackets  and  two  hyphenated  words;  these  give  us  54, 
52,  51  and  49  (54 — 2  h= 52;  54 — 3  0=51;  54 — 5  b  &  A— 49).  And  if  we  turn  to  the 
text  we  find  that  the  51st  word  (79:1)  is  incurable  ;  and  the  49th  is  disease;  while  the 

51st  word  up  from  the  end  of  scene  third  (79:1)  is ;  the  54th  is  gout,  and  the  49th 

up  is  the.  But  if  we  deduct  284  from  288  (338 — 50—288)  instead  of  338,  then, 
instead  of  a  remainder  of  54,  we  have  a  remainder  of  4,  and  4  down  79:1  is  again 

;  while  up  from  the  beginning  of  scene  fourth  inclusive  it  is  diseases,  and  down 

it  is  //card. 

And  observe,  also,  that  338  minus  31,  the  top  section  of  79:1,  equals  307,  and 
307  down  78:1  is  step,  and  plus  the  brackets  it  is  feeble,  and  plus  both  brackets  and 
hyphens  it  is  thought.  And  307  produces  big — fist —  upon  —  side — throat  —  Trench. 
But  before  we  get  to  this  it  tells  another  story:  307,  78:2,  is  publish;  and  307,  79:2, 
is  book.     But  this  I  will  show  hereafter. 

This  is  the  only  time  fif 'teen  appears  in  this  play;  and  this  is  the  only  time  Hol- 
land occurs  in  this  play,  and  it  is  found  but  twice  in  all  the  Plays.  And  note  how 
ingeniously  Low-Countries,  the  then  name  of  the  Netherlands,  is  worked  in  !  This 
is  the  only  time  countries  appears  in  this  play;  and  it  is  found  but  six  other  times  in 


SHAKSPERE'S  SICKNESS.  807 

all  ike  Plays  !  Yet  here  it  is  cohering  with  Loiv  —  Holland —  French  —  war — foot — 
soldiers  —  entered —  Gan-gate  —  fight —  fifteen  hundred  and  fifteen  —  reign  —  King 
Harry,  and  all  the  other  words  appearing  in  these  sentences.  Queen  is  concealed  in 
Quean,  which  occurs  but  three  times  in  all  the  Plays  !  And  emptiness  appears  also 
but  three  times  in  all  the  Plays  ! !  And  weariness  occurs  but  three  times  in  all  the 
Plays  !!! 

If  there  is  not  a  Cipher  here,  what  miracle  was  it  brought  all  these  extraordi- 
nary words  together  just  where  they  were  needed  ? 

After  reading  these  sentences  in  the  Cipher,  I  turned  to  the  history  of  the 
period  and  found  that  Henry  VIII.,  father  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  led  a  large  army 
into  France  in  1513,  and  captured  Therouanne  and  Tournay,  (the  latter  town  is  in 
"the  Low  Countries,")  and  beat  the  French  at  the  Battle  of  the  Spurs,  at  Guine- 
gate;  "  made  peace  in  15 14,"  and  "  returned  home  with  most  of  his  forces."  What 
time  the  troops  got  back  I  have  not  been  able  to  determine;  but  Bacon,  writing 
eighty-three  years  afterwards,  may  or  may  not  have  correctly  stated  the  time  as 
1515;  it  may  have  been  1514.  The  reality  of  the  Cipher,  however,  is  demonstrated 
in  the  fact  that  I  did  not  know  that  Henry  VIII.  ever  invaded  France,  and  capt- 
ured a  town  called  Guinegate,  until  I  found  this  statement  brought  out  by  the 
number  338  radiating  from  column  1  of  page  79,  and  applied  to  the  pages  and  frag- 
ments of  pages  of  the  text,  as  set  forth  above.  The  Cipher  statement  is  valuable 
for  another  reason:  that  it  helps  to  settle  the  mooted  question  among  scientists 
whether  that  "dreaded  disease"  did  or  did  not  exist  in  Europe  prior  to  the  discov- 
ery of  America.  There  has  been  considerable  discussion  upon  this  point,  but  the 
better  opinion,  among  physicians,  seems  to  be  that  it  was  imported  into  Spain  from 
the  West  Indies  by  the  sailors  of  Columbus;  from  there  it  spread  into  France  and 
the  Netherlands;  and  in  1515,  according  to  the  Cipher  story,  given  above,  it  was 
brought  into  England  by  the  returning  foot-soldiers  of  King  Henry.  And  the  fact 
that  Bacon  could  stop  in  the  midst  of  his  Cipher  narrative  to  give  these  details  as 
to  a  shameful  but  most  destructive  disorder,  is  characteristic  of  the  man  who,  in 
his  prose  'history  of  Henry  VII.,  paused  to  describe  the  great  plague  which  deci- 
mated London  in  that  reign;  and  even  gave  for  the  benefit  of  posterity  the  accepted 
mode  of  treatment,  so  that,  should  it  return,  the  people  might  have  the  benefit  of  a 
knowledge  of  the  remedies  found  useful  in  the  past.  And  even  here  Bacon  goes 
on  to  tell  the  mode  of  treatment  for  the  shameful  disease  in  question,  the  princi- 
pal of  which,  it  seems,  was  the  sweating  it  out  of  the  system.  We  have  Falstaff 
saying,  near  the  end  of  77:2:  "For  if  I  take  but  two  shirts  out  with  me,  and  I 
mean  not  to  sweat  extraordinarily." 

338—57  (lower  section  79:1)=281— 162  (78:1)=119. 

610—119=491  +  1=492.  492  77:2         sweat. 

But  I  have  not  the  time  or  the  space  to  work  out  the  narrative. 

I  will  conclude  this  chapter  by  calling  the  attention  of  the  reader  to  the  wonder- 
ful manner  in  which  the  words  descriptive  of  Shakspere's  disease  are  so  arranged 
as  to  be  used  in  two  narratives  by  two  different  numbers,  very  much  like  the  double 
cipher  which  Bacon  gives  in  the  De  Augmentis,  where  one  cipher  phrase  is  inclosed 
inside  of  another,  and  both  hidden  in  a  harmless-looking  sentence. 

And  let  the  reader  examine  the  facsimile  pages,  given  herewith,  and  he  will 
see  that  this  task  was  only  accomplished  by  the  most  extraordinary  manipulation  of 
the  text.  Turn  to  page  78.  Observe  these  unnecessary  bracketings  and  hyphena- 
tions in  the  first  column: 

And  first  (Lord  Marshall)  what  say  you  to  it  ? 


808  THE  CIPHER  NARRA  TIVE. 

And  again: 

But  gladly  would  be  better  satisfied, 

How  (in  our  means)  we  should  advance  ourselves. 

Then  again  we  have: 

The  question  then  (Lord  Hastings)  standeth  thus. 
And  in  the  same  column  Hastings  says  to  Lord  Bardolfe: 

'Tis  very  true  Lord  Bardolfe,  for  indeed,  etc. 

Here  there  is  a  comma  after  Bardolfe.  Why  was  not  Lord  Bardolfe  embraced 
in  brackets  as  well  as  Lord  Hastings  ?     They  are  only  eleven  lines  apart. 

Then  note  this  line: 

May  hold-up-head  without  Northumberland. 

Why  were  these  three  words  compounded  into  one,  like  three-man-beetle  in  the 
preceding  column  ? 

Then  look  at  these  lines: 

And  so  with  great  imagination 

(Proper  to  mad  men)  led  his  Powers  to  death, 

And  (winking)  leaped  into  destruction 

But  (by  your  leave)  it  never  yet  did  hurt,  etc. 

No  compositor  would  print  these  words  in  this  fashion  unless  instructed  to  do 
so.     Compare  this  column  with  pages  70,  71  and  72  of  1st  Henry  IV. 

But  here  is  the  crowning  wonder  of  all  this  extraordinary  bracketing:  it  is  near 
the  top  of  78:2: 

Or  at  least  desist 
To  build  at  all  ?     Much  more  in  this  great  worke, 
(Which  is  (almost)  to  pluck  a  kingdom  down, 
And  set  another  up)  must  we  survey,  etc. 

Here  we  have  a  totally  unnecessary  bracket  sentence  of  eleven  words,  and  in 
the  heart  of  it  another  bracket  word !  A  bracket  in  a  bracket  !  Was  anything  ever 
seen  like  it  in  all  the  wonders  of  typography  ? 


CHAPTER  XVII. 
SHAKSPERE   THE  ORIGINAL  FALSTAFF. 

Prince  Hal.  Wherein  is  he  good  but  to  taste  sacke,  and  drink  it  ?  Wherein  neat  and  cleanly, 
but  to  carve  a  capon,  and  eat  it  ?  Wherein  cunning  but  in  craft  ?  Wherein  crafty  but  in  villainy  ? 
Wherein  villainous  but  in  all  things?     Wherein  worthy,  but  in  nothing? 

1st  Henry  II'.,  ii,  4. 

THE  very  labor  of  preparing  this  work  for  the  press  has  in- 
creased the  perfection  of  my  workmanship,  and  I  ask  my 
critics  to  consider  the  following,  especially  the  first  sentences.  Here 
is  complete  symmetry.  Every  word  is  the  338th  word  [505 — 167 
(74:2)=338].  But  more  than  that:  every  word  is  the  338th  word, 
mi  nits  31  or  32  (top  79:1);  and  the  31  and  32  regularly  alternate 
throughout  the  sentence.  And  not  only  is  every  word  505 — 167=338, 
minus  31  or  32,  but  every  306  or  307  so  obtained  is  modified  by 
counting  in  the  five  bracket  words  found  in  that  fragment  of  31  or 
^2  words  at  the  top  of  79:1;  and  the  product  301  or  302  alternates 
regularly  throughout  the  example.  And  every  word  is  505 — 167=338 
— 31  or  32,  minus  the  5  bracket  words  in  31  or  ^2,  itself,  or  less  30  or 
50,  the  modifiers  on  74:2;  and  these  again  are  modified  by  deduct- 
ing the  fragments,  146  (76:2)  or  162  (78:1),  the  nearest  fragments  of 
scenes  to  77:2  or  78:1,  in  which  most  of  the  words  occur. 

And  observe  those  words,  caper  —  it  —  about —  halloing  — and  —  singing.  Caper 
is  302  minus  30  =  272  tip  the  column  (77:2);  about  is  302  minus  30  =  272  down  the 
same  column;  while  it  is  301  minus  50  tip  the  column.  And  302  down  the  column  is 
belly,  and  301  up  the  column,  counting  from  the  clue-word  one  (78:1),  is  halloing, 
and  301  from  the  bottom  of  the  column,  plus  the  hyphenated  words,  is  singing ! 
And  302  gives  the  intervening  and.  And  just  as  we  saw  the  length  of  74:1 
determined  by  the  necessity  to  use  the  words  prepared  and  under  by  two  different 
counts,  from  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  the  column,  so  here  the  necessity  of 
bringing  caper  and  halloing,  and  singing,  and  belly,  in  their  proper  places  from  the  two 
ends  of  77:2,  by  the  numbers  301  and  302,  determined  that  that  column  should  con- 
tain 610  words,  no  more  and  no  less.  A  single  additional  word  would  have  thrown 
the  count  out.  If,  for  instance,  the  Lord  Chief  Justice,  where  he  says  (284th  word, 
77:2)  fy — fy — fy,  had  simply  said  fy  once,  or  even  twice,  it  would  have  destroyed 
the  Cipher.  If  the  words  three  man  beetle  (587th)  had  not  been  united  into  one 
word,    thus,   three-man-beetle,   or  if  it  had  been  printed    "three-man    beetle,"  the 

809 


8io 


THE  CIPHER  NARRA  TIVE. 


Cipher  would  have  failed.  Or  if  the  Folio  had  contained  the  words  which  were 
inserted  in  the  Quarto,  in  Falstaff's  speech,  some  eight  lines  in  length,  the  count 
would  not  have  matched.  Or  if  where  Falstaff  says  (289th  word,  77:2),  "  My  Lord, 
I  was  born  with  a  white  head,"  etc.,  the  Folio  had  contained  the  words  which  are 
found  in  the  Quarto,  "My  Lord,  I  was  born  about  three  of  the  clock  in  the  afternoon, 
with  a  white  head,"  etc.,  it  would  have  destroyed  the  Cipher.  We  can  see  there- 
fore why  these  words  were  inserted  in  the  Quarto  by  Bacon,  to  break  up  the  count, 
in  case  decipherers  got  on  the  track  of  his  secret;  and  why  they  were  taken  out  again 
when  he  was  preparing  the  Folio  for  posterity.  And  we  can  see  also  how  false  is 
the  pretense  of  the  actors,  Heminge  and  Condell,  that  they  had  published  the  Plays 
from  the  true  original  copies,  "  perfect  in  their  limbs,"  etc.  And  it  is  to  be  noted 
that  the  eight-line  passage  left  out  in  Falstaff's  speech  deserves  for  its  intrinsic 
merits  to  have  been  perpetuated  in  the  Folio: 

It  was  always  yet  the  trick  of  our  English  nation,  if  they  have  a  good  thing, 
to  make  it  too  common.  ...  It  were  better  to  be  eaten  to  death  with  rust  than  to 
be  scoured  to  nothing  with  perpetual  motion. 

In  fact,  these  additions  in  the  Quarto,  being  freed  from  the  clogs  and  restraints 
of  the  Cipher,  are  usually  written  with  great  force  and  freedom.  We  see  the  genius 
of  the  author  at  its  best. 

The  Bishop  of  Worcester  is  speaking  in  the  following: 


338—31=307—5  £  (31)=302— 30=272.     610—272 

338+1=339+3  h  col. =342. 
338—32=306—5  £  (32)=301— 30=271— 162=109- 

2  £—107. 
338—31=307—5  b  (31)=302— 50=252— 30=222— 
338—32=306—5  £=301—30=271—145=126—4  b 

col.— 122. 
338—31=307—5  £=302—30=272—79  (78:1)— 198 

145=48.    462—48=414+1=415. 
338—32=306—5  b  (32)=301— 30=271— 146=125. 
338—31=307—5  b  (31)=302— 30=272— 146=126. 

603—126=477+1=478. 
338-32=306—5  b  (32)=301— 30=271— 50=221. 
338—31=307—5  b  (31)=302— 30=272— 146=126. 

508—126=382+1=383. 
338— 32=306— 5  b  (32)=301.     610—301=309+1= 

310+9  col. =319. 
338—31=307—5  b  (31)=302— 30=272.     610—272= 

338+1=339. 
338— 32=306— 5  b  (32)=301— 50=251.     610—251= 

359+ 1=360+9  £=369. 
338—31=307—5  b  (31)=302— 30=272. 
338—32=306—5  b  (31)=301 .     610—301=309+1= 
338-31=307—5  b  (32)=302— 30=272— 146=126. 

508— 126=382+1=383+4  b  &  £=387. 
338—32=306—5  b  (32)=301— 50=251— 146=105. 
338-31=307—5  b  (31)=302— 30=272— 146=126. 

462—126=336+1=337 
338—32=306—5  £=301.     611—301=310+1=311, 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

342 

77:2 

For 

107 

77:2 

I 

146=  76 

77:2 

have 

&  h 

122 

77:2 

some 

415 

78:2 

times 

125 

75:2 

seen 

478 

76:2 

him 

221 

77:2 

in 

383 

75:2 

his 

319 

'  77:2 

youth 

339 

77:2 

caper 

369 

77:2 

it 

272 

77:2 

about 

310 

77:2 

with 

387 

75:2 

a 

105 

77:2 

light 

337 

78:2 

heart, 

311 

77:2 

halloing 

SHAKSPERE    THE  ORIGINAL  FALSTAFF. 


811 


610—302=308+1=309+ 
301.     610—301=309+1= 


338—31=307—5  £=302. 

3/*=312, 
338—32=306—5  £  (31)= 

310+3  £=313. 
338—31=307—5  b  (31)=302— 30=272— 50=222— 

146=70.     468— 76=392 +1=393 +3  £= 
338—32=306—5  b  (32)=301— 30=271 . 

=252—146=105- 


Word. 

312 

313 

(396) 
271 


338—32=306—5  b  (32) — 301  —50= 

50  (76:1)=55.     508—55=453  + 1  —454+1  £=  455 

338-32=306—5  b  (32)=301— 30=271— 50=221.  221 

338—31=307—5  b  (31)— 302— 50— 252.  252 

338—32=306—5  b  (32)— 301— 50  (76  1)— 251.  251 

338—31=307—5  b  (32)=302— 50=252— 146=106— 

50  (76:1 1— 56.  508—56=452  +  1=453+1  h  col .=  454 
338—32=306—5  h  (32)— 301—  30=271— 146=125—  1  A— 124 
338—31=307—5  b  (31)— 302— 30=272— 50=222. 

468—222=246+1=247. 
338—32=306—5  b  (32)=301— 30=271— 50  (76:1)= 

221.     458—221=237+1=238. 
338—31=307—5  b  (31)=302— 30=272— 146=126. 


raggedest 
apparel, 

and 

almost 
naked. 

Here  we  have  again  the  expression  almost  naked,  growing  out  of  505 — 167= 
338,  but  by  different  terminal  numbers.      In  the  former  case  it  was: 

505— 167=338— 50=288— 50(76 :1)=238.  238  76:2        almost 

505— 167=338— 50=288— 162  (78:1)— 126.  126  78:2         naked. 

Here  we  have  it: 


247 

238 
126 


Page  and 
Column. 


77:2 

77:2 

78:1 
76:1 

75:2 
78:1 
78:1 
76:2 

75:2 
76:2 

78:1 

76:2 

78:2 


and 

singing 

by 
the 

hour, 

and 

in 

the 


505— 167— 338— 32— 306— 5*— 301— 30— 271 

221.     458—221=237+1=238. 
505— 167=338— 31=307— 5  £=302—30=272—146= 


50= 

238  76:2         almost  , 

126  78:2         naked.  ) 

This  is  the  only  time  naked  occurs  in  this  act,  and  it  is  found  but  twice  besides 
in  this  play.  And  this  is  the  only  time  almost  occurs  in  that  scene.  This  is  the 
only  occasion  when  eaper  appears  in  this  play;  and  it  occurs  but  eight  times  besides 
in  all  the  other  Plays  !  And  halloing  or  hallowing  is  so  rare  a  word  that  it  is  found 
only  thrice  besides  in  all  the  Plays.  And  singing  is  a  comparatively  rare  word;  it 
is  found  but  twelve  other  times  in  all  the  Plays.  This  is  the  only  time  apparel  is 
found  in  two  acts  of  this  play,  and  it  appears  but  three  times  in  all  the  play.  And 
this  is  the  only  time  "  raggedest"  occurs  in  all  the  Plays  ! 

I  mention  these  facts  to  show  how  improbable  it  is  that  all  these  words,  de- 
scriptive of  Shakspere's  youth,  with  all  the  others  descriptive  of  his  sickness,  etc  , 
should  have  come  together  here  by  accident,  and  be  so  placed  as  to  cohere  arith- 
metically. 

And  then  we  read  (pursuing  the  same  rules,  the  same  roots  and  the  same  alter- 
nations) that  Shakspere  was  — 

338— 32=306—  5  £—301— 50=251  251  76:1  A 

338—31=307—5  £=302— 50=252.     468—252=216+ 

1—217+3  h  coi  =.220.  220  78:1  bold, 

338—32=306—5=301—30=271—146=125— 

5  b  &  h  col. =120.  120  76:1        forward 


812 


THE  CIPHER  NARRA  TIVE. 


338—31=307—5  £=302.     610—302=308+1=309 

+3  A— 812. 
338—32=306—5  £=301-  -30=27 1—145=126. 
338—31=307—5  £=302—30=272—145=127.     462- 

127=335  +  1=336. 
338— 32=306— 5  £=301— 30=271— 146=125— 50= 

75.     457+75=532. 

And  here,  the  formula  changing  as  we  work,  we  have 
Bacon  of  Shakspere  as  he  grew  older.     We  hav 


338—32=306—5  £=301 
338—32=306—5  £=301 
338—31=307—30=277- 
338—32=30  3—50=256- 
338—32=306  -50=256- 

44=294+1=295. 
338—31=307—5  £=302 

518—126=392+1= 
333— 32  =306—50=256- 

1=369+4  £  &  h  col 
338—32=306—50=256- 
338—32  =306—50=256- 
8*8—31—807—50—257- 
338—32=307—30=277- 
338—32=306—50=256- 

1=369  +  2=371. 
338—32=306—56=256 


30=271—162=109. 
—162=139. 

-162=115—58  (79:1)=57. 
-162=94. 
-162=94—50=44.     338— 

—30=272—146  (76:2)— 126. 
393+4  h  col.— 397. 
-162=94     462—94=368+ 
.=373. 
-162=94. 

-162=94.     448—94=354+1^ 
-162=95.      462—95=367+1 
-162=115—5  b  col.— 110. 
-162=94.     462—94=368+ 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

312 

77.2 

and 

126 

76:1 

most 

336 

78:2 

vulgar 

532 

76:2 

boy. 

j  have 

a  descript 

ion  given  by 

follow 

ing: 

109 

78:2 

A 

139 

79:2 

gross, 

57 

79:2 

fat, 

94 

76:1 

on       \ 

295 

80:1 

taught  ) 

397 

79:1 

rogue, 

373 

78:2 

full 

94 

79:2 

of 

=355 

76:1 

his 

=368 

78:2 

own 

110 

79:1 

most 

(371) 

79:2 

beastly 

=  569 

78:2 

desires. 

—162=94.     462—94=363+1^ 

Taught  is  found  but  twice  in  this  play;  both  times  in  act  ii,  scene  i,  with  only 
two  lines  between  them.  We  have  seen  it  used  already  to  refer  to  Susanna's  edu- 
cation, and  now  we  see  it  employed  to  describe  Shakspere.  Beastly  is  compara- 
tively a  rare  word;  it  is  found  but  twice  in  this  play,  and  but  twice  besides  in  all 
the  Historical  Plays.  Desires  is  found  but  twice  in  this  play,  and  but  twelve  times 
in  all  the  Histories.      Gross  occurs  but  twice  in  this  play. 

Observe  also  that  all  of  these  last  five  words  are  produced  by  precisely  the 
same  root-number  and  the  same  terminal  number,  94,  while  115  is  the  same  root- 
number  put  through  the  same  formula,  except  that  30  is  the  modifier  instead  of  50. 

And  then  we  have,  coming  out  of  the  same  root-numbers  (for  the  difference 
between  94  and  144  is  just  50),  the  following: 

338— 31=307— 5  £  (31)=302— 50=252.  252  77:2  A 

338—32=306—5  £  (32)  -  301—30=271—50=221—145= 

76— 3 £(145)=73.  462— 73=389+1=390+1  h col.  =391  78:2        glutton, 

3^8—31=307—5  £  (31)=302— 30=272— 50=222. 

577— 222=355+1=356+3 // col. =339.  339  77:1  rather 

338—32    306—162=144.     461—144=317+1=318 

+2//=320.  320  78:2    over-greedy 

338—32=306—162=144—50=94.     468—94=374+1=375  78:1  than 

318—32=306—162=144.     462—144=318+1=319.       319  78:2         choice. 

Here  again  the  alternations,  31,  32,  etc.,  are  preserved. 


And  here  observe  an  astonishing  fact:  —  the  word  glutton  occurs  but  twice  in  all 


SHAKSPERE  THE  ORIGINAL  PAL  STAFF.  813 

the  thousand  pages  of  the  Flays,  and  both  times  it  is  found  in  this  play,  and  in  this  act; 
and  both  times  it  is  used  to  describe  Shakspere;  and  both  times  it  grows  out  of  505 
— /6yz=jjSf  If  the  reader  will  turn  back  to  76:1  and  take  the  number  338,  and 
count  from  the  first  word  of  scene  third,  downward  and  forward,  he  will  find  that 
the  33Sth  word  is  glutton.     Thus: 

Page  and 
Word.      Column. 

338—49  ( 76 :1;=289.  289  76:2        glutton. 

And  here  we  have  it  again  occurring  in  78:2,  and  again  it  is  the  338th  word; 
and  these  are  the  only  occasions  when  the  word  is  found  in  all  the  Shakespeare  Plays  ! 
And  if  we  turn  backward  with  this  root-number  we  stumble  again  upon  the  story 
of  Shakspere's  fight  with  the  game-keepers  and  the  flight  of  his  companions,  for 

288  ^333 — 50=288)  carried  down  the  preceding  column  is  turned  (288,  75:2);  and 

289  (33S — 49==2Sg)  is  their;  and  2S9  up  the  preceding  column  is  our,  and  2S8  is  men; 
and  2S8  up  the  same,  plus  b  &  h,  is  fled;  and  289 — 50=239  down  the  same  column  is 
swifter;  and  289  up  the  same  column  plus  the  bracket  words  is  arro-ws;  and  239 
down  the  same  column  plus  the  b  &  h  is  speed.  Here,  with  a  touch,  as  it  were,  we 
have  the  elements  of  the  sentence,  Our  men  turned  their  backs  and  fled  swifter  than 
the  speed  of  arrows.  But  if  we  use  the  modifier  30,  instead  of  50,  we  have  289 — 30 
=259,  and  259  down  the  same  column  is  prisoner;  and  plus  one  hyphen  word  it  is 
ta  en  (taken);  and//«.c  both  b  &  h  it  is  again  fled;  and  259  up  the  same  column  is 
Field ("  fled  the  field");  and  plus  the  bracket  words  it  is  again  prisoner;  and  plus 
both  b  &  h  it  is  furious  !  And  258  (288 — 30=258)  down  the  column  is  to1  en,  and 
up  the  column  it  supplies  the  then  for  "swifter  than  the  speed,"  etc.  In  short, 
everywhere  we  turn  with  the  magical  Cipher  numbers,  marvelous  arithmetical 
adjustments  present  themselves. 

And  then  we  have  this  description  of  Shakspere,  coming,  it  will  be  observed, 
out  of  that  same  33S  minus  31  or  32,  counting  in  the  five  bracket  words  in  the  31 
or  32: 

338—31=307—5  b  (31)= 302-  -30=272—50=222. 
338—32=306—5  b  (32)=301— 145=156— 2  b  col.— 
338—31=307—5  b  (31)=302— 145— 157— 2  b  col.— 
338—32=306—5  b  (32)=301— 30=271— 4  h  col.— 
338—31=307—5  b  (31)=302— 30=272— 146=126. 

498—126=372+1=373. 
338—32=306—5  (32)=301— 145=156— 2 £=154. 
338—31   •  307—5  *  (31)=302— 30=272—  50=222. 
338— 32=306— 5  A32)=301— 30=271— 14  b  &  //= 

Here  we  have  the  same  regular  alternatives,  31,  32;  31,  32;  31,  32;  31,  32.  And 
it  stands  to  reason  that  to  have  carried  on  the  deception  as  to  the  authorship  of 
the  Plays  in  such  wise  as  to  escape  suspicion,  Shakspere  must  have  been  a  man  of 
remarkable  shrewdness  and  some  natural  ability.  And  we  will  find  hereafter  that  he 
was  much  like  Sir  John  Falstaff  in  his  characteristics. 

But  if  (when  we  advance  a  step  farther  in  the  Cipher),  instead  of  using  505 — 
167=338  as  the  root-number,  we  count  in  the  22  b  &  h  words  in  that  167,  we  obtain 
still  more  interesting  portions  of  the  story.  The  formula  now  is  505 — 167=338 — 
11b  &  /*=3i6;  and  to  save  labor  to  printers  and  readers  I  will  use  in  the  following 
example  only  that  terminal  number,  316: 

505—167=338—22  b  &  /;=316. 
316— 32=284— 162=122— ±b  &h  col.  =118.  118  77:2      Weighing 


222 

78:2 

With 

154 

77:2 

his 

155 

77:2 

quick 

267 

77:2 

wit 

373 

76:1 

and 

154 

77:2 

his 

222 

78:1 

big 

257 

77:2 

belly. 

814 


THE  CIPHER  NARK  A  TIVE. 


316—32=284—50=234.      603—234=369+1= 
316—32=284—50=234—30  (76:1)— 204.     396—204 

192+1=193+2/;  col.— 195. 
316—32=284—50=234—30=204—145=59.     610— 

59=551  +  1=552  +  2//  col.— 554. 


Word. 

370 
195 
554 


Page  and 
Column. 

76:2 


80:1 


two 


hundred 


pound. 


Observe  the  accuracy  of  this.  Weighing  occurs  but  this  one  time  in  this  play, 
and  but  four  times  besides  in  all  the  Plays  !  Yet  here  it  is,  with  all  the  other  words 
descriptive  of  Shakspere's  Falstaffian  proportions  before  sickness  broke  him 
down.  Hundred  occurs  but  three  times  in  this  play;  and  pound  but  once  in  this 
act.  Here  every  word  is  505 — 167=338 — 22  b  &  //=3i6 — 32=284 — 50=234.  Think 
how  many  figures  there  are  that  might  have  applied  themselves  to  that  505  to 
modify  it;  and  yet  into  this  labyrinth  of  numbers  we  see  the  same  terminal  root- 
number,  reached  through  all  these  transmutations,  picking  out  the  coherent  words, 
as  in  the  above  sentence. 

The  reader  will  perceive,  by  looking  at  the  text,  that  pound  was  used  for  pounds 
in  that  day: —  "Will  your  Lordship  lend  me  a  thousand  pound?" 

And  now,  marvelous  to  tell,  Bacon  refers  to  Shakspere,  even  as  the  Bishop 
of  Worcester  did,  as  a  glutton;  and  still  more  marvelous,  the  text  is  so  adjusted 
that  again  for  the  third  time  that  same  word  glutton  is  used: 

316—49=267—145=122.     448—122=326+1=327.  327  76:1  A 

316—30=286—163=123.  123  78:1  great 
316—30=286—50=236—163=73.     462—73=389+ 

1=390+1  h  col— 391.  391  78:2  glutton. 

Now  compare  this  with  the  manner  in  which  glutton  was  just  obtained: 

338—32=306—5  b  (32)=301— 30=271— 50=221— 145 
=76—3  b  (145)— 73.  462—73=389+1=390+ 
1  h  col. =391.  391  78:2        glutton 

Here  it  will  be  observed  that  the  difference  between  145  and  162  is  17,  and  this, 
plus  the  5  b  in  31  (79:1),  makes  22,  the  number  of  b  &  h  words  in  165,  and  thus  the 
two  counts  are  so  equalized  as  to  fall  on  the  same  word.  But  what  a  miracle  of 
arithmetical  adjustments  does  all  this  imply  ! 

And  then  the  description  of  the  play-actor  of  Stratford  goes  on.  We  are  told 
he  is,  besides  being  a  glutton,  a  drunkard.     Or,  as  it  is  expressed,  that  — 

316—49  (76:1)=267— 146=121.  498—121=377+1=378 
316—50  (74:2)=266— 162=104.  104 

316— 50(74:2=266— 145=121— db  (145)— 118.  610— 

118=492+1=493.  493 

316— 30  (74:2)=286— 163  (78:1)— 128.     462—123= 

339+1=340.  340 

316—30  (74:2)— 286.     468—286=182+1=183+ 

dh  col.  =186.  186 

316— 49  (76:1)=267— 162=105.  577—105=472+1=  473 
316—50  (74:2)=266— 162=104.     610—104=506+1=507 

The  word  extraordinarily  is  a  very  rare  word  in  the  Plays.  It  is  found  but  twice 
in  all  the  Plays ;  and  both  times  in  this  play  !  And  this  is  the  only  time  fond  appears 
in  all  this  play;  and  this  is  the  only  time  bottle  appears  in  all  this  play  !  And  fond 
occurs  but  twelve  other  times  in  all  the  Historical  Plays;  and  bottle  but  four  other 


76:1 

He 

77:2 

is 

77:2  « 

extraordinarily 

78:2 

fond 

78:1 

of 

77:1 

the 

77:2 

bottle. 

SHAKSPERE    THE  ORIGINAL  I- A  1ST  A  IF. 


8l5 


times  !  Yet  here  they  are  linked  together  by  the  same  root-number,  with  the 
naturally  coherent  words:  big — belly —  weighing — two —  hundred — pound — great 
—  glutton,  etc.  And  glutton  does  not,  I  have  shown,  appear  in  any  other  of  the 
Shakespeare  Plays  !  Surely  the  blindest  and  most  perverse  must  concede  that  all  this 
cannot  be  accidental. 

And  then  we  have  the  following  important  statement; 


316—161=155—57=98—12  b  &  h  col.=86. 
316—161=155.     610—155=455+1=456. 
316—49  (76:1)=267— 57=210. 
316—162=154—57  (80:1)— 97.     523—97=426+1= 
427-2  £=429. 


=296. 
=345 


Word. 

86 
456 
210 

429 
296 


316—50  (74: 2)=266+ 32  (79:1)=298— 2  h  col.- 
316—30=286—162=124.     468—124=344+1= 

+th— 846.  346 

316—49=267—145=122.  122 

316—50=266.    339—266=73+1=74.  74 

316—30=286.     339— 286=53+ 1=54+ 3  £=57.  57 

316—50=266—50=216.     468—216=252^-1=253.  253 

316—30=286—161=125—57  (80:1)— 68.     523—68= 

455+1=456.  456 

316—31=285—30=255—4//  col.  =251.  251 

316—161  (78:1)— 155— 2  b  col  =153.  153 

816— 161— 155— §bh  h— 150.  150 

316—161  (18:1)— 155.  155 

316—49=267.         '  267 

316—31=285—50=235.  235 

316—5  b  &  h  col.— 311.  311 

316—50=266—50=216.     468—216=252+1=253+ 

3*  col.— 256.  256 

316—49=267—10  b  col. =257.  257 

316—31=285—145=140—3  £=137.     162—137=25+1=26 
316—30=286—161=125.    468—125=343+1=344.       344 

327 
267 
149 
153 
224 
284 
215+3/4—218 
316 
314 

100 
304 

413 

428 

284 

311 

61 


610—284=326+1=327 


316—32=284, 

316—49=267. 

316— 163=153— 4 £  &  £  col. =149. 

316.     468—316=152+1=153. 

316— 32=284—  50=234— 10  b  col.=224. 

316—32=284. 

316—30=286—32=254.  268—254=214+1 

316. 

316—2  £=314. 

316—32=284— 50=234— 65=169— 58  (80:1)=111— 

ll£col.=100. 
316.     610—316=294+ 1=295+9  b  col.=304. 
316—32=284—50=234—65  (79:2)=169— 58  (80:1)= 

111.     523—111=412+1=413. 
316—50=266+162=428. 
316-32=284. 

316-49=267.    577—267=310+1=311. 
316— 32=284— 50=234— 162=72— 11 />=61. 


Page  and 
Column. 

80:2 

77-9 


80:2 
79:1 

78:1 
78:2 
80:1 
80:1 

78:1 

80:2 
78:2 
T7:2 
77:2 
77:2 
77:2 
78:2 
79-1 

78:1 
77:2 
78:1 
78:1 
77:2 

77:2 
78:1 
77:2 
78:1 
78:1 
78:1 
78:1 

80:2 
77:2 

80:1 
78:1 
78:2 
77:1 


But 

I 
must 

confess 
there 

was 

some 

humor 

in 

the 

villain; 

he 

hath 

a 

quick 

wit, 

and 

a 

great 

belly; 

and, 

indeed, 

I 

made 

use 

of 
him, 
with 

the 
assistance 

of 
my 

brother, 

as 

the 

original 

model 


8t6  THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 

Page  and 
Word.       Column. 

81&-32— 284— 46  *  h  col.— 280.  280  79:1  from 

316—32=284-5  b  (32)=279+ 162=441—3  h  col.—  438  78:1  which 

816— 81— 285.  285  78:1  we 

816— 82— 284— 50— 284— 4 h  col.— 286.  230  78:2  draw 

316.  316  78:1  the 

316—32=284—50=234.  234  77:2  characters 

316.  316  78:2  of 
316—30=286—161=125—50  (76:1)— 75.     603—75= 

528+1=529.  529  76:2  Sir 

316—32=284—50=234.     598—234=364+1=365.  365  79:2  John 

316—32=284—161=123—50=73.     603—73=530+1=531  76:2  Falstaffe 

316—30=286—162=124.     610—124=486+1=487.  487  77:2  and 

316—31=285—50=235.     598—235=363+1=364.  364  79:2  Sir 

316—30=286—162=124.  124  78:1  Toe    ) 

316— 32=284— 146=138—  3£  (146)=135+162=  297  78:1  be.     f 

It  will  be  remembered  that  the  characters  of  Sir  John  Falstaff  and  Sir  Toby, 
in  Twelfth  Night,  have  many  points  of  similarity:  both  are  corpulent,  sordid, 
gluttonous,  sensual,  wine-drinking  and  dishonest;  indeed,  very  much  such  characters 
as  Bacon  describes  Shakspere  to  have  been. 

Note  how  many  significant  words  come  out  of  the  same  root-number:  234  is 
characters ;  it  is  also  draw  {draw  characters);  it  is  also,  minus  162,  model  {model  to 
draw  characters);  it  is  also,  up  the  next  column  forward,  John;  and  284  (234+50= 
284)  is,  minus  161,  Falstaffe;  and  284  is  from;  and  234  again  is  brother.  And 
observe,  also,  the  number  316,  out  of  which  234  is  drawn  by  deducting  32  (79:1): 
316  from  the  top  of  scene  fourth  (78:1),  carried  backward  to  the  next  column  and 
down  it,  is  made;  and  316  from  the  end  of  column  78:1  upward  is  use  {made  use); 
and  316  carried  down  the  next  column  (78:2),  is  of  {made  useof);  and  316,  commenc- 
ing at  the  end  of  the  same  scene  and  carried  down  78:1,  is  him  {made  use  of  him). 

And  this  revelation  supplies  an  answer  to  a  question  which  has  puzzled  the  com- 
mentators: Where  did  the  author  of  the  Plays  find  the  character  of  Falstaff? 
There  was  nothing  like  it  in  literature.  Knight  cannot  discover '  "  the  very  slight- 
est similarity"  to  Sir  John  Oldcastle  in  the  old  play  entitled  The  Famous  Victories 
of  King  Henry  V.  The  name  was  borrowed,  as  I  have  shown,  but  not  the  char- 
acter Ritson  thinks  the  name  was  taken  "  without  the  slightest  hint  of  the  char- 
acter."    We  have  the  explanation.     The  fat  knight  was  Shakspere. 

The  character  of  Falstaff  is  often  referred  to  in  the  Cipher  story.  The  com- 
bination Fall-staff  is  found  in  eighteen  of  the  Plays;  and  wherever  staff  appears  in 
the  text,  in  every  case  "fall"  is  near  at  hand!  In  The  Tempest  both  occur  in  act 
v,  scene  1 ;  in  Much  Ado  both  are  found  in  act  v,  scene  1 ;  in  Richard  II.  both 
appear  in  act  ii,  scene  2;  in  2d  Henry  VI.  both  occur  in  act  ii,  scene  3;  in  jd  Henry 
VI.  both  are  found  in  act  ii,  scene  1;  and  in  Hamlet  both  appear  in  act  iv,  scene  5; 
while  in  every  other  instance  they  are  found  near  together. 

The  Cipher  statement  that  Bacon  had  the  assistance  of  his  brother  Anthony  in 
preparing  some  of  the  Plays  is  just  what  we  might  expect.  This  will  account  for 
the  familiarity  with  Italian  scenes  and  names  manifested  in  them;  for  Anthony  had 
resided  for  years  in  Italy.  We  can  imagine  the  two  brothers,  alike  in  many  traits 
of  mind,    working  together  at  St.  Albans,   or  in  their  chambers  at  Gray's  Inn; 

J  Introductory  Notice  to  Henry  IV.,  p.  166,  vol.  i  of  Histories. 


SHAKSPERE    THE  ORIGINAL  FALSTAFF. 


817 


Francis  pulling  the  laboring  oar,  and  the  sick  Anthony  making  valuable  sugges- 
tions as  to  plots  and  characters.  And  one  cannot  help  but  imagine  how  the  brothers 
must  have  enjoyed  the  rollicking  scene  of  the  fat  Shakspere,  leaping  and  singing 
about  on  the  stage,  enacting  his  own  shameful  character  in  the  disguise  of  Fal- 
staff  !  It  was  capping  the  climax  of  the  ludicrous.  It  was  a  farce  inside  of  a 
comedy. 

I  am  aware  it  will  be  thought  by  some  that  I  had  read  the  foregoing  passage  in 
the  Cipher  story  before  I  wrote  that  part  of  the  Argument  of  this  book  wherein  I 
suggested '  that  Shakspere  was  Falstaff.  But  I  beg  to  assure  the  reader  that  all 
the  Argument  was  in  type  before  I  worked  out  this  portion  of  the  Cipher  narrative. 
In  fact,  the  first  suggestion  that  Falstaff  might  be  Shakspere  was  made  to  me  two 
or  three  years  ago  by  my  wife. 

And  the  multitude  also  enjoyed  the  sight,  which  must  have  entertained  Francis 
and  Anthony  so  much. 


316. 

316—145=171—5  b  &  h  col. =166.     [316—146=170- 

3/;=107— 163=4,  78:2,  see]. 
316—49=267.     610—267=343+1=344+3//  col.— 
316—32=284.   610-284=326+1=327  +  12/;  &  h  col. 
316—32=284-30=254.     468—254=214+1=215- 

3  h  col  =218, 
316-32=284—50=234.     457—234=223  +  1=224. 
316—50=266—50=216.     468—216=252+1=253+ 

3/,  col.  =256. 
316— 15/;&  .//  col. =301. 
316—49=267—10/^  col  =257. 


Word. 
316 

166 

347 

=339 

218 
224 

256 
301 
9IW 


Page  and 
Column. 


77:1 
77:2 
77-9 


78:1 
76:2 

78:1 
77:2 
77-9 


To 

see 

him 
caper 

with 
his 

great 
round 
belly. 


The  curious  reader  will  note  that  belly  appears  five  times  in  acts  i  and  ii  of  this 
play,  and  twice  in  act  iv,  or  seven  times  in  all  in  this  play;  while  it  is  altogether 
absent  from  one-half  the  Plays,  and  appears  but  once  in  each  of  eight  of  the  Plays. 
Why?  Because  of  the  descriptions,  here  given,  of  Shakspere's  corpulence,  and 
the  story  of  the  effect  of  the  poison  on  the  stomach  of  Francis  Bacon,  which  will 
hereafter  appear. 

And  then  Bacon  goes  on  to  tell  of  the  wonderful  success  of  the  part  of  Sir 
John  Falstaff: 


310-32=284—50=234+162=396. 
316— 49(76:  l)=267— 162=105. 
316—32=284—50  (76:1)=234. 
316—32=284—14  b  col. =2 70. 
316—32=284—30=254.     468—254=214+1=215+ 

15  b  &  h  col.  =230. 
316—31=285—162=123—61  (80:2)=62.     489—62= 

427+1—428. 
316—31=285—162=123—13/;  &  k  col.  =110. 
316—32=284—50=234—146=88—3  b  (146)=85. 

4.-,:—  85=372  +  1=373. 
316—50=266.     534—266=268+1=269     7£col.= 


396 

78:2 

It 

105 

78:2 

draws 

234 

78:2 

together, 

270 

79:1 

to 

230 

428 
110 

373 

276 


78:1 

81:1 

78:2 

76:2 
79:2 


the 

play    I 
house  ) 

yards, 
such 


See  p.  279,  ante. 


f  Of  THE  >t 

(   VNIYERSITY  J 


Page  and 

Word. 

Column. 

884 

78:1 

great 

234 

78:1 

musters 

229 

78:1 

of 

278 

79:2 

people, 

309 

78:1 

far 

111 

78:2 

beyond 

186 

79:1 

my 

141 

78:2 

hopes 

247 

78:1 

and 

154 

78:2   • 

expectation, 

139 

78:2  ' 

that 

349 

76:2 

they 

376 

77:2 

took 

473 

77:2 

in 

354 

77:2 

at 

39 

78:2 

least 

277 

78:1 

twenty 

344 

77:2 

thousand 

345 

77:2 

marks. 

Si 8  THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 


316—32=284—50=234—146=88—3  b  (146)=85 

468—85=383+1=384. 
316—32=284—50=234. 
316—32=284—50=234—5  b  col.— 229. 
316—50=266.     534—266=268+1=269+9  b  &  h  col—  - ; 
316—7^=309. 

316-32=284—162=122—11  b  col.— 111. 
316—162=154+32  (79:1)=186. 
316—162=154—13  /;=141. 
316—32=284—50=234.     468—234=234+ 1=235+ 

120  col.  =247. 
316—162=154. 
316—32=284—145=139. 

316— 3 1=285— 30=255.    603—255=348+ 1=349. 
316—31=285—50=235.     610—235=375+1=376. 
316—32=284—146=138.     610—138=472+1=473. 
316—50=266.    610—266=344+1=345+9  b  col.— 
316— 32=284— 50=234— 163=71— 32  (79:1)=39. 
316—32=284—7/;  col. =277. 
316—49=267.     610—267=343+1=344. 
316—50=266.     610—266=344+1=345. 

The  word  yard  is  peculiar;  it  meant  what  was  called  the  pit,  fifty  years  ago,,, 
and  what  is  now  designated  as  the  parquette;  it  was  the  roofless  body  of  the  play- 
house.    Collier  says,  speaking  of  the  Globe  theater: 

It   had  rails  to   prevent  spectators   in  the  yard  from  intruding  on  the  stage.  * 

And  again  Collier  says: 

W.    Fennor    in    his  Description,  1616,  speaks  with  great  contempt  of  that  part 
of  the  audience  in  a  public  theater  which  occupied  the  yard    .   .   .   He  adds: 
But  leave  we  these,  who  for  their  just  reward 
Shall  gape  and  gaze  among  the  fools  in  the  yard.  2 

Yard  occurs  but  four  times  in  all  the  Plays;  this  is  the  only  time  draws  is  found 
in  this  play;  and  this  is  the  only  time  musters  appears  in  this  scene.  Musters  sig- 
nified gatherings  of  people.  "Defense,  musters,  preparations"  (Henry  V.,  ii,  4); 
and  "make  fearful  musters  and  prepared  defense"  (1st  Henry  IV  ,  Induction). 
Expectation  is  found  five  times  in  this  play,  and  but  six  times  in  all  the  other  nine 
Historical  Plays  !  Even  the  common  word  far  is  found  but  once  in  act  i,  and  but 
four  times  more  in  all  this  play;  and  least  occurs  but  twice  in  this  play;  and  marks 
but  this  one  time  in  this  play;  and  even  hopes  is  found  but  twice  in  this  act  and 
scene,  and  four  times  in  all  the  play. 

And  it  seems  the  tradition  was  right  which  said  Queen  Elizabeth  was  especially- 
pleased  with  the  character  of  Sir  John  Falstaff.     We  read: 

316—32=284—57=227—14  b  &  h  col.  =21 3. 
316—31=285—50  (76:1)=235. 
316—32=284—50=234—65  (79:2)=169— 10 
316—31=285—50  (76:1)— 286. 

1  English  Dramatic  Poetry,  vol.  iii,  p.  no. 


213 

79:1 

It 

235 

80:2 

pleases 

\  col.—      159 

80:1 

her 

235 

77:1 

Majesty 

2  Ibid.,  vol.  iii,  p.  : 

'43* 

SHAKSPERE   THE  ORIGINAL  FALSTAFF. 


19 


Page  and 
Column. 

Word. 

446 

78:1 

much 

180 

78:2 

more 

339 

76:2 

than 

118 

77:1 

any 

156 

78:1 

thing 

86 

78:2 

else 

176 

79:1 

in 

35 

80:1 

these 

118 

78:1 

Plays. 

45 

78:1 

It 

9 

79:1 

seems 

416 

78:1 

indeed 

381 

78:2 

to 

235 

77:2 

grow 

138 

77:2 

in 

137 

77:2 

regard 

270 

77:2 

every 

286 

79:1 

day. 

316—32=284+162=446. 

316—32=284—50  (74:2)=234— 50  (73:1)=184— 

4  h  col  =180. 
316—50=266.     603—266=337+1=338+1  h  col.= 
316—50=266—145=121—3  b  (145)=118 
316.     468—316=152+1=153+3  h  col  =156. 
316—32=284—50=234—146=88—2  h  col  =86. 
316—31=285—50=235—57=178—2  h  col.=176. 
316.     338— 316=22+ 1=23+ 12  £  col.=35. 
316—50=266—145=121—3  b  (145)=118. 

And  then  we  are  told  that  the  part  of  Sir  John  continued  to  increase  in  popu- 
larity: 

316—50=266—145=121—3  b  (145)=118.     162—118= 

44+1=45. 
316—145=171—162=9. 
316—32=284—30=254  +  162=416. 
316—32=284—50=234—146=88—3  b  (146)=85. 

462—85=377+1=378+3/;  col.  =381. 
316—31=285—50=235. 
316—32=284—146=138. 
316—31=285—146=139—2  b  col. =137. 
316-31=285—154  &  h  col. =270. 
316—30=286. 

And  then  we  are  told  that  the  popularity  of  Sir  John  with  the  swarming  multi- 
tudes helped  Bacon  somewhat  out  of  the  necessities  which  his  biographers  tell  us 
pressed  so  sorely  upon  him: 

3 1 6—3  J=28 1—50=234.     61 0—234=376 +1=377. 

316—32=284—30=254-5  b  col  =249. 

316—32=284—146=138 

316— 49=267+162=429— Mb  col. =412. 

316—57  (80:1)=259— 62  (80:2)=197. 

316—32=284—145=139—3  b  (146)=136.     610—136 

=474+1=475+2  h  col.  =477. 
316—32=284—146=138.     577—138=439  +  1=440+ 

3/,col.=443. 
316—32=284—145=139-  -3  b  (145)=136. 
316—32=284—30=254.     255—50=205—4  h  col.= 

Bacon  was  unable  to  take  care  of  his  gains;  but  the  thrifty  Shakspere  turned 
his  share  to  good  account.     We  read: 

315—32=284—146=138—3  4  (146)=135— 5  b  col.— 
316—32=284—50=234—50=184+162=346. 
316—32=284—146=138.     577—138=439+1=440. 
316— 32=284—  50=234—  50=184— 22  b  &  h  col. =162. 
316—31=285—30=255—50=205—146=59+162= 

221— 6  4  col.— 216. 
316—32=284—162  (78:1)— 122— 58  (80:1)— 64.   523— 

64=459^1=460+2  4  col.=462. 


377 

77:2 

It 

249 

78:1 

supplies 

138 

77:1 

my 

412 

78:1 

present 

197 

81:1 

needs 

477 


77:2 


for 


443 

77:1 

some 

136 

77:2 

little 

201 

77:1 

time. 

130 

79:1 

He 

346 

78:1 

was 

440 

77:2 

wise 

162 

78:2 

enough 

216 


462 


78:1 


80:2 


to 


820 


THE  CIPHER  NARRA  TIVE. 


Word. 

316.     577—316=261  +  1=262.  262 

316—32=284—146=138.  162—138=24+1=25  25 
316—32=284—50=234—50=184.     462—184=278+ 

1=279+8  b  &  /fr=287.  287 
316— 32=284— 50=234— 162=72— 50  (76:1)=22. 

457-22=435+1=436.  436 

316—32=284—146=138.     462—138=324+1=325.  325 

316— 32=284— 50=234— 162=72.  72 

316—32=284—146=138.     468—138=330+1=331  331 

316—32=284—50=234—50=184—4  h  col— 180.  180 


Page  and 
Column. 

77:1 

78:1 


78:2 

76:2 

78:2 
78:2 
78:1 
77:1 


his 
groats 

and 

buy 

an 

estate 

of 

lordship. 


And  then  the  Cipher  tells  us  something  altogether  new,  that  will  be  interesting 
to  all  lovers  of  the  Plays,  and  especially  to  the  great  German  race.     Bacon  says: 


3 16— 50=266— 58=208. 

316—145=171. 

316—32=284—58=226—11  b  col.— 215. 

316—30=286.     598—286=312+1=313. 

316— 2 /i  col.  =314. 

316—32=284—50=234.     577—234=343+1=344. 

316.     338—316=22+1=23. 

316—144  (317  to  461  79:1)— 172.     577—172=405+ 

1=406+11  /.col.  =41 7. 
316—31=285—30=255. 

•316—31=285.     598—285=313—1=314+9  b  col .= 
316—57  (80:1)=259. 

;316— 30=286— 57=229— 14  bah  col  =2l5. 
.316— 31=285— 50=235.     338—235=103+1=104. 
316—32=284—14  b  col.  =(270). 
316— 30=286— 57  (80:1)— 229.     598—229=369+1= 
316.     338—316=22+1=23+5  h  col.— 28. 
316—30=286—57  (80:1)=229. 
316—31=285—57=228.     523—228=295+1=296. 
316—58  (80:1)— 268.     523—258=265+1=266. 
316—57=259.     588— 259— 274+1— 275  +  7  J  coi.— 
316—32=284—57=227.     598—227=371  +  1=372+ 

10  b  &  /z=382. 
316—30=286—57  (80:1)— 229. 
31 6— 32=284.     338—284=54+  1=55+3  /*— 58. 
316—31=285—30=255.     338—255=83  + 1=84. 
316—145=171—5  b  &  h  col.— 166. 
316-32=284.     598—284=314+1=315. 
.316—31=285—162=123. 
316—32—284—50=234—50  (76:1)=184.     462—184= 

278+1=279. 
316—31=285—30=255.     338— 255=83+1=84  -i 

3  h  col.— (87). 
316—32=284—30=254.     888—254—84+1—85+ 

3/;  col.  =(88). 
316-31=285-50=235.     339-235=104+1=105. 
316—31=285.     338—285=53+1=54  +  3  h  col.=57. 


208 
171 
215 
313 
314 
344 
23 

417 
255 
323 
259 
215 
104 
(270) 
370 
28 
229 
296 
366 
282 


229 
58 
84 
166 
315 
123 

279 

(87) 

(88) 
105 

57 


80:2 
77:1 
80:2 
79:2 
79:2 
77:1 
80:1 

77:1 
79:2 
79:2 
.79:2 
80:2 
80:1 
79:2 
79:2 
80:1 
79:2 
S0;2 
80:^5 
79:2 

79:2 
80:2 
80:1 
80:1 
77:1 
79:2 
78:2 

78:2 

80:1 

80:1 
80:1 
80:1 


I 

heard 

that 

my 
Lord 

the 
German 

Minister 

told 

Says  j 
ill     \ 

that 
it 

was 

well 
worth 
coming 

all 

the 

long 

way 

to 
England 

to 
see 
this, 
part 

of 

Sir 

John 

alone, 

in 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

315 

79:2 

this 

428 

81:1 

play 

325 

79:2 

and 

255 

78:2 

The 

329 

81:1 

Merry 

19 

81:1 

Wives 

235 

77:2 

of 

193 

79:2 

Windsor. 

SHAKSPERE   THE  ORIGINAL  FALSTAFF.  821 


316—32=284.     598—284=314+1=315. 
316—30=286—162  (78:1) — 124 —  62  (80:1)— 62.     489 

— 62=427  +1=428. 
316—32=284.     598—284=314+1=315+10  b  &  h= 
316—31=285—30=255. 
316— 32=284— 57=227— 62=165— 4£  &  h  (62)=161. 

489—161=328+1=329. 
316— 32=284— 145=139— 58  (80:1)=81— 62=19. 
316—31=285—50=235. 
316—64  (79:2)— 252— 57  (80:1)— 195— 2  h  col.— 193. 

Here  the  word  merry  is  disguised  in  marry,  which  represented  the  pronuncia- 
tion of  the  word  in  that  age.  Mr.  F.  G.  Fleay,  in  his  Shakespeare  Manual,  p.  66, 
shows  that  e  was  then  usually  pronounced  like  "a  in  m^re,"  and  "rarely  as  e  in 
eve;"  and  merry  was  therefore  pronounced  marry  or  m'ary.  After  awhile  we 
shall  see  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor  used  again,  with  the  word  merry  as  found 
in  the  same  act,  scene  fourth,  "A  merry  song,  come;  it  grows  late."  And  how 
cunningly  is  wives  disguised  in  ale-wive' s  (19,  81:1).  And  yet  the  work  is 
strained.  The  line  is:  "  He  had  made  two  holes  in  the  ale-wive's  new  petticoat." 
It  should  be  alt-wife's;  but  -wife's  would  not  have  given  us  the  Merry  Wives  of 
Windsor,  and  hence  the  woman  had  to  be  turned  into  a  plural.  And  see  how 
Windsor  is  dragged  in:  "  The  prince  broke  thy  head  for  likening  him  to  a  singing 
man  of  Windsor."  Why  a  singing  man  of  Windsor  and  not  of  some  other  town? 
And  what  was  a  "  singing  man  of  Windsor"  ?  Let  the  curious  examine  the  Con- 
cordance for  the  relations  between  the  words  merry  wives  and  Windsor,  or  the  dis- 
guise Wind-sir,  in  the  different  Plays. 

And  what  is  "the  German  hunting  in  water-worke  "  ?  The  commentators  can 
make  nothing  of  it?  And  we  will  see  that  as  German  is  the  316th  word  from  the 
last  word  of  scene  1,  so  hunting  is  the  316th  word  from  the  beginning  of  the  next 
scene,  and  that  it  describes  Shakspere's  rabbit-hunting  as  a  boy: 

316—161  (78:1)=155— 57(80:1  =98— 61  (80:2)— 37— 

4/;  & //(61)=33.  33  81:1  rabbit      ) 

316.     339—316=23—1=24.  24  80:1        hunting    \ 

and  that  98  (155 — 57=98)  is  low  (80:2),  and  that  37  [155 — 57=98 — 61  (8o:2)=37]  is 
rascally;  and  that  the  same  234  (316 — 32=284 — 50=234)  which  produced  draw, 
characters  and  so  many  other  important  words,  carried  through  that  same  57,  and 
up  from  the  end  of  the  first  section  of  the  next  column,  plus  1  hyphen,  yields  286, 
80:2,  company;  and  so  we  have:  rabbit — hunting — rascally  —  low  —  company! 

It  would  seem,  I  say,  as  if  German  admiration  of  the  great  genius  revealed  in 
the  Plays  began  at  an  early  period;  and  the  pride  with  which  Bacon  refers  to  this 
approbation  of  a  distinguished  foreigner  is  characteristic  of  the  man  who  left 
"  his  memory  to  the  next  ages  and  to  foreign  nations"  He  felt  the  inadequacy  of 
the  development  of  his  own  people  at  that  time. 

It  may  be  objected  that  I  gave  in  the  beginning  of  the  chapter  a  long  sentence 
where  31  and  32  regularly  alternated;  but  that  in  the  foregoing,  and  in  some  pas- 
sages that  follow,  we  have  316  used  by  itself  as  a  root-number,  and  sometimes  alter- 
nated with  30,  50,  31  and  32.  The  answer  is  that  in  these  latter  instances  the  top 
fragment  of  79:1  is  not  used  as  a  starting-point,  as  in  the  former  case,  but  that  the 
number  316  plays  backward  and  forward  between  the  beginning  of  scene  third  and 
the  end  of  scene  fourth;  and  that  316  is  the  real  root-number. 


822 


THE  CIPHER  NARRA  TIVE. 


Word. 

Page  and 

Column. 

=325 

81:1 

swears 

92 

77:2 

up 

175 

80:2 

and 

94 

77:2 

down 

283 

79:2 

they 

521 

77:2 

can 

53 

80:1 

not 

164 

78:2 

equal 

104 

80:1 

it 

92 

78:2 

in 

374 

81:1 

all 

375 

81:1 

Europe, 

And  we  also  have  given  at  length,  in  the  Cipher  narrative,  the  conversation 
between  Cecil  and  the  German  Minister.     And  the  Minister  — 


316—32=284—57=227—62=165.   489—165=324 + 1= 

316—32=284—30=254—162=92. 

316—31=285—50=235—57=178—3  h  col.— 175. 

316— 30=286— 30=256— 1 62=94. 

316.     598-316=282+1=283. 

316— 32=284— :  0=254— 162=92.     610—92=518+1 

—519+2  h  col.— 521. 
316—30=286.     338—286=52+1=53.  . 
316—30=286—50=236—50=186—22  b  col.— 164. 
316—31=285—50=235.     338—235=103+ 1=104. 
316—32^  284—30=254—162=92. 
316—31=285—50=235—57  (80:1)— 178— 62  (80:2)= 

116.     489—116=373+1=374. 
316—32=284—50=234—57=177—62=115.     489— 

115=374+1=375. 

These  are  rare  words.  Europe  occurs  but  ten  times  in  all  the  Plays;  minister 
but  twice  in  this  play,  and  but  eleven  other  times  in  all  the  Historical  Plays.  Ger- 
man is  found  but  this  one  time  in  this  play,  and  but  nine  times  in  all  the  Plays. 

And  observe  the  additional  multitudinous  proofs  of  the  Cipher:  While  316,  up 
from  the  end  of  scene  1,  act  ii,  is  German,  316,  up  the  same  column,  but  counting 
in  the  five  hyphens  in  the  column,  is  worth;  and  316  less  30 is  286,  and  this,  less  57 
(the  section  at  the  end  of  80:1),  is  229;  and  229,  carried  down  the  preceding  column, 
is  coming  {worth  coming);  and  229  down  the  next  column  forward  is  to;  and  229  up 
the  same  column  is  well  {well  zvorth  coming  to);  and  316 — 32=284,  and  this  carried 
again  up  from  the  end  of  scene  1,  as  in  the  case  of  German  and  worth,  produces, 
plus  the  hyphens,  England  {well  -worth  coming  to  England);  and  284  again  less 
57  is  227,  and  227  carried  again  up  the  preceding  column,  +  b  <&  h,  yields  way; 
and  316  less  the  same  57  produces  long  {well  zvorth  coming  all  the  long  way  to  Eng- 
land). 

I  gave  a  great  many  instances,  on  page  715,  ante,  where  says  and  ill  or  seas 
and  ill  were  matched  together  to  produce  Cecil  (pronounced  Sacil),  and  here  we 
have  another;  and  we  shall  see  still  others  as  we  progress. 

Then  the  German  Minister  grows  enthusiastic  over  the  dramatic  delineation 
of  the  character  of  Sir  John  Falstaff .     In  his  conversation  with  Cecil  — 


316—32=284—50=234—57=177—62=115.  115 

316—32=284—30=254—186=68.     489—68=421  + 

1=422+1 //=423. 
316—30=286—57=229—3  h  col.=226. 
316—50=266—57=209. 
316—49  (76:1)— 287— 57— 210. 

316—50=266—57=209—61  (80:2)=148— 4 b&h  col. 
316—31=285—57=228—11  b  col.=217. 
316—57=259—186  (81 :2)=73. 
316—32=284—57—227. 
316—30=286—62  (80:2)=224. 
316—57=259.     534—259=275  +  1=276. 
316—31=285.     338—285=53+1=54. 


81:1 


He 


423 

81:1 

said: 

226 

80:2 

I      • 

209 

80:2 

tell 

210 

80:2 

thee, 

=144 

81:1 

the 

217 

80:2 

man 

73 

81:1 

that 

227 

80:2 

could 

224 

81:1 

conceive 

276 

79:2 

such 

54 

80:1 

a 

SHAKSPERE   THE  ORIGINAL  FALSTAFE. 


823 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

146 

81:1 

part 

173 

81:1 

as 

73 

80:1 

this, 

63 

80:1 

and 

64 

80:1 

draw 

104 

80:1 

it 

=162 

80:2 

so 

425 

81:1 

well, 

217 

80:2 

should 

168 

81:1 

be 

145 

81:1 

immortal. 

316—50  (76:1)=266— 57=209— 61  (80:1)=148— 

2  6  col. =146. 
316—31=285—49=235—62=173. 
316—50=266.     338—266=72  +  1=73. 
316—31=285.     338—285=53+1=54+9  6  col.— 63. 
316—32=284.     338— 284=54 +1=55+9  £  col. =64. 
316—31=285—50=235.     338-23"= 103+1— 104. 
316— 32=284— 50=234—  58  (80:1)— 176— 14*  &  h  col  ■ 
316—32=284—30=254—185  (81:2)— 69.     489—09= 

420—1+4*  &  h  (185)— 435. 
316—31=285—57=228—11  *  col. =217. 
316—30=286—57=229—61  (80:2)— 168. 
316—50=266—57=209—62  (80:1)— 147— 26  col.— 

This  is  the  only  time  immortal  occurs  in  this  play,  and  it  is  found  but  twice 
besides  in  all  the  Historical  Plays.  And  this  is  the  only  time  conceive  appears  in 
this  play;  and  it  is  found  but  three  times  besides  in  all  the  Historical  Plays. 
Observe  the  word  part  in  the  Concordance:  —  how  often  it  occurs  in  some  plays 
and  how  rarely  in  others.  It  is  found  but  five  times  in  Mac6eth,  while  we  dis- 
cover it  twenty-four  times  in  Hamlet;  and  play  occurs  6ut  four  times  in  Macbeth; 
while/*//  and  plays  are  found  thirty-Jive  times  in  Hamlet/  This  is  because  the 
Cipher  story  in  the  latter  play  tells  us  a  great  deal  about  the  Plays  and  players,  and 
acting,  etc.,  while  in  Macbeth  those  subjects  are  but  little  referred  to.  And  where 
flays  are  alluded  to  in  the  internal  narrative,  it  is  natural  to  speak  of  such  and  such 
a  part  in  the  play,  or  of  the  first,  second  or  third  part  of  some  of  the  Historical 
Plays. 

And  it  further  appears  (departing  a  little  from  our  root-number  316)  that  —  as  I 
had  supposed  —  Shakspere  was  a  usurer  in  the  full  sense  of  the  term.  We  are  told 
by  this  same  root-number,  338,  that  he  acquired  a  great  part  of  his  wealth  by  this 
practice,  and  is  clad  in  — 

538—32=306—5  *  (32)=301— 30=271— 146— 125— 

1  A— 124. 
338—31— 307— 5  *  (32)— 302— 30=272— 146— 126. 

508—126=382+1=383  +  1=384. 
338—32=306—5  *  (32)=301— 30— 271— 50=221— 146 

=75.     508—75=433+1=434. 
538—31=307—5  *  (31)=302. 
338—32=306—5  *  (32)=301— 30=271— 145=126. 

610—126—484+1=485.  485  77:2         prince; 


124 

76:2 

apparel 

384 

75:2 

fit 

434 

75:2 

for 

302 

76:2 

a 

That  instead  of  being  half-naked  he  is  arrayed  — 

338—32=306—5  *=301—  50=271— 50=221.  221 
338—31=307—5  *  (31)=302— 30=272— 49=223. 

610—223=387+1—388+14  *  &  //— 402.  402 
538—32=306—5  *=301— 50=251— 50=201.     603— 

201=402+1—403.  403 

538—31=307— 5  *=302— 50  (76:1)— 252.  252 

Very  different  from  the  rags  he  wore  when  he  — 

338—31=307—5  *— 302— 30=272.  508—272=236+1=237 


77:2 

in 

77:2 

silk 

76:2 

and 

76:2 

satin. 

75:2 


fled 


824 


THE  CIPHER  NARRA  TIVE. 


338—32=306—5  ^—301 — 145 — 166. 

338—31=307—285  (79:1,  32  to  317)=22— 2  h  (285)= 

20.     462—20=442+1=443. 
338—32=306—5  £=301—50=251—145=106—3  b 

(145)— 108. 
338—31=307—5  £=302—30=272.     461—272=189+ 

1=1904  10 b&  £=200. 


Word. 

166 
443 

103 
200 


338— 32=306— 5  b- 
338—31=307—5  b= 
420 -r  1=421. 


=301- 
=302- 


-49  (76:1)=252— 11  b  &  h  col.=241 


Page  and 
Column. 

77:2 


78:2 
77:1 

79:1 

77-1 


to 

London 

to 

'scape 
from 


-145=157. 


(7—157= 


421 


77:1  imprisonment. 


And  that  a  large  part  of  his  wealth  was  derived  not  alone  from — 
-32  (79:1)=306— 5  b  (312)=301— 162=139.  139  77:2 


338—31  (79:1)=307— 5  £(31)=302— 30=272. 


272 


these 
shows: 


But  from  the  lending  of  money  at  a  high  rate  and  by  usurious  practices.  (The 
reader  will  note  the  precision  and  regularity  of  the  above  sentences.  Every  word  is 
the  338th  minus  31  or  32,  alternated,  minus  the  5  bracketed  words  in  31  or  32). 
We  read  that  he  doth  — 


338—31=307—50  (74:2)=257— 50  (76:1)=207— 146= 

61.     610—61=549+1=550.  550 

338—32=306—162=144.     162—144=18+1=19.  19 

338—31=307—162=145.     610—145=465+^  col.—     (475) 
338—32=306—49=257—30=227.  227 

338— 31=307— 50=257— 30=227- 5  b  col. =222.  222 

338—32=306—50=256—30=226—50=176—163=13.     13 


2  h  col.— 
162— 


598— 


338—31=307—50=257—30=227—162=65- 
338—32=307—50=257—50=207—145=61. 

61=101+1=102. 
338—31=307.     468—307=161+1=162. 
338—32=306-50=256—50=206. 
338—31=307—50=257—50=207—161=46. 

46=552+1=553. 
338—32=306—50=256—50=206—145=61  + 162= 

223—5  b  col. =218. 
338—31=307—50=257—30=227—162=65. 
338—32=306—49  (76 :1)=257— 30=227.     603—227= 

376+1=377+3  b  col. =380. 
338—31=307—50=257—50=207—146=61  +  162= 


63 

102 
162 
206 

553 

218 
65 


77:2 
78:1 
77:2 
76:2 
78:1 
78:2 
78:2 

78:1 

78:1 

77:2 

79:2 

78:1 
78:2 


lend 
money 

at 

a 
big 
rate 
upon 


commodity 
of 

paper, 

with 
sure 


380  76:2       security 

223  78:1        enough. 

Observe  the  regularity  with  which  the  Cipher  moves  in  the  foregoing:  31 — 32 
— 31 — 32 — 31 — 32 — 31 — 32,  etc.  And  note  how  all  the  words  that  are  not  due 
directly  to  306  or  307  are  derived  from  306  or  307,  minus  30  or  50.  Commodity  is 
a  rare  word;  this  is  the  only  time  it  occurs  in  this  play.  It  is  found  in  King  John 
quite  often,  where  it  tells,  probably,  the  story  of  Bacon's  own  money  necessities; 
it  is  found  twice  in  1st  Henry  IV.,  and  but  ten  times  besides  in  all  the  Plays.  In 
Measure  for  Measure,  iv,  3,  we  find  the  "  commodity  of  paper"  alluded  to.  The 
clown,  describing  the  occupants  of  the  prison,  says: 

First,  here's  Master  Rash;  he's  in  for  a  commodity  of  brown  paper  and  old 
ginger,  ninescore  and  seventeen  pounds. 

Whereupon  Knight  says  in  a  foot-note: 


SHAKSPERE   THE  ORIGINAL  FAL STAFF.  825 

The  old  comedies  are  full  of  the  practice  of  the  usurer  —  so  notorious  as  to 
acquire  him  the  name  of  the  brown  paper  merchant — of  stipulating  to  make  his 
advances  partly  in  money  and  partly  in  goods,  which  goods  were  sometimes  little 
more  than  packages  of  brown  paper. 

The  practice  is  alluded  to  in  1st  Henry  IV.,  and  there  we  have  even  the 
word  brown.  It  is  dragged  into  the  wild  and  senseless  talk  of  the  Prince  to 
Francis  (ii,  4),  the  drawer:  "  Your  brown  bastard  is  your  only  wear."  In  act  i, 
scene  2,  we  have  a  commodity  of  warm  slaves;  and  in  act  ii,  scene  4,  again,  we  have 
"nothing  but  papers ,  my  Lord."  It  would  be  curious  to  find  how  often  commodity 
—  brown — paper  appear  together  in  the  same  vicinity  in  the  different  Plays;  but  I 
have  not  the  time  or  space  to  pursue  the  subject. 

I  will  conclude  this  chapter  by  remarking  that  it  adds  very  much  to  our  knowl- 
edge of  Shakspere,  his  character  and  appearance.  It  tells  us  he  was  gross  and 
coarse  in  his  nature  and  his  life;  that  he  was  not  devoid,  however,  of  a  certain 
ready  wit;  a  glutton  in  his  diet  and  fond  of  the  bottle.  That  he  had  many  of  the 
characteristics  of  Falstaff ,  and  that  he  was  the  model  from  which  the  characters  of 
Sir  John  and  Sir  Tobie  were  drawn.  It  also  tells  us  that  Bacon  was  assisted,  to 
some  extent,  in  the  construction  of  the  Plays  by  his  brother  Anthony.  It  tells  us 
further  that  before  Shakspere's  health  was  broken  down  by  his  evil  courses  he 
acted  the  part  of  Falstaff  on  the  stage.  It  also  tells  us  that  the  Plays  drew  great 
crowds  of  delighted  people,  and  greatly  enriched  all  concerned  in  their  production. 
And  this  is  confirmed  from  historical  sources.  Nash  records  that  in  a  short  space 
of  about  three  months,  in  the  summer  of  1592,  the  play  of  Henry  VI.  was  witnessed 
by  "ten  thousand  spectators  at  least;"1  and  we  are  told  that  Romeo  and  Juliet,  in 
1596,  "  took  the  metropolis  by  storm."-2  And  this  chapter  further  confirms  the 
tradition  of  Elizabeth's  admiration  of  the  character  of  the  fat  knight;  and  it  gives 
us  further  the  enthusiastic  admiration  of  the  German  Minister.  And  beyond  all 
this  it  tells  us  that  Shakspere  had  enriched  himself  by  usurious  practices,  corrob- 
orating the  evidence  of  the  numerous  suits  brought  by  him  against  different  parties 
to  recover  money  loaned,  and  the  fact  that  the  only  letter  extant  addressed  to  him 
was  touching  a  loan  of  money. 

1  Halhwell-Phillipps,  Outlines,  p.  64.  2  Ibid.,  p.  85. 


Note.  The  numbering  in  column  2  of  page  7S  in  the  facsimile  is  slightly 
wrong;  each  number  below  the  51st  should  be  moved  backwards  one.  The  error 
is  due  to  the  fact  that  the  word  almost,  line  7,  enclosed  in  the  bracket  sentence  of 
eleven  words,  is  not  counted  in  as  part  of  the  bracket  sentence,  but  as  part  of  the 
text;  hence  the  first  word,  should,  after  the  bracket  sentence,  is  the  52d  word  in- 
stead of  the  51st,  and  all  the  succeeding  numbers  in  the  column  have  to  be  moved 
backward  to  correspond.  The  Publishers. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

SWEET  ANN  HA  THA  WA  Y. 

One  woman  is  fair;  yet  I  am  well:  another  is  wise;  yet  I  am  well:  another  virtuous;  yet  I  am 
well:  but  till  all  graces  be  in  one  woman,  one  woman  shall  not  come  in  my  grace. 

Much  A  do,  Hi.  2. 


WE  pass  to  another  part   of  our  story:  the  history  of  Shak- 
spere's  marriage. 
I  have  already  quoted  one  or  two  lines  as  to  his  rabbit-hunting. 
The  Bishop  of  Worcester  says: 

338—30=308—49=259—161=98.     457—98=359+1 

=360+5  b  col. =365.  365  76:2  He 

338—30=308.     533— 308=225+ 1=226+13  £  col.  =  239  79:2  had 
338—50=288—49=239.     577-  239=338+1=339+ 

3//col.=342.  342  77:1  fallen 

338— 30=308— 31  (79:1)=277— 162=115— 49(76:1)=  66  76:2  into 

338— 30=308— 50=258— 50=20^— 162=46— 2// col.=  44  78:2  all 
338—30  (74:2)=288— 50  (76:1)=238— 31  (79:1)=207 

—50  (76:1)=157— 145=12— 3  b  (145)=9.     498—9 

=489+1=490.  490  76:1  sorts 

338-30=308—49=259—162=97+457=554.  554  76:2  of 

338—30=308—49=259—162=97.  97  77:2  evil 
333—50  (74:2)=288— 50  (76:1)=238— 31  (79:1)=207 

— 145  (76:2)=62— 50  (76:1)=12.  12  76:1  courses 

338—30=308—49=259—162=97.     457—97=360+1=361  76:2  with 
338— 30=308— 50=258— 162=96— 32  (79:1)=64— 

58(80:1.)=6.  6  80:1  drinking 

338=30—308-50=258-49=209—162=47.  47  77:2  wassail 

338—31=307—50=257.  257  76:2  and 

338-49=289.  289  76:2  gluttony. 

Then  we  are  told  how  he  annoyed  Sir  Thomas  Lucy,  "  an  upright  and  worship- 
ful man." 


888— 22  d  &  //=316— 161=155— 59=98— 61  (80:2)=37 

_5/;col.=32.  32 

338—22/;  &  /z=316-161=155— 57=98.  98 

338—22  b  &  /i=316— 161=155— 57=98.     461—98= 

363  +  1=364.  364 


81:1 
79:1 


Upright 
and 


80:2     worshipful. 


And  we  are  told  that  he  did- 


826 


S  WEE  T  ANN  HA  THA  WA  Y. 


827 


Page  and 
Column. 

79:1 

kill 

80:2 
79:1 

many 
a 

81:2 

deer. 

77:2 

hare 

77:2 

and 

81:1 

rabbit 

80:1 

hunting 

79:2 

o'nights 

80:1 

in 

80:2 

vile, 

80:2 

low, 

81:1 

rascally 

80:2 

company. 

Word. 

:338— 30=308— 161=147— 32=115.     518—115=403 

+  1=404+2  k  col.=406.  406 

338—30=308—50=258—162=96—32=64—2  b  col.—  62 
338—30=308—50=258  -162=96.  518—96=422+1=423 
338—30=308—49=259—162=97+186  (81:1)=  283 

And  observe  how  cunningly  that  word  deer,  spelled  deere,  is  concealed  in  the 
triple-hyphenated  word,  heart-deere- Harry :  It  is  not  spelled  dear,  as  it  is  elsewhere, 
but  deere.  See  deare  Lord,  end  scene  1,  act  Hi,  p.  86,  Folio.  Deare  was  one  thing 
and  deere  another,  and  here  the  Cipher  required  deere. 

And  we  are  told  that  he  spent  his  time  — 

:316— 32=284— 50=234— 162=72— 2 //  col. =70.  70 

316—31=285—162=123—4/;  &  h  col. =119.  119 

316—161=155—57=98-61  (80:2)==37— 4  b  &  h  (61)=  33 
-316.     339—316^23  +  1=24.  24 

■  316— 32=284— 146=138— 3  £  (146)=135— 58  (80:1) 

=77— 2  b  col.  =75.  75 

316— 31=285— 5 //col  =280.  280 

316-32=284—50=234—57=177.  461—177=284+1=285 
316—161=155—57=98.  98 

4316—161=155—57=98—61  (80:2)=37.  37 

•316-32=284—50=234—57=177.    461—177=284+1 

=285 + 1  h  col .  =286.  286 

Observe  that  rabbit  occurs  but  four  times  in  all  the  thousand  pages  of  the  Plays, 
and  but  once  in  this  play,  and  /uniting-  is  found  but  fifteen  times  in  all  the  Plays, 
and  but  once  in  this  play.  And  here  is  another  evidence  of  the  Cipher  in  the 
Plays:  —  rascally  is  found  in  but  six  plays  out  of  thirty-seven;  and  \t  is  found  once 
in  The  Merry  Wives,  where  Shakspere's  story  is  talked  about  in  Cipher,  and  four 
times  in  this  play,  where  he  is  also  dealt  with.  That  is  to  say,  rascally  appears 
but  eleven  times  in  all  the  Plays,  and  five  of  these  are  where  Shakspere  is  spoken 
•of  in  the  Cipher  narrative  !  This  illustrates  that  all  words  are  not  found  on  all 
pages,  but  that  each  subject  begets  its  own  vocabu'ary. 

We  are  told  that  — 

:338— 30=308— 162=146-32=114.     396—114=282+1 

=--283+2/^  col.=285. 
;338— 30=308— 163=145. 
:338-30=308— 49=259— 162=97— 50=47.     457—47 

=410+1=411. 
•338—30=308—162=146—31  (79:1)=115.     523—115 

=408+1=409+4/;  &  /^413. 
338— 30=308— 49=252— 162=97— 32  (791)=65. 

339—65=274+1=275.  275 

338—30=308—162=146-31=115—5^=110—58 

(80:1)=52.     462—52=410  +  1=411. 
:  338—30=308—49=259—162=97—32=65—2  <^=63 
.  33$— 30=308— 162=146— 3 1=1 15. 
4338—30=308— 162=146— 31=115— 58(81 :1)=57. 

523—57=466+1=467.  467         80:2  most 


285 

80:1 

Will 

145 

78:2 

and 

411 

76:2 

his 

413 

80:2 

brother 

411 

80:2 

a 

.  63 

80:2 

pair 

115 

79:2 

of 

828  THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 

Page  and 
Word.      Column. 

338—30=308—162=146—31=115—5  b  (31)— 110— 

58(80:1)=52.     523—52=471  +  1=472.  472  80:2      pernicious 

338—30=308—163=145.     518— 145— 373 -t-1—  374  79:1        villains. 

The  reader  will  observe  here  that  every  word  grows  out  of  308  (338 — 30=308), 
and  that  in  every  case  but  one  the  308  is  modified  by  deducting  162  from  it;  that  is 
to  say,  by  carrying 'the  30S  to  the  end  of  scene  third  (78:1)  and  counting  upwards; 
while  in  the  case  of  the  one  exception  referred  to,  we  commence  to  count  one  word 
further  down,  to-wit:  from  the  beginning  of  scene  fourth,  instead  of  from  the  end 
of  scene  third.  And  every  one  of  these  308  minus  162  or  163  is  carried  again 
through  the  last  fragment  of  scene  fourth,  containing  31  words,  or  32  if  we  count 
from  the  first  word  of  the  next  scene  (act  ii,  scene  1)  inclusive. 

And  he  will  observe  that  the  modifications  are  made  by  49,  162,  31  or  32, 
and  57  or  58.  Now  49  is  the  first  fragment  of scene  j,  and  162  is  the  last  fragment 
of  scene  j;  and  31  or  32  represents  the  last  fragment  of  scene  4;  and  57  or  58,  the 
first  fragment  of  scene  2,  act  ii;  and  308  put  through  these  changes  yields  the  remark- 
able sentence  above  given. 

And  then  comes  the  story  of  his  trouble  with  Ann  Hathaway.  Here  we  have 
the  name: 

338— 200  (79:1  )=1 38.     462-138=324+1=325.  325  78:2  Ann 

338—200  (79:1)— 138— 5  //  (200)— 183.     462—133= 

329+1—330  330  78:2  Hathl 

338— 200  (79:1)— 138— 13  ^  col. =125.  125  78:2  a      [ 

338—31  (79:1)=307— 30=277— 50=227.     598—227 

=371  +  1=372+10^  &  h  col.— 382.  382  79:2  way. 

Here  it  will  be  observed  Ann  hath  a  are  all  derived  from  338 — 200=138;  these 
came  from  the  fragment  of  79:1  below  the  end  of  the  second  subdivision  of  the 
column,  to  the  bottom  of  the  column  (318  +  200=518,  number  of  words  on  page); 
while  the  last  word  comes  from  the  fraction  above  the  first  word  of  that  same  sub- 
division to  the  top  of  the  column.  And  we  will  see  that  same  number  277  yielding 
a  great  many  other  significant  words,  as  277,  78:1,  twenty  (Ann  was  twentv-five);  and 
up  79:2,  less  1  hyphen,  it  is  she,  etc. 

And  it  seems  she  was  a  widow  and  her  legal  name  was  Whatley,  but  she  was 
generally  called  by  her  maiden  name.     And  here  we  have  it  again: 

338—32  (79:1)— 306— 30— 276— 5  b  (32)— 271  +  162=433 

— 3  A  col.—  430  78:1  Ann 

838— 200(79:1)— 188— %b  col.— 136.  136         79:2        What  \ 

338-31  (79:1)— 307— 30— 277— 50— 227— 57  (80:1)—  t 

170.     338—170—168+1—169.  169  79:1  lay.     ) 

And  there  is  a  long  narrative  here  about  Ann  and  her  troubles.  By  the  same 
root-number  338,  modified  by  deducting  the  22b  &  h  in  167,  as  heretofore,  we  have 
another  reference  to  her: 

605—167—338—22 b&h  (167) 
316— 31=285— 2  h  col.— 283. 
316—31—286. 

316—49  (76:1)=267+ 163—430. 
316—50  (76:1)— 266— 199  (79:1)=67— 5  b  (199— 62. 

598—62—536+1—537.  00  i  iv.a  wnat    > 

316— 49=267— 200(79:1)— 67.     468—67=401  +  1—       402  78:1  lay.      v 


=316. 

283 
285 
430 

79:2 
79:2 

78:1 

They 
call 
Ann 

537 
402 

79:2 

78:1 

What 
lay. 

SWEE  T  ANN  HA  THA  WA  V.  829 

Observe  the  adroitness  with  which  the  same  Ann,  or,  as  it  is  disguised,  An  (430, 
78:1),  is  made  to  do  double  duty  once  by  the  root-number  338,  and  then  by  the 
modified  root-number  338 — 22  b  &  £—316,  both  counts  falling  on  the  same  word 
from  the  same  starting-point.     And  the  same  is  true  of  the  word  a  (125,  78:2). 

And  she  was  a  widow  ! 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

125 

78:2 

A 

125 

79:2 

widow. 

338—50=288—163=125. 
838—50=288—103=125. 

In  the  Consistory  Court  at  Worcester,  in  the  marriage  register,  there  is  an 
entry  in  these  terms:  "  15S2,  Nov.  27,  William  Shaxpere  and  Anne  Whately  of 
Temple  Grafton."  The  next  day,  November  28,  15S2,  a  bond  is  given  to  the 
Bishop  of  Worcester  to  hold  him  harmless  for  '"licensing,"  etc.,  the  marriage  of 
William  Shagspere  and  Anne  Hathwey .  The  Shakspereolators  have  always  ignored 
the  license  entry;  and  although  there  was  no  record  of  a  license  to  Shakspere  to 
wed  Ann  Hathaway,  they  would  have  none  of  the  Whately  woman.  And  Knight 
even  goes  so  far  as  to  give  us  a  picture  of  the  old  church  at  Hampton  Lucy,1  and 
would  have  us  believe  that  Shakspere  and  the  "  sweet  Anne  "  were  married  in  it, 
although  there  is  not  a  shred  of  evidence  to  sustain  the  belief;  and  we  have  a 
delightful  rural  picture  of  the  "  ribands,  rosemary  and  bay,"  the  "roundels,"  the 
"  wheaten  garlands,"  the  "bride  cup"  and  the  bridal  banquet;  all  constructed,  as 
most  of  the  Shakspere  biography  has  been,  out  of  the  vivid  imagination  of  the 
writer,  who  sought,  in  this  way,  from  the  beggarly  materials  afforded  him,  to  create 
a  man  that  would  fit  into  the  requirements  of  the  Plays. 

Halliwell-Phillipps  is  said,  in  an  article  in  the  London  Telegraphy '  to  be  of  the 
opinion  that  Ann  Hathaway  never  lived  in  the  Hathaway  cottage;  that  is,  that  she 
was  not  a  daughter  of  Richard  Hathaway,  alias  Gardner,  of  Stratford,  who  died  in 
15S2.  Mr.  Rolfe'2  concurs  in  this  view.  Richard  Hathaway's  will  names  seven 
children,  and  Anne  was  not  one  of  them.     The  London   Telegraph  says: 

It  is  deplorable  to  have  doubts  started  as  to  whether  the  Shakespeare  Museum 
contains  a  single  genuine  relic;  whether  Anne  Hathaway's  cottage  is  not,  after  all, 
a  simple  fraud;  and  Mary  Arden's  farm  a  disreputably  unhistorical  building.  .  .  .  But 
will  they  care  to  go  to  the  shrine  of  the  great  poet  if  a  cloud  of  doubt  surrounds 
some  of  its  most  cherished  monuments?  If  everything  at  Stratford  were  shown  as 
being  only  doubtfully  connected  with  the  Bard  ?  For  example,  instead  of  the 
guide-post  pointing  the  way  to  Anne  Hathaway's  cottage,  it  might  be  sadly  truth- 
ful to  say,  "To  the  reputed  cottage  of  Anne  Hathaway."  Mary  Arden's  farm- 
house ought  to  be  ticketed  as  an  "  uncertain  "  building,  and  Shakespeare's  tomb  in 
the  church  would  have  to  be  pointed  out  as  the  tomb  "either  of  Shakespeare  or 
somebody  else.  " 

A.  Hall,  in  a  letter  to  the  London  Athencrum,  1886,  suggests  that  Richard  Hath- 
away, alias  Gardner,  may  have  married  a  widow  named  Whately,  from  Temple 
Grafton,  and  that  she  might  have  taken  the  nam ;  of  Hathaway  as  his  step- 
daughter. 

But  here  in  the  Cipher  is  the  explanation  of  the  mystery:  Ann  had  bean  mar- 
ried to  one  Whatley;  and  when  the  bride  herself  gave  her  name,  Nov.  27,  1582,  for  s 
the  marriage  license,  she  gave  it  correctly,  and  she  was  married  by  that  name;  but 
the  next  day,  when  her  farmer  friends  were  called  upon  to  furnish  the  bond  to 
indemnify  the  Bishop,  they  gave  the  lawyer  who  drew  the  bond  the  name  by 
which,  in  the  careless  fashion  of  such  people,  she  was  generally  known. 

1  Biography,  p.  223.  * SAafo/eariana,  Sept.,  1886,  pp.  430,  431. 

2  Literary  World,  Boston,  Jan.  23,  18S6,  p.  30. 


S3o 


THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 


De  Quincey  says  of  the  marriage  bond: 

Trepidation  and  anxiety  are  written  upon  its  face.  .  .  .  Economy,  which 
retards  the  marriage,  is  here  evidently  in  collision  with  some  opposite  principle 
which  precipitates  it.  How  is  all  this  to  be  explained?  Neither  do  we  like  the 
spectacle  of  a  mature  young  woman,  five  years  past  her  majority,  wearing  the  sem- 
blance of  having  been  led  astray  by  a  boy  who  had  still  two  years  and  a  half  to 
run  of  his  minority. 

And  we  are  told  that  — 

316—31  (79:1)=285— 16  0  &  h  col. =269. 

316—50=266—162=104. 

316—7  0  col.  =309. 

316—31  (79:1)— 285— 14  0  col  =271. 

816—50=266—162=104. 

316—163=153—6  0  &  h  col. =147. 

This  the  only  time  the  word  pregnancy  appears  in  all  the  goo,ooo  words  of  the 
Plays !  And  it  appears  just  where  it  is  needed  to  tell  the  story  of  Shakspere's 
marriage;  and  it  is  found  side  by  side  with  Ann  —  Hath — a — way,  and  Ann  — 
What — lay  (by  two  different  counts);  and  other  still  more  significant  words  that 
are  to  follow.      I  weary  of  asking  the  question: — can  all  this  be  accident? 

And  then  we  have  this  description  of  her: 


Word. 

Page  and 

Column. 

(269) 

78:2 

She 

104 

77:2 

is 

309 

78:1 

far 

(271) 

79:2 

gone 

104 

79:1 

in 

147 

77:2 

pregnancy. 

330 

78:2 

hath 

29 

80:1 

a 

459 

77:2 

pretty 

62 

80:1 

face 

450 

77:2 

and 

473 

79:2 

a 

338—30=308—31=277.     598—277=321  +  1=322.         322  79:2 

338—50=288—146=142—3  b  (146)=139.     462—139= 

323+1=324+6  0  &  h  col  =330. 
338-32=306—50=256—162=94—65=29. 
S38— 30=308— 145=163.     610—163=447+1=448+ 

11  0&  /;=459. 
338—50=288—162=126—64  (79:2)=62. 
338—30=308—145=163.     610—163=447+1=448+ 

2h  col.— 460. 
338—50=288—162=126.     598—120=472+1=473. 
338—50=288—162=126—57  (79:1)=69.     396-69= 

327+1=328.  328  80:1 

338—50=288— 162=126— 30=96— 64  (79:2)=32+ 

338=370  370 

338—199=139.  139  80:1 

338—50=288—162=126—65  (79:2)— 61.     396—61= 

335+1=336.  336  80 

338—30=308—285=23+338=361.  361  90 

338— 199(318^79:1;— 139.  139  78 

338—30=308—285=23.     162—23=139+1=140.  140  78 

338—50=288-161=127.     396—127=269+1=270+ 

2  b  col.  =272.  272  80:1 

338—50=288—161=127—57  '79:1)— 70— 57  (80:1)=13. 

523—13=510+1=511.  511  80:2 

338—200  (79:1,  317  d)=  138— 65  (79:2)— 73.     162— 

73=89+1=90.  90  78:1 


She 


fair 

80:1    complexion, 
with 

a 

high 
color 
and 

long 

red 

hair. 


This  is  the  only  time  red  appears  in  this  act;  it  is  found  but  twice  besides  irt 
this  play.  And  this  is  the  only  time  color  occurs  in  this  act.  And  this  is  the  only 
time  complexion  appears  in  this  play,  and  it  is  found  but  four  other  times  in  the  ten 


S  WEE  T  ANN  HA  THA  WA  Y. 


831 


Historical  Plays.  And  it  is  dragged  in  here  by  the  heels:  "  It  discolors  the  com- 
plexion of  my  greatness,"  says  Prince  Hal,  "to  acknowledge  that  I  am  weary  !'* 
And  note  how  it  is  matched  with  fair  ("  fair  complexion").  Each  is  505 — i67=33& 
— 50—288 — 162  (78:i)-=i26;  and  both  words  are  found  in  the  same  column,  the  one 
carried  through  the  last  subdivision  of  79:1,  the  other  through  the  last  subdivision 
of  79:2. 

And  this  statement  about  Ann's  appearance  confirms  the  tradition  recorded  by 
Oldys,  that  she  was  quite  handsome;  but — 


338—30=308-31  (79:1)— 377.     598—277=321+1= 


396—88=308  +  1=309. 


=109. 


188+1=189. 
462—133=329  +  1= 


■50- 


598—69= 


338—200=138—50: 

338—199=139—30: 

338—199=139. 

338— 58(79 :1)=280.     468—280 

338—200=138—5  h  (200)— 133. 

330+6/.  &  h— 886. 
338—57  (79 :1)=281— 162=119- 

529+1=530. 
338—162=176—50=126.     462— 126=336+l=337i 

5  b  col.  =342. 
338—200=138—50=88.     518—88=430+1=431. 
338—199=139—30=109. 

338—162=176—50=126.     462—126=336+1=337. 
333—31=307—30=277—50=227—50=177+163= 

340—2  h  col.  =338. 
338—161=177.     177+163=340. 
338—200=138—50=88—58  (79:1  )=30— 1  h  col.— 
338—200=138—50=88.     88—57  (79:1)— 31.     598— 

—31=567+1=568. 
338—163=175—50=125.     462—125=337+1=338 

+6£  &  h  col.— 814. 
338—199=139—30=109.     185—109=76+1=77. 


Ford. 

Page  and 
Column. 

322 

79:2 

She 

309 

80:1 

was 

109 

78:2 

a 

139 

79:2 

gross 

189 

78:1 

and 

336 


338—161=177—49  (76:1)=128. 

338—200  (79:1)=138— 30=108- 

43=295 + 1=296 + 2=298. 


-65  (79:2)=43.     338- 


338—31=307.     533— 307=226+1=927. 
338—31=307—200  (79:1)=107.     338— 107=231 -t-l= 
338—199=139—30=1 09. 


338—57=281. 
338—32=306—200=1 06. 
338—199=139—30=109—2  //  col. 


=107. 


338— 32  (79:1)=306— 30=276+162=438. 

338—200  (79:1) — 138 — 50=88— 58  (79:1)= 
338—200=1 38—50=88.  162—88=74+1= 
338—32=306.     533—306=227+1=228. 


30. 
=75. 


568 

344 
77 

128 

298 

227 
232 

109 

281 
106 
107 

438 

30 
75 

228 


r8:2 


79:2 

78:2 
81:2 

79:2 

80:1 

79:2 
80:1 

78:2 

78:1 

78:2 
78:2 

78:2 

78:2 
78:1 
79:2 


vulgar 


530 

79:2 

woman; 

342 

78:2 

with 

431 

79:1 

a 

109 

79:2 

good 

337 

78:2 

heart, 

338 

78:1 

'tis 

340 

78: 'l 

true. 

29 

78:2 

but 

loud 
tongue 

and 
rough 

manners; 

a 

gossip 

with 

a 
giddy 
head, 
the 
model 
from 
which 

I 

draw 

Mistress 

Quickley. 


And  the  Bishop  says: 


832 


THE  CIPHER  NAKRA  TIVE. 


Word. 

338—50=288—49  (76:1)=239.  239 

338—144  (79:1,  317  to  461)=194— 57=137.  137 
335—31=307—5  /,=302— 285  (79:1)— 17— 2  h  (285)=15. 

462—15=447+1=448.  448 

338—31=307—5  ^=302—285  (79:1^=17—3  b  (285)=  14 
338—31=307—5  £=302—285  (79.1) — 17 — 5  b  &  h  (285) 

=12.     462—12=450+1=451.  451 

338—200=138—5  h  (200)=133— 3  k  col. =130.  130 

338—31  (79:1)=307— 5  £=302-285=17.  17 
239—31=307—5  /;=302— 285  (79:1)— 17.     462—17= 

445+1=446.  •  446 
338—200=138—5  h  (200)=133— 32  (79:1)— 101.     533 

—101=432+1=433.  433 

338-200=138— 5// (200)=1 33.  133 

338—31=307—30=277+162=439—3//  col.=430.  436 

338—31=307—30=277—50=227—50=177+162=  339 

338— 31=307— 30=277— 50=227— 5  b  col.=222.  222 


Page  and 

Column. 

79:2 

80:2 


78:2 
78:1 


She 
follows 

after 
my 


Appearing  is  a  rare  word;  it  is  found  but  six  times  in  all 
but  three  times  in  this  play  and  but  once  in  this  scene;  weepi 
this  play;  big  is  found  but  once  in  this  act. 

And  she  brought  her  captive  lover  along  with  her;  she  — 


78:2  heels 

78:2       weeping 

78:2  and 

78:2       sighing-; 

79:2  her 

78:2  waste 

78:1  appearing 

78:1  very 

78:1  big. 

the  Plays;  waste  occurs 

ng appears  but  twice  in 


338—200=138.     338—138=200+1=201. 

338—50=288—27=261 . 

338—199=139.     338—139=199+1=200+2  b  col.— 

Marched  occurs  but  nine  times  in  all  the  Plays, 
out.     There  was  — 


201  80:1       Marched 
261  78:2  him 

202  80:1  up. 

But  all  Stratford  had  turned 


A 
great 

throng 

of 
people 
singing. 


338— 32=306— 50=256— 57  (30:1)=199— 10/ & //=       189  79:2 

338—284=54—3  £—51—2  h  col  =49.                                  49  78:2 
338—32=306—30=276—58  (c0:l)— 218.     5C8— 218= 

380+1=381  +  10/-  & /i  col.  =391.                                391  79:2 

338—31=307—50=257—57  (80:1)=200— 8  b  col  =192  : 

338—32=306—50=256.     533—256=277  +  1=278.         *78  79:2 

338— 31=307— 50—257—57=200— 10/  &h  col.  =          190  79:2 

The  villagers  were  having  a  merry  time  over  poor  Ann's  misfortunes. 

In  the  last  chapter  I  asked: — Why —  if  there  is  no  Cipher  —  did  we  have  "the 
singing  man  of  Windsor?"  But  the  Cipher  then  explained  the  appearance  of 
Windsor,  and  now  we  see  the  reason  why  the  unknown  man  of  Windsor  was  a 
singing  man. 

The  Bishop  complains  that  he  was  just  sitting  down  to  dinner  — 

338—200=138—50=88.     338—88=250+1=251.  251  80:1         dinner— 

when  the  rabble  broke  in  upon  him. 

She  asked  the  Bishop  to  grant  her  redress: 

3^8— 200  (79:1)— 138. 
338—31  (79 :1)=307— 50=257. 
338—32  (79:1)— 306— 58  (80:1) 

+1—851+104  *  A— 361.  361        79:2        redress. 

The  reluctant  lover  had  tried  to  escape  the  bonds  of  matrimony: 


138 

78:2 

Grant 

396—257=139+1= 

140 

80:1 

her 

=248.     598—248=350 

SWEET  ANN  HA  THA  IV A  V. 


833 


Word. 
338—57=281.     598— 281=317+1=318+9  b  col.  —        327 
338— 200=138— 3// col. =135.  135 

338— 199=139— 30=109— 50=59— 2  b  col.=57.  57 

338—200=138—64=74—2  b  (64)=72.     518—72=446 

+  1=447.  447 


Page  and 

Column. 

79:2 

The 

78 

churlish, 

79:2 

fat 

rogue 


And  then  we  are  told,  the  root-number  changing,  as  heretofore,  from  505 — 167 
=338,  to  505—167=338—32  b  &  //  (i67)=3i6,  that  Shakspere  fled.     He— 

316—31=285—50=235.     G10— 235=375+1=376. 
316—284  (79:1)— 82. 

316—56  (79:1^=260—50=210.     462—210=252+1= 
316—50=266—64  (79:2)=202.     462—202=260+1= 
261+8  h  col.— 264. 


37G 

77:2 

took 

32 

77:2 

to 

253 

78:2 

his 

264 


heels. 


256 

285 


229 

254 

212 


78:2 

7ft -9. 


79:2 

78:2 

78:2 


the 
Welsh. 


Coming 
back, 

the 


354 

78:1 

officers 

207 

78:2 

take 

284  ' 

78:1 

him. 

And  hid  himself  among  the  Welsh, —  for  Wales  was  near  at  hand: 

316—50=266—59  (79:1)=207.     462—207=255+1= 
316—31  (79:1)— 285. 

But  he  grew  homesick,  and  — 

316—50=266—32  (79:1)— 234— 6  b  (82)— 229. 

316—30=286—32=254. 

316—30=286—32=254.     462—254=208+1=209+ 

3  )t  col.  =212. 
316—30=286—32=254.    598—254=344+1=345+ 

9  b  col.  =354. 
316—50=266—32  (79:1)=234— 27/;  col. =207. 
316—32=284. 

Even  the  details  of  the  arrest  and  the  struggle  of  Shakspere  are  given  (by  316) 
with  great  particularity.  The  reader  will  find  them  embalmed  in  the  latter  part  of 
column  1,  page  79,  disguised  in  the  arrest  of  Falstaff  by  Dame  Quickley.  Indeed, 
the  fragments  into  which  page  79  is  divided  are  so  many,  and  the  brackets  and 
hyphens  are  so  numerous,  that  almost  every  word  of  the  text,  in  some  places,  is 
used  in  the  Cipher  story.  And  hence,  to  accomplish  this  result,  the  external  story 
was  made  to  tell  of  the  arrest  of  Sir  John  Falstaff  by  Dame  Quickley,  because  of 
money  loaned  him,  with  complaints  that  he  had  promised  to  marry  her;  while  the 
internal  story  tells  how  Shakspere  had  borrowed  money  from  Ann  Hathaway  under 
similar  promises,  and  how  she  finally  settled  her  claim  by  marrying  her  dissolute, 
eighteen-year-old  debtor.  It  is  no  wonder  that  he  left  her,  in  his  last  will,  his 
"  second-best  bed."     A  marriage  so  made  could  hardly  have  been  a  happy  one. 

But  the  question  maybe  asked:  Why  does  the  Cipher  rule  in  some  of  the  fol- 
lowing instances  differ  from  that  found  in  the  preceding  chapters  ?  There  the  words 
moved  right  and  left  from  a  common  center.  Here  they  are  found  in  clusters,  all 
in  the  same  column;  and  the  text,  the  hyphens  and  brackets  are  so  arranged  as  to 
bring  out  sentences  almost  identical  with  those  found  in  the  text.  The  answer  is, 
that  it  is  only  the  terminal  root-numbers,  created  by  deducting  the  ends  of  scenes 
or  acts,  that  become  new  factors  to  be  carried  in  all  directions,  to  other  scenes  and 
acts;  but  where  the  fragments  are  inside  of,  and  parts  of,  scenes,  like  284  and  285, 
57  and  58,  64  and  65,  the  work  they  perform  is  confined  to  the  contiguous  columns. 

In  the  description  of  the  arrest  we  learn  that  Will  was  taken  by  surprise  as  he 
was  loitering  about  the  streets  of  Stratford.     We  are  told  that  — 


834 


316—31=285. 
316—31=285—161=124 
316—31=285—30  (74:2)=255. 


THE  CIPHER  NARRA  TIVE. 

Page  and 

Word. 

Column. 

285 

80:1 

Will, 

396—124=272+1=               273 

80:1 

being 

=255.                                           255 

78:2 

unarmed, 

is,  after  a  hard  fight,  at  length  taken  prisoner.      Had  he  been  armed  they  would  have 
found  him  a  dangerous  person  to  handle: 


316—32=284—30=254—162=92.     610—92=518+1=519 

But,  being  unarmed,  they  are  able  to  take  him  up: 

316—31=285—30=255—162=93.      396—93=303+1 
316—32=284—162=122.     396—122=274+1=275. 
316—31=285—161=124—50=74. 


77:2    dangerous. 


316—31=285—162= 
2d  col.  =276. 

316—32=284—162= 
2  b  col.— 277. 

316—31=285—30= 


=123. 
=122. 


396—12^ 


f3 + 1=274— 


396—122=274+1=275+ 


462—255=207+1=208. 


And  they  take  him  on  — 

316—31=285—162=123—30=93.      610—93=517+1= 

316—31=285+162=447. 

316—161=155+163=318. 

316—1 62=154—50=104,    533—104=429+1=430. 

316—65  (79:2)=251— 4/>  &  h  col.=247. 

316—31=285—30=255. 

316—31=285—30=255—162=93.     610—93=517+1 

=518+2  h  col  =520. 
316—31=285—30=255. 
316—162=154—4//  col. =150. 
316—65  (79:2)=251— 30=221— 32=189^  162=351— 

2//col.=349. 


=304 

80:1 

They 

275 

80:1 

are 

74 

78:2 

able 

276 

80:1 

to 

277 

80:1 

take 
him 

208 

78:2 

up. 

=518 

77:2 

A 

447 

78:1 

warrant 

318 

78:1 

for 

430 

79:2 

debt 

247 

79:1 

in 

255 

77:2 

an 

520 

77:2 

action 

255 

80:1 

upon 

150 

78:2 

the 

349 


78:1 


Observe  how  all  the  law  phrases  come  out  by  the  same  root-number —  warrant 
—  debt — action  —  case.  And  directly  we  will  see  arrested  at  my  suit.  Warrant  is 
found  but  once  in  each  of  the  plays  of  Macbeth,  Midsu?nmer  Nigh? 's  Dream,  Love's 
Labor  Lost,  Merchant  of  Venice,  All's  Well,  and  jd  Hen ry  VI.,  and  not  at  all  in 
Julius  Caisar;  but  it  occurs  eleven  times  in  The  Merry  Wives  (where  Shakspere's 
story  is  also  told),  and  four  times  in  act  ii  of  this  play,  and  once  in  the  last  scene 
of  act  i  ;  or  six  times  altogether  in  this  play.  This  is  the  only  time  debt  occurs  in 
this  play.     It  is  found,  however,  once  in  the  Epilogue. 

And  Ann  tells  the  Bishop,  astonished  at  such  a  scene  of  love-making,  that  — 

338—285=53—30  (74:2)=23— 5  b  &  h  (285)=18. 
338—284=54—30  (74:2)=24— 5  b  &  h  (285)=19. 
338—285=53—30  (74:2)=23— 3  b  (285)=20. 
338—284=54—30  (74:2)=24— 3  b  (285)=21. 
338—285=53—30  (74:2)=24—  2h  (285)=22. 
338—285=53—30  (74:2)=23. 
338—284=54—30  (74:2)=24. 
338—285=53—30  (74:2)=23.     598—23=575+1= 


18 

79:2 

He 

19 

79:2 

is 

20 

79:2 

arrested 

21 

79:2 

at 

22 

79:2 

my 

23 

79:2 

suit, 

24 

79:2 

for 

i76 

79:2 

by 

S  WEE  T  A  NN  HA  THA  IV A  Y. 


835 


Page  and 
Word.      Column. 

338—284=54—30  (74:2)=24.     598—24=574+1=575 

+2  h  (284)— 577.  577  79:2  this 

338—285=53—30  (74:2)=23.     598—23=575  +  1=576 

+2  h  (285)— 578.  578  79:2       heavenly 

338—285=53-30  (74:2)=23.     598—23=575  +  1=576 

+3*  (285)— 579.  579  79:2        ground 

338—284=54—30  (74:2)=24.     598—24=574+1=575 

+5  b  &  h  (284)=580.  580  79:2  I 

:338 — 285=53— 30  (74:2)=23.     598-23=575+1=576 

+5  b  &  h  (285)— 581.  581  79:2         tread. 

Here  it  will  be  perceived  that  23  and  24  down  the  column  (79:2),  modified  by 
the  brackets  and  hyphens  in  284  and  285,  produce  the  upper  part  of  the  sentence; 
and  23  and  24  carried  up  the  same  column,  modified  in  the  same  way,  produce  the 
latter  part  of  the  sentence;  and  the  words  flow  in  regular  sequence  from  18  to  24, 
and  again  from  576  to  581.  And  it  will  be  observed  that  the  oath  taken  by  Ann 
Whatley,  "by  this  heavenly  ground  I  tread,"  is  much  more  appropriate  to  her  than 
to  Dame  Quickley;  for  Ann  was  at  the  Bishop's  house,  while  Dame  Quickley  had 
Falstaff  arrested  in  the  open  street,  which,  certainly,  was  not   "heavenly  ground." 

But  the  sentence  flows  right  on.  What  does  Ann  call  the  "  heavenlv  ground" 
to  witness  ? 

338—284=54—50  (76:1  )=4— 3  b  (284)— 1. 
338—285=53—49  (76:1=4—2  h  (284)— 2. 
338—284=54—49  (76:1)— 5— 2  h  (284)— 8. 
338—285=53—49  (76:1)— 4. 
338—284=54—49  (76:1)— 5. 

Here  we  have  perfect  regularity;  and  the  words  produced  are  the  1st,  2d,  3d, 
4th  and  5th  of  the  text.  And  when  we  increase  the  root-number  by  50  (4+50=54) 
we  have  another  similar  series,  showing  the  accurate  adjustment  of  the  text  to  the 
Cipher.  And  observe  what  good  service  338  minus  284=-  54  and  338  minus  285= 
53  perform  in  this  story.  We  have  just  seen  that  53  and  54  minus  the  common 
modifier,  30,  produced  "He  is  arrested  at  my  suit,  for  by  this  heavenly  ground  I 
tread;"  and  minus  the  other  common  modifier,  50,  we  have  just  got  the  words,  Oh 
my  most  worshipful  Lord;  and  now  we  turn  to  53  and  54  themselves,  unmodified, 
and  we  have  the  following  sentence: 

338—284  (79:1)— 54r— 56  &  h  (284)— 49. 
338—285  (79:1)— 53— 3  b  (285)— 50. 
338—284  (79:1)— 54— 3  b  (285)— 51. 
333—284=54—2  h  col.  (285)— 52. 
338—285=53 
338—284=54 

Here  again  the  words  follow  in  the  regular  order  of  the  text,  49,  50,  51,  52,  53 
and  54.  And  when  we  have  exhausted  the  root-number  338,  carried  through  the 
second  subdivision  of  79:1  (284  and  285),  we  fall  back  on  the  first  subdivision  of  the 
same  column,  containing  31  and  32  words,  (as  we  count  from  the  end  of  one  scene 
or  the  beginning  of  another),  with  the  following  results,  which  hitch  onto  the  sen- 
tence worked  out  by  the  second  subdivision: 

338—32=307—50—256—199  (79:1)— 57— 2  b  col.— 55.  79:1  into 


1 

79:2 

Oh 

2 

79:2 

my 

3 

79:2 

most 

4 

79:2 

worshipful 

5 

79:2 

Lord, 

49 

79:2 

he 

50 

79:2 

hath 

51 

79:2 

put 

52 

79:2 

all 

53 

79:2 

my 

54 

74:2 

substance 

338—31=307—50—257—199  (79:1)— 58— 2  b  col. 


56 


79:1 


that 


836 


THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 


Page  and 
Column. 

Word. 

57 

79:1 

fat 

58 

79:1 

belly. 

43 

79:2 

me 

44 

79:2 

out 

45 

79:2 

of 

46 

79:2 

house 

47 

79:2 

and 

48 

79:2 

home. 

338—32=306—50=256—199  (79:1)— 57. 
338—31  (79:1)— 807— 50— 257— 199  (79:1)— 68. 

Here  again  the  words  follow  in  their  regular  order;  the  last  sentence  ended 
with  54;  this  begins  at  55  and  runs  regularly  to  58. 

And  the  widow  further  complains  that  the  "  divine  William"  hath  — 

338—32=306—162=144—50  (74:2)=94— 50  (76:1)=44 

— 3d  col.— 42.  42  79:2  eaten 

338—31=307—162=145—50=95—50=45— 

2  b  col.  =43. 
338—32=306—162=144—50=94—50=44. 
338—31=307—162=145—50=95—50=45. 
338— 285=53— 5  b  &h  (284)=48— 2  b  col.=46. 
338—284=54—5  b  &  h  (284)=49— 2  b  col.— 47. 
338— 285=53— ob  &  /*(284)— 48. 

Here  again  the  words  follow  the  regular  sequence  of  the  text,  42,  43,  44,  45, 
46,  47  and  48. 

Surely  if  all  this  is  accident  it  is  the  most  miraculous  series  of  accidents  ever 
seen  in  the  world. 

And  the  widow  also  says  that  the  young  spendthrift  has  borrowed  and  spent 
all  her  money,  and  has  come  back  from  Wales  in  the  ragged  and  woe-begone  con- 
dition which  the  Bishop  described  to  Cecil:  without  shirts,  stockings,  cloak,  etc. 
And  she  grieves  over  the  loss  of  her  money;  it  is  a  case  of  "  Oh  my  ducats  !  Oh 
my  daughter !  " 

338—65=273.    518—273=245+1=246. 
338—64=274.     518—274=2444  1=245+6/;  col— 
338—65=273.     518—273=245+1=246+6  h  col— 
338— 64=274— 50=224+32=256— Zb  col  =253. 
3o8— 64=274— 2  b  (64)=272— 50=222+32=254. 
338—65=273—50=223 + 32=255. 
338—64=274—50=224+32=256. 
338—65=274—49  (70 :1)=225+ 32=257. 

The  young  scamp  had  wasted  the  widow's  dower  in  riotous  living,  while  she 
was  enamored  of  his  youth  and  good  looks.  And  she  continues  the  plaintive 
story  of  her  wrongs: 

338—57=281—50=231.     598—231=367+1=368. 

338—64=274. 

338—65=273—3  b  col. =270. 

338—64=274—1  h  col.  =273. 

338— 65=273— 2  £  (65)=271— 3  b  col.— 268. 

338—64=274—3  b  col.— 271. 

338—65=273—1  h  col.— 272. 

338—50=288  (79:2)— 64=224. 

338—50=288—65  (79:2)=223. 

338—50—28^-64  (79:1)— 224. 

295+2  £  (64)=297.  297 

338—50=288—65  (79:1)— 223. 

296+2  £  (64)=298.  298 


246 

79:1 

For 

251 

79:1 

a 

252 

79:1 

100 

253 

79:1 

mark 

254 

79:1 

is 

255 

79:1 

a 

256 

79:1 

long 

257 

79:1 

one. 

518—224=294+1= 
518—223=295+1= 
518—224—294+1  = 

518—223=295+1= 


368 

79:2 

I 

274 

79:1 

have 

270 

79:1 

borne 

273 

79:1 

and 

268 

79:1 

borne 

271 

79:1 

and 

272 

79:1 

borne; 

295 

79:1 

there 

296 

79:1 

is 

79:1 


79:1        honesty 


SWEET  ANN  II A  THA  WA  Y. 


837 


Word. 

Page  and 

Column. 

299 

79:1 

in 

300 

79:1 

such 

301 

79:1 

dealing. 

266 

79:1 

I 

267 

79:1 

have 

275 

79:1 

bin 

276 

79:1 

fubbed 

277 

79:1 

off 

=278 

79:1 

and 

280 


r9:l 


from 


338—64=274—49=225.     518—225=293+1=294+ 

5//  col.  =299. 
338—64=274—50=224.     518—224=294+1=295+ 

5  h  col.  =300. 
338—65=273—50=223.     518—223=295+1=296+ 

5/;  col.  =301. 
338—64=274—8  b  col.  =266. 
338— 65=273— 2  b  (65)=271— 4  b  &  h  col. =267. 
338—64=274—30=244.     518—244=274+ 1=275. 
338—65=273—30=243.      518—243=275+1=276. 
338—64=274—30=244—2  b  (64)=242.     518—242= 

276  +  1=277. 
338—65=273—30=243—2  £—241.  518—241—277+ 
338—64=274—30=244.     518—244—274+  1—275  - 

5  h  col.  =280. 
338—65=273—30=243.     518—243=275 +1—276  + 

X>h  col.  =281. 
338—64=274—30=244—2  b  (64)=242.     518—242= 

276+1=277+5  h  col.     282. 
338—65=273—30=243—2  b  (65)— 241.     518—241= 

+  1=278+5  h  col.  =283. 
338—30=308—50=258+31=289—5^  &  h  col. =284 
338— 30=308— 50=258+32=290— 5  4  &  h  col. =285. 

Observe  the  exquisite  adjustment  of  the  foregoing;  the  alternations  are  regular: 
274,  273,  274,  273,  274,  273,  274,  273;  and  every  word  is  338  minus  64  or  65,  minus 
30.  If  there  had  not  been  those  two  bracketed  words  in  64  or  65  the  words  would 
not  have  matched  as  they  do.  If  there  had  not  been  the  five  hyphenated  words  in 
the  lower  part  of  the  column  the  sentence  would  have  been  imperfect.  If  the 
second  "  fubbed  off"  had  not  been  uniced  into  one  word  by  a  hyphen  the  Cipher 
would  have  failed.  And  why  are  those  words,  "fubbed  off,"  printed  once  with  a 
hyphen,  and,  two  words  above,  printed  again  without  a  hyphen?  And  here  we 
have  the  very  Warwickshire  dialect  the  critics  have  been  talking  so  much  about: — 
the  cultured  English  spoken  by  "  sweet  Ann  Hathaway."  And  observe  another 
detail:  Some  of  the  Cipher  words  given  in  previous  sentences  depended  upon  a 
sixth  hyphen  in  that  second  "  fubbed-off."  But  if  that  hyphen  instead  of  being  there 
had  been,  say,  on  the  next  line,  between  thought  on,  our  sentence  would  have  been 
ruined.  It  is  these  delicate  adjustments  of  means  to  ends  that  must  carry  convic- 
tion to  even  the  most  skeptical. 

And  the  fair  Ann  demands  satisfaction,   since  — 


277 


281 

79:1 

this 

282 

7 

79:1 

day 

• 

283 

79:1 

to 

284 

79:1 

that 

285 

79:1 

day. 

338— 65=273— 30=243— Sb  col.— 285. 
338—64=274—30=244—8  4  col.— 286. 
338—65=273—30=243—2  b  (65)— 241— 9  b  &  h  col. 
338—65=273—30    243—2  b  (64)=241— 3  b  col.— 
338—64—274—30—244—2  b  (64)— 242— 3  b  col.— 
338—65—273—30—243—3  b  col.— 240. 
338—65—273—30—243—2  b  (64)— 241. 
338—64=274—30=244—2  b  (64)=242. 

And  she  wants  to  have  him  indicted: 

338—64  (79:2)— 274— 2  b  (64)— 272— 50— 222. 


235 
236 
232 
238 
239 
240 
241 
242 


222 


79:1 
79:1 
79:1 
79:1 
79:1 
79:1 
79:1 
79:1 


79:1 


My 

case 

is 

openly 

known 

to 

the 

world. 


To 


^ 


THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 


338— 64(79:2)— 274. 

338—64  (79:2)— 274— 30=244. 

338— 64=274— 50—824— 2  b  (64)= 


=222—9  b  &  A  col. 


Page  anJ 
Word.      Column. 

274  79:1  have 

244  79:1  him 

213  79:1       indicted. 


The  word  indicted  does  not  appear  anywhere  in  its  proper  form  in  the  Plays. 
In  this  instance  it  is  given  as  indited  (probably  in  obedience  to  the  requirements  of 
the  Cipher,  as  it  may  be  used  in  the  sense  of  "  written,"  in  some  other  part  of  the 
story);  and  it  is  also  found  in  Othello,  iii,  4,  spelled  again  indited.  But  only  twice, 
in  any  form  of  spelling,  meaning  indicted,  is  it  found  in  all  the  Plays.  Yet  here  it 
is  with  arrested,  suit,  warrant,  etc.,  just  where  the  Cipher  narrative  needs  it. 

The  "  poet"  "  deniges  "  the  soft  impeachment  and  tries  to  brave  it  out,  some- 
what as  Falstaff  does  in  the  play.  Whereupon  Ann  replies,  in  the  words  of 
Mistress  Quickley:     Didst  thou  not  — 

338—31=307.     598—307=291  +  1=292. 
338—32=306.     598— 306=292 +1=293. 
338—31=307.     598— 307=291 +  1=292 +2  A  col.— 
338—32=306—50=256—58  (80:1)=198— 2  h  col.— 
338—65=273—2  b  (65)— 271— 57  (80:1)— 214— 

Ub&  A  col.  =200. 
338—64=274—2  b  (64)=272— 57  (80:1)— 215— 

14  b  &  A  col.  =201. 
338—65=273—2  b  (65)=271— 57  (80:1)= 214— 

12  b  col.=202. 
338—32=306—5  b  (32)— 801. 
338—31=307—5  b  (31)— 302. 

338—31=307.     598—307=291  +  1=292+11  b  &  A= 
338—32=306—2/;  col. =304. 
338—31=307—2//  col. =305. 
338—32=306. 
338—31=307. 

338—31=307—30=277—50=227.   534—227=307+  U 
338—32=306—30=276—50=226.  534-226=308+1= 
338-49=289.     598—289=309+1=310. 
338-50=288.     598—288=310+1=311. 
338—50=288.     598—288=310+1=311  +  1  A  col.— 
338—64=274—2  b  (64)=272— 57  (80:1)— 215— 

12  b  col. =203. 
338—65=273—2  b  (65)=271— 57  (80:1)=214. 
338—64=274—2  b  (64)=272— 57  (80:1)=215. 
338—65=273—57  (80:1)— 216. 
338—64=274—57  (80:1)— 217. 
338—49=289—57=232—14  £—218. 
338—65=273—2  b  (65)— 271— 50=221— 2  A  col.— 219. 
338— 64=274— 2  b  (64)=272—  50=222— 2  A  col.— 220. 
338-65—273—2  b  (65)— 271 . 
338—64=274—2  b  (64)— 272— 50=222. 
338—65  (79:2)— 273— 50— 228. 
338—64=274—50—244 

338—22  b  &  //— 316— 32=284— 50— 234— 2  A  col.— 
338— 22  £  &  £—316—31—285—50—235—2  A  col.— 


292 

79:2 

kiss 

293 

79:2 

me 

294 

79:2 

and 

196 

79:2 

swear 

200 

79:2 

to 

201 

79:2 

marry 

202 

79:2 

me  ? 

301 

79:2 

I 

302 

79:2 

put 

303 

79:2 

thee 

304 

79:2 

now 

305 

79:2 

to 

306 

79:2 

thy 

307 

79:2 

Book-oath; 

=308 

79:2 

deny 

=309 

79:2 

it 

310 

79:2 

if 

311 

79:2 

thou 

312 

79:2 

canst. 

203 

79:2 

And 

214 

79:2 

did 

215 

79:2 

not 

216 

79:2 

goodwife 

217 

79:2 

Keech, 

218 

79:2 

the 

219 

79:2 

butcher's 

220 

79:2 

wife, 

271 

79:2 

come 

222 

79:2 

in 

223 

79:2 

then 

244 

79:2 

and 

232 

79:2 

borrow 

233 

79:2 

a 

SWEET  ANN  HA  THA  WA  Y. 


839 


533—285=248+1= 
533—284=249+1= 
533—285=248+1= 

533—284=249  +  1= 

534-285=249+1= 


251 


252 


338—22  3  &  3=316—32=284—50=234. 
388—22  b  &  3=316—31=285—50=235. 
338—32=306— 5  b  (32)=3()1— 57=244— 2  h  col. 
338— 31=307— 5  b  (32)=302— 57=245— 2  3  col.- 
338—32=306—5  b  (32)=301— 57=244. 
338— 32=307— 5  £  (31)=302— 57=245. 
338—32=306—58  (80:1)=248— 2  3  col.  =246. 
338—32=306—57  (80:1)=249— 2  3  col.  =247. 
338—32=506—58=248. 
338—223  &  3=316—31=285. 
338— 22  3  &  3=316—32=284. 
338—22  b  &  3=316—31=285. 

249+2  3  col.  =251. 
338—22  b  &  3=316—32=284. 

250+2  3  col.  =252. 
338—223  &  3=316—31=285. 

250+1=251+2  3  col.=253. 
338—65=273—14  b  col.=259— 23(65)=257— 2  3  col.- 
338—64=274— 14  3  col.  =260— 23  (64)=258— 2  3  col.. 
338—65=273—14  3  col.=259— 23  (65)=257. 
338—64=274—14  b  col.=260— 2  3  (64)=258. 
338—65=273—143  col —259. 
338—64=274—143  col. =260. 
338—31=307—30=277—143  col.=263— 2  3  col.= 
338—32=306—30=276—143  col.=262. 
338—31=307—30=277—14  3  col.=263. 

And  then  Ann  tells  how  Will  desired  her  to — 

338—65=273—2  3  (65)=271. 

338—64=274—2  3  (64)=272. 

338—65=273. 

338—64=274. 

338—31=307—30=277—2  3  col.=275. 

338—32=306—30=276. 

338—31=307—30=277. 

338—32=306—50=256.     533—256=277+1= 

338—57  (79:1)=281— 2  h  col.— 379. 

338—56  (79:1)=282— 2  3  col.=280. 

338—57=281. 

338—56=282. 

338—65=273—2  3  (65)=271— 14  3=257. 

338—32=306—22 b&  h  col  =284. 

338—31=307—22  3  &  3=285. 

338—32=306—20  3  col.  =286. 

338—31=307—20  b  col.— 887. 

And  observe  another  evidence  of  the  adjustment  of  the 
eted  and  hyphenated  words  to  the  necessities  of  tl 
found  the  word  call  with  the  root-number  316  [338 


Page  and 
Column. 

Word. 

234 

79:2 

mess 

235 

79:2 

of 

242 

79:2 

a 

243 

79:2 

dish 

244 

79:2 

of 

245 

79:2 

prawns, 

246 

79:2 

whereby 

247 

79:2 

thou 

248 

79:2 

didst 

249 

79:2 

desire 

250 

79:2 

to 

:9:\ 


79:2 


eat 


253 

79:2 

I 

^255 

79:2 

told 

=256 

79:2 

thee 

257 

79:2 

they 

258 

79:2 

were 

279 

79:2 

ill 

260 

79:2 

for 

261 

79:2 

a 

262 

79:2 

green 

263 

79:2 

wound. 

271 

79:2 

Be 

272 

79:2 

no 

273 

79:2 

more 

274 

79:2 

familiar 

275 

79:2 

with 

276 

79:2    • 

such 

277 

79:2 

poor 

278 

79:2 

people, 

279 

79:2 

saying 

280 

79:2 

that 

281 

79:2 

ere 

282 

79:2 

long 

257 

79:2 

they 

284 

79:2 

should 

285 

79:2 

call 

286 

79:2 

me 

287 

79:2 

madam. 

Df  the 

number 

of  the  brack- 

ipher. 

A  little 

while  ago  we 

lb  &  h  (i67)=3i 

6]  thus: 

316—31=285. 


285 


79:2 


call. 


840  THE  CIPHER  NAUR  A  TIVE. 

And  now  we  have  the  same  word  call  coming  out  again  at  the  touch  of  338. 
Why  ?  Because  there  are  precisely  22  bracketed  and  hyphenated  words  in  the 
column  (79:2)  above  the  word  call;  and  the  22  b  &  A  in  the  column  exactly  equalize 
the  22  b  &  A  in  the  167  in  74:2  !     Hence  we  have  this  result: 


Word. 
285 

Page  and 
Column. 

79:2 

call 

285 

79:2 

call 

505—167=338—22  b  &  A  (167) — 316 — 31=285. 
505—167=338—31=307—22  b  &  A  in  col.— 285. 

Another  conundrum  for  the  men  who  believe  the  sun  is  an  accidental  bonfire, 
and  man  a  fortuitous  congregation  of  atoms  ! 

There  are  a  few  points  I  will  ask  the  reader  to  note:  First,  the  many  sAes  and 
hers  in  this  story.  We  could  not  have  found  these  in  the  Cipher  story  in  act  i, 
for  that  entire  act  of  four  scenes  does  not  contain  a  single  she  and  but  one  her. 
And  this  illustrates  that  we  cannot  make  everything  out  of  anything.  Again,  I 
would  note  the  great  many  a's:  "a  100,"  "tfdish,"  "a  green  wound,"  "a  widow," 
"a  pretty  face,"  "a  fair  complexion,"  "a  high  color,"  "a  gross  and  vulgar 
woman,"  '* a  loud  tongue,"  etc.  We  find  nothing  like  this  in  the  preceding  chap- 
ters, but  where  it  was  needed  we  have  it. 

Some  of  the  words  used  in  the  foregoing  sentences  are  quite  rare.  TArong  is 
found  bat  twice  in  this  play,  and  but  seven  times  besides  in  all  the  Historical  Plays. 
People  occurs  but  three  times  in  this  play.  Arrested  appears  but  this  time  in  this 
play,  and  but  ten  times  in  all  the  Plays.  Suit  is  found  but  four  times  in  this  play. 
Heavenly  occurs  but  twice  in  this  play,  and  this  is  the  only  time  tread  is  found  in 
this  play.  And  thus  we  see  that  even  so  little  a  matter  as  Ann  Hathaway's  oath 
could  not  be  constructed  without  bringing  together  this  array  of  unusual  words. 

It  may  be  objected  that  the  wife  of  Shakspere  would  not  be  called  madam  under 
any  circumstances;  but  it  must  be  remembered  that  Shakspere's  father  had  been  the 
chief  officer  of  the  town;  and  Shakspere's  effort  to  obtain  a  coat-of-arms  shows 
that  he  had  a  lively  sense  of  all  the  dignities  belonging  to  his  family, —  and  even 
of  some  that  did  not  belong  to  it.  In  1571,  Shakspere's  father  was  made  chief 
alderman,  and  therefore  he  is  entered  on  the  parish  records  as  "magistri  Shak- 
spere," and  thereafter  he  is  no  longer  "  Johannis  Shakspere,"  but  "  Mr.  John  Shak- 
spere." Indeed,  a  writer  on  Shakspere's  life  has  remarked  that  it  must  have  been 
quite  an  elevation  for  Ann  Hathaway  to  have  married  "the  high-bailiff's  son." 

And  Will's  father,  John  Shakspere,  is  indignant  at  the  whole  business.  He 
thinks  his  son  has  been  entrapped  by  the  widow,  and  that  she  "is  no  better  than 
she  should  be."     And  he  calls  his  son  sundry  pet  names: 

338—31=307—30=277+32=309.  309  79:1  ass 

338.  338  80:1  fool 

He  says: 

338—30=308—31  (79:.  ,=277.     598—277=321  +  1 

=322. 
338—162=176—1  4=175. 
338—30=308—31=277. 
338—161=177—4//  col. =173. 

And  that  she  was  the  — 

338—30=308-31  (79:1)— 277.     598—277=321  +  1= 

322+9/;  col  =331.  331  79:2         eldest 


322 

79:2 

She 

175 

77:1 

was 

277 

78:1 

twenty- 

173 

78:2 

five; 

SWEET  ANN  HA  THA  WA  Y. 


841 


338—30=308—285  (70:1)— 28.     598—23=575+1= 

Word. 

576 

Page  and 

Column. 

79:2 

by 

338_30=308—284  (79:1)— 24. 

24 

78:1 

seven 

338—50=288—162=126.     523—  12C— 397+ 1—398 

398 

80:1 

years. 

Is  it  not  remarkable, —  if  this  is  all  accident, —  that  we  have  here  the  very  words 
to  tell  the  real  age  of  Shakspere's  wife,  at  the  time  of  her  marriage,  and  the  pre- 
cise number  of  years'  difference  between  her  age  and  that  of  her  husband?  And 
this  is  the  only  time  "eldest"  occitrs  in  this  play?  And  it  occurs  just  where  it  is 
needed.  And  seven  is  found  but  twice  in  this  play.  Years  is  disguised  in  the  word 
'ears,  the  pronunciation  of  the  period  slurring  thejj'  where  it  began  a  word. 

And  the  matter  was  much  laughed  over  among  the  neighbors.     It  was  — 

338-49=289—161=128.     462—128=334+1=  335 

338—50=288—162=126.  126 

338—200=138.    468—138=330+1=331.  331 
338—50=288—161=127.     462—127=335+1=336+ 

5/;  col. =341.  341  78:2  many 


78:2 

the 

78:2 

subject 

78:1 

of 

128 
330 


ie 


472 


79:2         rough 
78:1       surmise. 


78:1 


77:2 


boy. 


not 


338—49=289—161=128. 

338—199  (79:1)=139.     468—139=329+1=330. 

For  he  was  but  a  boy: 

338—32=306—285  (79:1)=21— 5  6  &  h  (285)=16. 

And,  in  the  opinions  of  the  neighbors,  it  did  — 

338—199=139.     610—139=471+1=472. 
338—31=307—285  (79:1)=22—  3  £(285)=19.  162—19 

=143+ 1=144. 
338— 32=306— 285  (79:1)=21— 5  £  (285)=16.  162—16= 
338—58  (80:1)=280. 

he 

338—30=308—31=277—5  b  (31)=272. 
338—30=308—31=277—4  h  col. =273. 

her  from  the 
538—161=177.     523—177=346+1=347. 

of 
338— 199=139— 5  h  (199)=134— 2  b  col. =132.  132  77:2         virtue. 

This  is  the  only  time  reasonable  is  found  in  this  play,  and  this  is  the  only  time 
virtue  occurs  in  this  act;  and  the  same  is  true  of  seem;  this  is  the  only  time  surmise 
is  found  in  this  play;  and  this  is  the  only  time  road-way  appears  in  all  the  Plays  ! 

But  debt  was  a  serious  business  in  that  day,  for  it  meant  imprisonment  for  years, 
with,  oftentimes,  no  food  provided  for  the  unhappy  wretches,  who  had  to  depend  for 
life  upon  the  charity  of  such  passers-by  as  might  be  good  enough  to  fill  the  basket 
lowered  to  them  from  the  prison  window.  And  so,  with  that  threat  hanging  over 
him,  "  the  bard  of  Avon  "  accepted  the  sweet  bonds  of  matrimony.     The  Bishop  — 

338—22  b  &  /;=316— 32-=284— 5  b  (32)— 279— 4  h  col.=275  78:2  forces 
338— 22  £  &  //=316— 32=284—  50=234— 32  b  &  h  col.— 

202.     461—202=259+1=260.                                    260  78:2  him 

338— 22  £  &  //=316— 32=284—  50=234—  31  b  &  h  col.=203  78:2  perforce 


144 

78:1 

seem 

=146 

78:1 

reasonable 

280 

79:2 

that 

272 

78:1 

should 

273 

78:2 

lead 

347 

80:2 

road-way 

842 


THE  CIPHER  NARK  A  TIVE. 


to  marry;  no  great  hardship,  perhaps,  for  he  had,  we  are  told, 


338—22//  &  /;=316— 31=285— 5=280— 199  (79:1)= 
338—22  b  &  A— 816— 32— 884— 5  ^=279—199  (79:1)= 
338— 22  £  &  /;=316— 31=285— 5  £-=280—199=81. 

162—81=81  +  1=82. 
338— 22  b  &  //=316— 32=284— 5 /;=279— 199  (79:1)= 

80.     162—80=82+1=83. 
338-  22  b  &  h— 816— 81— 885— 5  £=280—50=230—58 

(80:1)— 172.     598— 172=426 +1=427+ 6 £  col.— 


ford. 

Page  and 
Column. 

81 

78:1 

sworn 

80  . 

78:1 

weekly 

82 


83 


78:1 


:8:1 


to 


marry 


433 


»:2 


her. 


And  observe  here  an  astonishing  fact:  this  is  the  only  time  the  word  "  weekly" 
appears  in  all  the  nine  hundred  thousand  words  of  the  Plays  !  And  sworn  appears 
but  this  once  in  twenty-nine  columns  of  this  play,  and  but  two  other  times  in  all 
the  play.  And  see  how  precisely  they  move  together.  To  even  construct  so 
simple  a  phrase  of  five  words  as  the  foregoing,  the  cryptologist  had  to  import 
one  word  never  used  before  or  afterward  in  the  Plays,  and  another  word  used  but 
three  times  in  this  play.  And  then  observe  that  sentence,  "  sworn  weekly  to 
marry  her."  Every  word  is  505 — 167=338 — 22b  &  ^=316 — 31  or  32  (regularly 
alternated)  minus  the  5  b  in  31  or  32.  And  four  of  the  words  are  found  in  that 
same  fragment  of  a  scene  at  the  top  of  78:1,  and  two  of  them  are  80  and  81  down 
from  the  top  of  the  fragment,  and  two  of  them  are  80  and  81  up  from  the  end  of 
the  fragment  ! 

And  then  we  have  the  whole  story  of  the  precipitate  marriage.  It  must  take 
place  at  once,  or  "  the  divine  William  "  might  fly  again  to  Wales;  but  it  was  neces- 
sary to  publish  a  notice  of  the  bans  three  times  in  advance  of  the  marriage: 

505—167=338—50  (74:2)— 288— 31  (79:1)— 257. 

462—25  7—205 + 1  =206. 
505—167=338—32  (79:1)— 306. 
505— 167— 338— 50=288— 32(79 :1)=256. 
505—167=338—32  (79:1)—  306— 5  b  (32)— 301. 
505—167=338-50—288—31  (79:1)=257— 5  b  (31)— 

252.     462—252=210+1—211+5  b  col.— 216. 
505—167=338—30—308—32  (79:1)— 276.     462—276 

=186+1—187+/;= 
505—167=338—162=176. 
505— 167— 33  S— 50=288— 32  (79:1)— 256.     468—256 

—212  +  1=213. 


206 

78:2 

Must 

306 

78:2 

publish 

256 

78:2 

the 

301 

78:2 

notice 

216 

(187) 
176 


78:2 

78:2 
79:2 


three 

times 
in 


213 


78:1       advance. 


The  word  publish  is  quite  rare:  itis  found  but  eight  times  in  all  the  Plays,, 
and  but  once  in  this  play;  and  notice  is  comparatively  rare:  it  occurs  but  ten  times 
in  all  the  Histories,  and  but  once  in  this  play;  and  advance  is  also  a  rare  word:  it  is 
found  but  twelve  times  in  all  the  Histories,  and  but  this  time  in  this  play  !  Here, 
then,  are  three  words,  publish  —  notice — advance  —  (together  with  the  compara- 
tively rare  words  three  —  times) — not  found  anywhere  else  among  all  the  many  thou- 
sand words  of  this  play;  and  yet  all  brought  together  on  the  same  page  (page  78),, 
and  all  tied  together  in  a  bunch  by  the  same  number: 

338—31= 
338—32= 
338—32= 
338—31— 


78:2 

Must 

78:2 

publish 

78:2 

the 

78:2 

notice 

Page  and 
Column. 

78:2 

three 

78:2 

times 

78:2 

advance. 

S  WEE  T  ANN  HA  THA  WA  Y.  843 


338—31= 
338—32= 
338—32= 

And,  more  than  all  this,  these  significant  words  are  thus  bunched  together, 
just  where  we  have  found  all  the  other  significant  words  that  tell  the  story  of  Shak- 
spere's  marriage  !  And,  historically,  we  know  that  the  marriage  was  peculiar,  to 
say  the  least;  and  that  a  bond  had  to  be  given  to  avoid  the  necessity  of  calling  the 
bans  more  than  once. 

And  we  have  here,  also,  the  whole  story  of  the  bond.     Here  is  the  bond: 

338— 146=192— 3 />  (146)=189.     457—189=268+ 

1=269+6  h  col.  =275.  275  76:2  bond 

John  Shakspere  offered  to  go  upon  it,  but  he  was  not  considered  sufficient,  and 
at  last  two  friends  of  the  family  are  found;  and  sweet  Ann  Hathaway  enters  into 
history,  to  be  sung  by  poets  and  idealized  by  fools. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

BA  CON  0  VER  WHELMED. 

News  fitting  to  the  night, 
Black,  fearful,  comfortless  and  horrible. 

King  John,  v,  6. 

MY  publishers  write  me  that  the  book  now  contains  over  900 
pages,  and  that  the  edition  de  luxe  "  looks  like  a  Chicago  Direct- 
ory !  "  And,  therefore,  fascinating  as  the  story  is  to  me,  I  must  con- 
dense the  remainder  of  it  into  the  smallest  possible  compass.  I  regret 
to  leave  the  history  of  Shakspere  unfinished.  I  have  worked  out  frag- 
ments of  it  all  the  way  through  to  the  end  of  2d  Henry  IV.  It  gives 
in  detail  his  conversations  with  his  father,  his  dread  of  being 
hanged,  his  flight  to  London,  the  poverty  of  his  wife  and  children, 
his  own  wretchedness  and  distress  in  the  metropolis,  his  begging 
on  the  streets  in  mid-winter  with  the  tears  frozen  on  his  face;  his 
being  relieved  by  Henslow.  I  will  try  to  give  fragments  from 
these  narratives,  if  I  have  time  and  space  after  finishing  the  story 
announced  in  the  prospectus  of  my  publishers;  if  not,  the  particu- 
lars will  have  to  go  into  some  future  work. 

We  turn  back  to  the  beginning  of  scene  third  (76:1),  and  we 
have  to  use  now  a  Cipher-number  different  from  that  505 — 167= 
338  which  has  given  us  so  much  of  the  foregoing  narrative;  but 
even  with  so  different  a  number  we  shall  find  the  text  responding 
with  sentences  just  as  significant  as  those  already  given.  And  the 
reader  will  note  that,  although  we  go  over  the  same  ground  which 
gave  us  the  Shakspere  story,  derived  from  33%,  we  flush  always  an 
entirely  different  covey  of  game,  in  the  shape  of  Cipher  words. 

Bacon  says: 


COS— 29  (74:2)=476— 457=19— 9  b  col.=10. 
505—449=56—5  h  (449)=51 .     603—51=552 + 1= 
505—146  (76:2)=359.     498—359=139+1=140. 

844 


Page  and 
Column. 

Word. 

10 

76:1 

On 

553 

76:2 

hearing 

140 

76:1 

this 

BACON  OVERWHELMED 


845 


Word. 


Page  and 
Column. 


208 


r5:2         heavy 


505—161=344—30  (74:2)— 314.     508—314=194+1= 

195+13  £=208. 
505—161=344—284=60—10  b  (284)=50.     248—50 

=198+1=199+2  b  &  h  col.— 801. 
505—449=56—50=6.     457—6=451 +1=452. 
505—49=456—146=310.     498—310=188+1=189. 
505—449=56—1  h  col.— 55. 
505—49  (76:1)— 456— 162  (78:1)— 294. 
505—449=56—5  h  (440)— 51. 

505—29  (74:2)=476— 447=29.     508—29=479+1= 
505—29  (74:2)=476.     498—476=22+ 1=  23. 
505—449=56—50=6. 
505—49=456—1 46=31 0—50  (76 : 1)— 260 . 
505—49  (76:1)=456— 448  (76:1)— 8— 5  h  (448)— 3. 

603—3=600+1=601. 
505—146=359—305  (78:1)— 54. 
505— 49(76:1)— 456.     456—284  (74:1)— 172. 
505—50=455—146—309—3  b  (146)=306.     468—306 

=162+1=163+20  b  &  b  col.— 183. 
505—449—56. 

506—449—56.     508—56=452+1=453. 
505—146=359.    448—359=89+1=90+3  h  col.  =93. 
505—146—359—49=310.    448—310—138+1—139. 
505—146=359—161=198.     610—198=412+1—413 

+11  h  &  A— 424. 
505—49—450—30=426.     462—426—36+1=37+ 

21  b  col. =58. 

This  is  the  only  time  overwhelmed  appears  in  this  play;  it  is  found  but  four 
other  times  in  all  the  Plays  !  Flood  occurs  but  three  times  in  this  play;  plainly 
appears  but  twice  in  this  play,  and  but  six  times  besides  in  all  the  Histories. 
Perils  is  found  but  twice  in  this  play,  and  but  once  besides  in  all  the  Histories; 
and  but  four  times  besides  in  all  the  Plays  !  And  this  is  the  only  time  "situation  " 
is  found  in  all  the  Plays  ! 

505—146=359.     577—359—218+1=219. 

505—145—360.     448—360—88—1—89. 

505—145—360—3  b  (145)— 357. 

505—146=359—3  b  (145)— 356. 

505—49=456. 

505—145—360—305=55—2  h  col.  =53. 

505— £0=475— 447  (75:1)— 28. 

505— 30=475— 161— 314- -247  (74:2)— 67— 7  b  col.— 

505—145=360—50=31 ).     498—310—188+1—189. 

505—146=359.     498—359—139+1=140. 

Here  we  have  another  combination  of  Shakst-spur,  besides  the  fourteen  given 
elsewhere;  and  here  we  have  another  mode  of  counting,  besides  the  ones  already 
given,  whereby  apprehended  is  reached.  And  this  is  the  only  time  apprehended  appears 
in  this  play,  while  Shak'st  is  found  but  twice:  once  here,  and  once  in  The  Winter' s 
Tale,  iv,  3;  and  while  the  Concordance  gives  the  word  very  properly  in  both 
instances,  as  shakest,  the  Folio  gives  it  in  both  instances  as  shak'st;  because  shak'st 


201 

74:2 

news 

452 

76:2 

I 

189 

76:1 

■was 

55 

76:2 

o'erwhelmed 

294 

77:2 

with 

51 

76:2 

a 

480 

75:2 

flood 

23 

76:1 

of 

6 

75:2 

fears 

260 

75:2 

and 

601 

76:2 

shame. 

54 

77:2 

I 

172 

74:2 

saw 

183 

78:1 

plainly 

56 

76:2 

all 

453 

75:2 

the 

93 

76:1 

perils 

139 

76:1 

of 

424 

77:2 

my 

56 

78:2 

situation. 

219 

77:1 

I 

89 

77:1 

knew 

357 

77:1 

very 

356 

77:1 

well 

456 

75:2 

that 

53 

77:2 

if 

28 

75:2 

Shak'st  I 

60 

75:1 

spur      \ 

189 

76:1 

was 

(140) 

76:1   a 

pprehendec 

846 


THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 


could  be  combined  here  with  spur,  and  with  the  same  word  spur  in  The  Winter's 
Tale  (iv,  i)  to  give  the  sound  of  Shakespere's  name,  while  shakest  could  not !  Thus 
we  find  everywhere  evidences  of  the  Cipher. 


505—146=359.     448—359=89+1=90. 

505—145=360—193=167. 

505—449=56—50  (74:2)=6— 5  h  (449)=1.     603—1= 

602+1=603. 
505—146=359—50=309—4  h  col.=305. 
505—449=56—50=6. 
505—449=56.     162—56=106+1= 
505—146=359. 

505—146=359—305=54—2  h  col. =52. 
505—146=359—3  b  (146)=356— 30=326. 
505—146=359—161=198—10  b  col.=188. 
;  05—146=359—16  :=197.     610—197=418+1=414 

+-11  ^  &  h  col.  =425. 
505—145=360.     498—360=138+1=139. 
:.05— 145=360— 30=330.     498—330=168+1=169. 
.1 05—146=359—30=329—50=279—248=31 .     284— 

31=253+1=254. 
505—146=359—304  (78:1)=55— 20  b  &  h  (304)=35. 
505—146=359—304  (78:1)=55— 20  b  &  h  (304)=35. 

610—35=575+1=576+2  h  col.=578. 
505—146=359—305  (78:1)=54— 20  b  &  h  (305)=34. 

610—34=576+1=577+2  h  col.=579. 
505—146=359-29  (74:2)=330— 3  b  (146)— 827. 

498—327=171  +  1=172+10  b  &  h  col. =182. 
505— 49=456— 50=406— 304  (78 :2)=102. 

What  contempt  for  the  corpulent  "bard  of  Avon"  is  expressed  in  that  phrase, 
"he  would  be  as  clay, —  or  rather  tallow, —  in  the  hands  of,"  etc.!  This  is  the  only 
time  fox  occurs  in  this  play;  and  this  is  the  only  time  crafty  is  found  in  this  play; 
and  this  is  the  only  time  tallozu  is  found  in  this  play,  and  it  occurs  but  five  other 
times  in  all  the  Plays  !  And  this  is  the  only  time  clay  appears  in  this  play.  And 
this  is  the  only  time  seas  is  found  in  this  play.  So  that  in  this  short  sentence  there 
are  five  words  found  nowhere  else  in  this  play;  in  other  words,  this  sentence  could 
not  be  constructed  anywhere  else  in  this  play;  nor  would  all  these  words  come  out 
at  the  summons  of  any  other  number.  And  herein  we  have  also  still  another  com- 
bination forming  the  name  of  Cecil. 

The  story  proceeds: 


Page  and 

Word. 

Column. 

90 

76:1 

he 

167 

76:2 

will 

603 

76:2 

be 

305 

77:1 

as 

6 

76:2 

clay, 

107 

78:1 

or 

359 

77:1 

rather 

52 

77:2 

tallow, 

326 

76:1 

in 

188 

77:2 

the 

425 

77:2 

hands 

139 

76:1 

of 

169 

76:1 

that 

254 

74:1 

crafty 

35 

77:2 

fox, 

578 

77:2 

my 

579 

77:2 

cousin 

182 

76:1 

Seas  \ 

102 

77:2 

ill.     S 

505—146=359—3  b  (146)=356— 50=306. 
505—145=360—50=310.     498—310=188+1 
.1  ( )  5—1 46=359—50=309 


189. 
498—309=189+1=190. 


505—145=360—50=310.     498—310=188+1=189+ 

2/i  col. =191. 
505—146=359—50=309.     498—309=189+1=190 

+2  h  col. =192. 
505—145=360—50=310—50  (76:1)=260.     508—260 

=248+1=249. 


306 
189 
190 

191 

192 

249 


77:1 
76:1 
76:1 

76:1 

76:1 

75:2 


It 

was 
ten 

to 


the 


BA  CON  O  VER  WHELMED. 


847 


505—146=359—50=309.     577—309=268+1=269. 
505—146=359—50=309—10  b  &  h  col. =299. 
505—146=359—3  b  (146)=356— 193  (75:1)=163— 49 

=114—  l/;col.=113. 
505—146=359-50=309—11  b  col.=298. 
505—146=359—30=329—162=167.     603—167=436 

+  1=437+3  b  col.  =440. 
505—30=475—193=282—49=233—22  b  &  //  col.— 
505— 145=360— 248=112— 22  £  (248)=90— 10  b  col.= 
505—145=360—50=310—4  b  col.— 306. 
505— 145=360— 3  b  (146)=357.     603—357=246+1= 

247+6 //col. =253. 
505—145=360—248=112.     284—112=172+1=173. 
505—146=359—3  b  (146)=356— 161=195.     603—195 

=408+1=409+3  b  coi  =412. 
505— 145=360— 50=310 . 
505— 146=359— 163=196— 13  b  &  h  col.=183. 
503—146=359—161=198—10  b  col. =188. 
503—146=359—193=166—15  b  &  A— 151.     284—151 

=133+1=134. 
505—146=359—163=196. 

505—146=359—162  (78:1)=197— 10  b  col.=187. 
505—146=359—3  b  (146)=356. 
505—146=359—193  (75:1)=166— 15  £  &  h  (198)— 151. 

508—151=357+1=358+6^  col. =364. 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

269 

77:1 

whorson 

299 

76:2 

knave 

113 

76:2 

will 

298 

77:1 

tell 

440 

76:2 

in 

211 

75:2 

self 

80 

74:1 

defence 

306 

76:2 

and 

253 

76:2 

for 

173 

74:1 

his 

412 

76:2 

own 

310 

76:2 

security 

183 

77:2 

that 

188 

77:2 

the 

134 

74:1 

play 

196 

77:2 

of 

187 

77:^ 

Measure 

356 

77:2 

for 

364 


i5:2      Measure  — 


187 

77:2 

Measure 

35 

79:2 

for 

364 

75:2 

Measure. 

See  how  precisely  these  words  come  out  by  the  same  root-number. 

This  play  of  Measure  for  Measure,  and  its  irreligious  tendencies,  are  alluded  to 
in  another  part  of  the  Cipher  narrative,  growing  out  of  505 — 167=338.  I  have 
stated  on  page  762,  ante,  that  Cecil  gave  this  play,  and  the  play  of  Richard  II., 
to  the  Bishop  of  Worcester  to  "  anatomize."  And  here  we  have  the  name  of  the 
play  again  by  a  different  root-number  from  the  above: 

338— 30=308— 50=258— 57  (79:1  )=201— 14 

14  b  &  A  col. =187. 
338— 30=308— 50=258— 163=95— 58(79 :1)=37— 

2  b  col.  =35. 
338—30=308—163=145.     508—145=363+1=364. 

Consider  the  careful  adjustment  that  was  necessary  to  make  these  words  come 
out  by  these  two  different  kinds  of  counting  from  the  same  starting-point !  Notice 
that  197  down  77:2  produces  Measure,  and  201  down  the  same  column,  by  the 
arrangement  of  brackets  and  hyphens,  produces  the  same  word  Measure;  and  151 
up  75:2  produces  Measure,  and  145  up  the  same  column  produces  the  same  word, 
Measure.  If  there  had  been  a  single  bracket  or  hyphen  more  or  less  in  either  one 
of  these  four  countings,  the  Cipher  would  have  failed  to  produce,  two  different 
times,  by  two  different  numbers,  the  name  of  the  play  Measure  for  Measure  ! 

And  the  Bishop  said, —  speaking  of  this  last  Measure  for  Measure  and  Richard 
the  Second, — that  he  believed  there  were  utterances  in  both  hostile  to  the  Christian 
religion.  I  have  shown,  on  pages  208  and  209,  ante,  what  those  utterances  were. 
And  here  we  have  the  name  of  Richard  the  Second,  growing,  like  the  last  Measure 
for  Measure,  out  of  505 — 167=338.     The  Bishop  speaks  of  — 


848 


THE  CIPHER  NAKRA  TIVE. 


Page  and 
Word.       Column. 

338—30=308—49=259—162=97—32=65—58  (80:1)=     7  77:2 

338—30=308—49=259—162=97—32=65—58=7+ 

461=468.  468  80:2  noble 

338—30=308—49=259—162=97—32=65—58=7.  7  80:2  composition, 

338—30=308—49=259—161=98—31=67—5  b  (31)= 

62—2  h  col.  =60. 
338—30=308-49    259—161=98—31=67—5  *— 62. 

489—62=427+1=428. 
338—30=308—49=259—162    97—31=66. 
338-30=308+162=470—468  (col.  78:1)=2.     462—2 

—460+1—461. 
338—30=308—163=145—31=114—5  b  (31)=109— 

65  (79:2)=44.     462—44=418+1=419. 
338—30=308—49=259—162=97—2  h  col  =95. 
338—30=308—163=145—31=114.     523—114=409  + 

1—410+2  £—412. 

And  the  Bishop  says,  after  reading  these  Plays,  that  he  (I)  — 

338—50=288—49  (76:1)=239— 162=77.     162—77= 

85+1=86.  86  78:1 

338—50=288—49  (76:1)=239— 162=77— 32=45.  45  78:2 

338—50=288—50  (76:1)=238— 162=76—  62  (80:1)=14. 


468 

7 

60 

428 
66 

461 


78:2 

81:1 
79:2 

78:2 


that 


the 

play 
of 

King 


419 

78:2 

Richard 

95 

78:2 

the 

412 

80:2 

Second, 

perceived 
much 


173 


295 


186—14=172+1=173. 
338— 50=288— 49  (76:1)=239— 162=77— 32=45. 

339—45=294+1=295. 
338—50=288—49=239—162=77—32=45.     162—45 

=117+1=118. 
338— 50=288— 49=239— 162=77— 4  b  &  A  col. =73. 
333—50=288—49=239—162=77—31=46.     163+46=1 
338—50=288—50=238—162=76—31=45—2  b  col.— 
338—50=288—49=239—162=77.     32+77=109. 
338—50=288—49=239—162=77. 
338—50=288—50=238—162=76—62  (80:2)=14— 4 

£&/;(62)=10.     186—10=176+1=177.  177 

338—49=289—30=259—162=97.     610—97=513+ 

1=514+2  /z=516. 
338—50=288—49=239—162=77—57  (80:1)=20+185= 
338—50=288—50=238—162=76.     468—76=392+1 

=393+1  /,=394. 
338—50=288—49=239.     77—32=45. 
338—30=308—49=259—162=97—2  h  col.  =95. 
338—50=288—49  (76 :1)=239— 163=76.     523—76= 

447+1=448+2/5  col. =450. 
338—30=308—163=145—31=114.     449—114=335 

+  1=336. 


81:2 


these 


118 

78:1 

plays 

73 

81:1 

that 

=209 

78-1 

satisfied 

43 

79:2 

me 

109 

79:1 

that 

77 

77:2 

his 

81:2       purpose 


516 

77:2 

is 

=205 

81:2 

the 

394 

78:1 

destruction 

45 

79:2 

of 

95 

78:2 

the 

450 

80:2 

Christian 

336 

76:1 

religion. 

And  the  Bishop  came  to  the  conclusion  that  these  — 

338—1  h  (167)=337— 30=307— 49=258— 31  (79:1)= 

227— 5  b  (31)=222+ 162=384.  384 

338— l=337r-30=307— 49=258— 31=227.  227 


76:1 

78:1 


great 
and 


BACON  OVERWHELMED. 


849 


338—1=337—30=307—49=258—31  (79:1)=227— 5  b 
(31)=222.     162+222=384—11  b  &  h  col. =373. 

338—1  (76:2)=337— 304  (78:1)=33— 20  b  &  h  (304)= 
13.     462—13=449+1=450. 

338— 1(76:2)=337— 50=28"— 49=238— 161=77— 49 
=28+458=486. 

are  the  work  of  a  gentleman  who  is  at  heart  a  pagan: 

338—50=288—49=239—162=77. 
338—30=308—50=258—162=96—56  (79:l)-=40. 

598—40=558 + 1=559. 
338—50=288—49=239—163=76—62  (80:2)=14 

—1  h  col.  =13. 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

373 

78:1 

much 

450 

78:2 

admired 

486 

76:2 

Plays 

77 


559 


13 


78:2 


work 


(9:2     gentleman 


81:2 


pagan 


Observe  how  many  significant  words  come  out  of  the  same  numbers:  77,  or 
its  alternate,  76,  produces  perceived  —  much  —  in —  these — plays  —  that  satisfied  me 
that  his  put  pose — destruction — of — Christian  —  work — pagan;  while  96  and  97, 
which  are  just  20  more  than  76  and  77,  due  to  the  fact  that  between  the  common 
modifiers,  30  and  50,  there  is  a  difference  of  20,  produced — noble  —  composition 
—  gentleman. 

And  observe  the  remarkable  character  of  the  words  growing  out  of  these  roots. 
Composition  is  a  rare  word;  it  is  found  but  once  in  this  play,  and  but  fourteen  times 
besides  in  all  the  Plays.  Perceived  is  found  but  once  in  this  play,  and  but  twelve 
times  besides  in  all  the  Plays.  And  satisfied  appears  but  once  in  this  play,  and  but 
thirteen  times  besides  in  all  the  Histories.  And  destruction  is  found  but  once  in 
this  play,  and  but  thirteen  times  besides  in  all  the  Histories.  And  this  is  the  only 
time  pagan  is  found  in  this  play,  and  it  is  found  but  eight,  times  besides  in  all  the 
Plays.  And  Christian  is  found  but  twice  in  this  play.  And  this  is  the  only  time 
religion  is  found  in  this  play.  Let  the  reader  compare  the  number  of  times  the 
word  second  appears  in  this  play  with  the  number  of  times  it  is  found  in  Much  Ado, 
Love's  Labor  Lost,  Twelfth  Night,  etc.  It  is  not  found  at  all  in  several  of  the 
Plays.  And  this  is  the  only  time  admired  occurs  in  this  play,  and  it  is  found  but 
twice  besides  in  all  the  Histories.  And  Measure  occurs  but  once  in  this  play 
besides  the  cwo  instances  given  above.  And  not  only  do  these  remarkable 
words  grow  out  of  the  same  primary  root-number,  but  out  of  the  same  modification 
of  the  primary  root-number,  and  even  out  of  the  same  terminal  Cipher-number! 
And  almost  every  word  is  found  nowhere  else  in  this  play,  and  rarely  anywhere 
else  in  all  the  Plays  ! 

And  the  Bishop  praises  the  literary  merit  of  the  Plays  highly.  He  says  the 
language  is  most  choice  — 

338—50=288-49=239.     284—239=45+1=46.  46  74:1      Language 

338— 30=308— 163=145— 31=114— 57  (80:1)=57. 

523—57=466+1=467.  467  80:2  most 

338—50=288—50=238.     468—238=230+1=231  + 

15  b  &  //  col.=246.  246  78:1  choice. 


And  that  in  this  particular  they  have  had  — 
338—31=307—143  (318  d  79:1)=164.     462—164=298 


+1=299 
338—31=307- 


•143=164. 


299 
164 


78:2 
78:2 


No 
equal 


85o 


THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 


Word. 
338—49=289—30=259—162=97.     462—97=365+1=366 
338—50=288—49=239—162=77.     420—77=343+1 

—844+64  col.— 350.  350 

338—50=288—49=239—162=77—64  '79:2)=13— 

1  h  col. =12.  12 

338—50=288—49=239—162=77.  77 

338—50=288—49=239—162=77  + 185=262— 

2/;  col.  =260.  260 

338—50=288—49=239—162=77—32=45.  45 

338—50=288—49=239—162=77—32=45—5  b  (32)= 

40.     339—40=299+1=300+2=302.  302 


Page  and 
Column. 

78:2 


81:2       England 


77:1 

79:2 

81:2 
79:2 

80:1 


since 
the 

time 
of 

Gower. 


Observe  again  how  many  significant  words  here  grow  out  of  77,  besides  the 
long  catalogue  already  produced  by  it. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  in  1597  the  literature  of  England,  in  its  own 
tongue,  was  very  limited.  The  poet  alluded  to,  John  Gower,  was  born  in  York- 
shire about  1325,  and  died  in  1408.  His  Confessio  Amantis  was  written  in  English 
in  eight  books,  it  is  said,  at  the  request  of  Richard  II.  Hallam  says  of  him:  "  He 
is  always  sensible,  polished,  perspicuous,  and  not  prosaic,  in  the  worst  sense  of  the 
word."  He  seems  to  have  been  a  favorite  of  the  Bishop.  And  the  Bishop  reit- 
erates his  conviction,  after  reading  these  Plays,  that  Shakspere  has  not  the  power 
of  brain  to  have  produced  them  : 

505—167=338—49=289-32=257.     468-257=210 

+  1=211  +  12/;  col. =223.  223  78:1        enough 

505—167=338—49=289—32=257.     577—257=320 

+  1=321.  321  77:1  brain 

505— 167=338— 49=289— 3!i=258.     468—258=210 

+  1=211  +  15^  &  h  col.  =226.  226  78:1         power. 

Observe  how  precisely  these  significant  words  match;  they  come  out  of  the 
same  number;  except  that  31  and  32  alternate,  as  in  other  examples  given  hereto- 
fore. 

And  the  Bishop  also  reads  the  play  of  Richard  the  Third.      Here  we  have  it: 


338—50=288—50=238.     468—238=230+1= 
338—50=288—50=238—31  (79:1)=207— 163=44. 

462—44=418+1=419. 
338—50=288—50=238. 
338—50=288—30=258.     462—258=204+1=205. 


231 


78.1 


King 


419 

78:2 

Richard 

238 

76:1 

the 

205 

78:2 

Third. 

But  let  us  recur  to  the  story  of  Bacon's  feelings  when  he  heard  the  bad  news. 
He  says  he  knew  that  if  Shakspere  was  taken  and  he  confessed  the  truth  (as  he 
believed  he  would),  he  was  a  ruined  man.      In  that  event  — 


505—50=455—31=424.     462— 424=38  + 1=39  + 

5  h  col.  =44.  44  78:2  All 

505—30=475—146=329.     447—329=118+1=119+ 

Mb  col.  =130.  130  75:1  my 

505—30=475—146=329—3  b  (146)=326.     462—326 

=136+1=137+4  //  col.— 141.  141  78:2         hopes 


BACON  OVERWHELMED. 


851 


Word. 

505—145=360.     498—360=138+1=139.  139 

505—146=359—3  b  (146)— 856.  356 

505—31=474.     603—474=129  +  1=130.  130 
505—49=456—161=295.     603—295=308+1=309+ 

10£a  h  col.— 819.  319 

505— 30=475— 50  (76:1  )=425.     508—425=83+1=84.  84 

505—449=56—14  b  (449)=42- 1  4—41 .  41 

505— 146=359— 3  b  (146)— 356.     498—356=142+1=  143 

505—161=344—31  b&  h  col.— 318.  313 

505—146=359—3  £(146)— 356.     448—356=92+1= 

93+14  b&/i  col.  =107.  107 

505—146=359—32  (79:1)=327— 3  b  (146)=324— 50=  274 


Page  and 

Column. 

76:1 
76:1 
76:2 

76:2 
75:2 
76:2 
76:1 

78:2 


r6:l 


of 

rising 

to 


high 
office 
in 
the 
Common- 
wealth 

were 
blasted. 


And  again  observe  how  rare  some  of  these  words  are:  This  is  the  only  time 
rising  is  found  in  this  play,  and  it  occurs  but  thirteen  times  besides  in  all  the  Plays  ! 
Commonwealth  is  lound  three  times  in  this  play,  and  but  nine  times  in  all  the  Com- 
edies, and  but  four  times  in  all  the  Tragedies.  Blasted  appears  but  once  in  this 
play,  and  but  nine  times  besides  in  all  the  Plays  !  Hopes  is  found  but  three  other 
times  in  this  play. 

And  Bacon  says: 

505—31=474.  474  76:2  I 

505— 30=475— 58  (80:1)— 417.  417  80:2  am 

505—30=475—58=417.     523— 41 7=106+. =107.  107  80:2  not 

505-32=473—58—415.     498—415=83+1=84+ 

•    11/;  col. =95.  95  76:1  an 

505— 81— 474— 4  h  col.— 470.  470  79:2      impudent 

505—31=474.  474  79:2  man 

505—82=473—58=415.  415  80:2  that 

505—30=475.  .  475  79:2  will 

505—49=456—50—406.     603—406—197+1—198.  198  76:2  face 

505—32—473—50=423—58  (80 : 1)— 365 .     603—365 

—288+1—239.  239  76:2  out 

505—49—456.     603—456—147+1—148.  148  76:2  a 

505— 58  (80:1)— 447.     462—447—15+1=16+24=40.       40  80:2       disgrace 

505— 31=474—  27/;  &  A  col.  =447.  447  79:2  with 

505—32=473—30=443—57—386—30  b  &  h  col.— 356.  356  80:2  an 

505— 32=473— 50=423— 23  b  col.— 400.  (400)         79:2      impudent 

505— 49=456.  603— 456— 147+1— 148+16  £  &  h  col— 164  76:2         cheek, 

505—31—474—50=424—26  b  &  h  col. =398.  398  79:2      sauciness 

505—32=473—162=311.  311  77:2  and 

505— 32=473— 4// col. =469.  469  79:2      boldness. 

And  here  Bacon  repeats  the  very  language  he  used  in  1594  in  a  letter  to  Essex 
(see  page  273,  ante):     'T  am  not  an  impudent  man  that  would  face  out  a  disgrace." 

And  these  are  the  only  times  impudent  occurs  in  2d  Henry  IV.,  and  it  is  found 
but  seven  times  besides  in  all  the  Plays  !  And  these  are  the  only  occasions  when 
sauciness  is  found  in  this  play,  and  it  occurs  but  four  times  besides  in  all  the  Plays. 
Yet  here  both  are  found  repeated  twice  in  the  compass  of  a  few  lines.  And  the 
word  disgrace  is  found  but  twice  in  this  play. 


*5* 


THE  CIPHER  NARRA  TIVE. 


And  Bacon  grieves  at  the  disgrace  his  exposure  will  bring  upon  the   memory 
of  his  father.     He  says  it  — 


Page  and 
Word.       Column. 


Ill 

29 
423 

160 
442 
258 
363 
468 
49 
421 


79:2 
80:2 
79:2 

80:2 
78:2 
78:2 
80:2 
79:2 
80:2 
79:2 


would 

humble 

my 

father's 

proud 

and 

most 

honorable 

name 


505-50=455—32=423.     533—423=110+1=111. 
505— 30=475— 50=425— 396  (80 :1)=29. 
505—50=455—32=423. 
505—30=475—50=425—58  (80:1)=367.     523—367= 

156+1=157+3//  col.=160. 
505— 31=474— 32  b  col. =442. 
505—31=474—50=424—162=262—4  //  col.=258. 
505-31=474—50=424—57=367—4  h  col.=363. 
505— 32-473— 5  £(32)=46S. 
505—30=475.     523—475=48+1=49. 
505—30=475—50=425—4//  col.=421. 
505—31=474—50=424.     534—424=110+1=111  + 

27  b  col.  =138. 
505—31=474—39  b  &  //  col.  =435. 
505—32=473—30=443—57  (80:1)=386— 4//  col.— 
505—30=475—50=425—10/'  col.=415. 
505—31=474.     533—474=59+1=60. 
505—31=474.     598—474=124+1=125. 
505— 31=474— 27  b  &  h  col.=447. 
505—31=  474.     598—474=124+1=125+4  //  col.— 
505—31=474—50=424—162=262. 
505—162=344—7  //  col. =337. 
505—30=475—396  (80:1)— 79.     461-79=382+1= 
505—31=474—9  b  col.  =465. 
505— 32=473— 30=443— bb  (31)=438— 7  h  col  =431 

And  what  is  it  that  would  so  distress  the  widow 
we  have  seen,  was  preeminently  a  religious  lady  ? 

505—30=475—50=425—396  (80:1)=29.     523—29= 

494+1=495+4/;  &  // col.  =499.  499  80:2  to 

505—31=474—50=424—57=367.  367  80:2  think 

505— 30=475— 58(80:1)=417.  417  78:2  that 

505— 31=474— 58=416.  416  80:2  I 
505—31=474—50=424—30=394—58=336— 

26/>col.=310.  310  80:2  should 

505— 31=474— 62(80:2)=412— 1ft /•  coi. =394.  394  81:1  make 

505— 32=473— 50=423— 58  (80:1  W365—.G/;  col. =  339  80:2  a 

505— 57  (80:1)=448— 3  //  col. =445.  445  81:1  mock 

505— 30=475— 58  (80:1)=417.  417  79:2  of 
505—32=473—50=423.     533  -423— 1 1 0  +  1=111  + 

27  b  col.=138.  138  79:2  the 
505-31=474—396  (80:1)=78.     523—78=445+1= 

446+4£  &//  col.  =450.  450  80:2  Christian 
505— 146=359— Zb  (146)=356— 193=163.     498—163 

=335+1=336.                       .  336  76:1  religion. 

It  was  certainly  enough  to  shock  the  pious  Lady  Ann  to  know  that  her  son  had 
written,  in  Measure  for  Measure,  of  the  conception  of  the  Christian  religion  as  to 
the  eternal  condition  of  the  wicked,  in  these  startling  words: 


138  79:2  the 

435  78:2  dust 

382  80:2  and 
415  77:2  send 

60  79:2  his 

125  79:2  widow 

447  79:2  with 

129  79:2  a 

262  77:2  broken 

337  78:2  heart 

383  80:2  to 
465  76:2  the    ■ 

.    431  78:2  grave. 

of  Sir  Nicholas  Bacon,  who,  as 

Here  is  the  statement: 


BACON  OVERWHELMED. 


853 


Or  to  be  worse  than  worst 
Of  those,  that  lawless  and  incertain  thoughts 
Imagine  howling. 

And  Bacon  tells  what  he  feared:  —  that  he  would  be  — 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

132 

77:1 

hanged 

271 

78:2 

like 

51 

76:2 

a 

(389) 

78:2 

dog 

79 

80:2 

for 

60 


505—31=474—5  b  (31)— 469.     577—469=108+1= 

109+23  b  col.— 132. 
505—146=359—162=197.    462—197=265+1=266 

+5b  col.— 271. 
505— 31=474— 50- =424.    457—424=33+1=34+17 

b  &  h  col.  =51. 
505—30=475—49  (76:1)=426— 31=395— Qh  col.— 
505—30=475—396  (80:1)— 79. 
505—31=474-50=424.    462—424=38+1=39  + 

21  b  col.— 60. 
505—30=475—396  (80:1)=79— 17  b  &  h  (396)=62. 

489—62=427+1=428. 
505—31=474—49=425—4  h  col.— 421. 
505—146=359—162=197—26  b&h  col.— 171. 
505— 31=474— 49  (76:1)=425— 30=395. 
505—146=359—162=197. 
505— 31=474— 58(80:1)=416— 4  h  col. =412. 

Observe  the  symmetry  of  these  words  of  King  Richard  the  Second, 
— 31=474 — 49  alternates  with  505 — 146=359 — 162. 

And  here  we  have  Richard  the  Second  by  another  and  a  different 


the 


428 

81:1 

play 

421 

80:2 

of 

171 

78:2 

King 

395 

78:2 

Richard 

197 

78:2 

the 

412 

80:2 

Second. 

hard 

the  Second, 

see  how  505 

and 

a  different  1 

-oot-number. 

CHAPTER  XX. 


THE  QUEEN'S  ORDERS  TO  FIND  SHAKSPERE. 


Wheresoe'er  he  is, 
Seek  him  with  candle;  bring  him  dead  or  living. 

As  You  Like  It,  z*z7,  /. 

ITURa<  to  another  part  of  the  Cipher  story,  or  rather  I  recur  to 
it,  because  I  have  already  referred  to  it  in  a  previous  chapter. 
I  can  do  no  more  now  than  give  a  few  words,  here  and  there,  to 
show  that  the  Cipher  story  runs  through   all  these  pages,  and  is 
called  forth  by  the  same  root-numbers. 


505—448=57. 

505—193=312—30=282. 

505—448=57—50=7. 

505—193=312—50=262. 

505—193=312.     448—312=136+1=137. 

505—254=251—50=201.     508—201=307+1= 

505— 198_312. 

505—193=312—50=262.     448—262=186+1= 

505—193=312—31  (79 :1)=281— 50=231.     462—231 

=231  +  1=232. 
505— 254=251— 5  k  col.=246. 
505—50=455. 

505—193=312=30  (79:1)=282— 27  b  col.=255. 
505—248=257. 

505—248=257—50=207.     447—207=240+1= 
505—193=312—237  (73:2)=75.     169—75=94+1= 
505—254=251—30=221—193=28. 
505—197  (74:2)=308— 248=60. 
505— 254=251— 15  b  &  h  (254)=236— 49  (76:2)=187. 

508—187=321  +  1=322. 
505—248=257—50=207. 
505—254=251—30=221—31  (79:1)=190.     462—190 

=272+1=273. 
505—254=251—10  4  col. =241. 
505—193=312—237=75 + 90=1 65 . 
505— 193=3 12— 50=262. 
505—193=312—50=262.     498—262=236+1=237+ 

4  4  col— 241. 
505—354=251—10  b  col.  =241. 

854 


Page  and 

Word. 

Column. 

57 

76:2 

Her 

282 

75:2 

Grace 

7 

76:2 

is 

262 

75:2 

furious 

137 

76:1 

and 

308 

75:2 

hath 

312 

75:2 

sent 

187 

76:1 

out 

232 

78:2 

several 

246 

76:1 

well 

455 

76:2 

horsed, 

255 

78:2 

unarmed 

257 

74:1 

posts 

241 

75:1 

to 

95 

73:1 

find 

28 

75:2 

Shak'st   \ 

60 

75:1 

spur,      S 

322 

75:2 

under 

207 

74:1 

the 

273 

78:2 

lead 

241 

76:1 

of 

165 

73:1 

my 

262 

76:1 

Lord 

241 

76:1 

of 

241 

76*.  1   Shrewsbury. 

THE  QUEEN'S  ORDERS  TO  EIND  SNA  A' SEE  RE.  855 

This  accords  with  the  statement  on  page  686,  ante,  that  the  forces  sent  out  to 
find  Shakspere  and  the  rest  of  the  players  were  under  the  direction  of  the  Earl 
of  Shrewsbury.  And  there  was  no  necessity  of  sending  armed  troops  to  arrest  a 
party  of  poor  actors.  The  object  was  secrecy;  hence,  no  tradition  has  come  down 
to  us  of  the  attempt  to  arrest  Shakspere.  If  armed  soldiers  had  gone  to  Stratford 
looking  for  him,  it  would  have  made  such  an  impression  on  the  minds  of  the  vil- 
lagers that,  in  all  probability,  it  would  have  been  remembered,  and  we  should  have 
heard  something  of  it.  And  yet  the  matter  was  important  enough  to  require 
prompt  action  under  a  prominent,  reliable  and  discreet  leader;  for  it  was  not 
merely  the  offense  of  playing  seditious  plays  that  was  in  question,  but  the  fact  that 
this  had  been  done  as  an  incentive  to  rebellion;  and  no  one  could  tell  in  that 
troubled  age  how  far  the  attempt  had  succeeded,  or  how  soon  civil  war  might 
break  forth.  The  object  was  to  quietly  gain  possession  of  the  actors  and  probe 
the  thing  to  the  bottom. 

And  the  reader  will  observe  how  the  beginning  of  scene  1,  act  i,  interlocks 
with  the  end  of  the  same  act,  in  the  words  several —  well — horsed —  unarmed — posts 
—  under — lead,  etc.  With  ampler  leisure  I  could  reduce  this  to  a  precise,  mathe- 
matical, continuous  system. 

And  Cecil  proposed  — 

Page  and 

Word.      Column. 

505—254=251.     498— 251=197+1=198+2/;  col.=      200  76:1    proposed  — 

that  the  Earl  should  divide  his  forces  into  three  divisions  and  send  them  in  differ- 
ent directions  wherever  the  actors  were  likely  to  be. 

505—193=312—30=282.     448—282=216+1=217.  217  76:1  Will 

505—193=312—30=282.  282  76:1  divide 
505—254=251—30=221—32=189.     462—189=273 

+  1=274.  274  78:2  his 

505— 193=312— 32  (79:1)=280— 5  £  (32)=275.  275  78:2  forces 
505—193=312—32=280—5  h  (32)=275.     462—275= 

187  +  1=188+3  /,col.=191.  191  78:2  in 
505—193=312—31=281—5  6  (31)=276.     462—276= 

186+1=187+5  4  col.=192.  192  78:2  three 

505— 254=251— 30=221— 32  (79:1)=189.  189  78:2  divisions. 

Here  it  will  be  observed  that  the  same  words,  three  —  divisions,  which  came  out 
at  the  summons  of  523  —  218  (7-i:2)=305 — 31  (7g:i)=274  (see  page  772,  ante),  and 
which  were  then  used  to  describe  the  allotment  of  the  money  made  by  the  Plays, 
between  actors  and  author,  are  again  employed  at  the  call  of  505 — 193=312 — 31 
and  505 — 254 — 32;  that  is  to  say,  505,  less  the  upper  section  of  75:1,  produces,  car- 
ried to  the  end  of  act  i,  three;  and  505  less  the  lower  section  of  75:1,  carried  to 
the  beginning  of  act  ii,  gives  us  divisions.  And  305  (523 — 218=305) — 31=274,  car- 
ried up  78:2,  plus  the  hyphens,  produces  the  same  word  three;  and  the  same  305 
— 31=274,  carried  up  the  same  78:2,  not  counting  in  the  hyphens,  produces  the 
same  word  divisions.  Surely,  no  one  will  believe  that  all  this  delicate  adjustment 
of  the  text  and  its  brackets  and  hyphens,  to  two  different  numbers,  could  come 
about  by  accident.  If  it  stood  alone  it  would  be  enough  to  stagger  incredulity; 
but,  as  it  is,  it  is  only  one  of  thousands  of  other  and  similar  instances. 

But  the  Queen,  while  taking  these  steps,  does  not  fully  believe  that  Francis 
Bacon  could  have  written  the  treasonable  play  of  Richard  IE  And  she  rebukes 
Ce~.il  for  making  such  a  charge  against  him.     And  the  Queen  says  to  Cecil: 


856 


THE  CIPHER  NARRA  TIVE. 


505—193=312—30=282—29  (73:2)=253.     284—253 

=31  +  1=32. 
505—193=312—30=282—29  (73:2)— 253+ 193= 
505—193=312—29  (73 :2)=283— 193=90.     508—90 

=418+1=419. 
505—193=312—29  (73:2)=283.     284—283=1  +  1=2 

+7//  col.=9. 
505—193=312—50=262—208  (73:2)=54.     284—54= 

230+1=231+5//  col.=236. 
505—193=312—50=262—15/;  &  //=247— 237=10— 

3  b  (237)— 7. 
505— 1 93=312— 30=282— 29  (73:2)=253. 
505—193=312—29  (73:2)=283.     284—283=1  +  1= 
505— 193=312— 30=282— 28  (73:2)=254. 
505—193=312—30=282—248  (74:2)=34.     284—34= 

=250  +  1=251. 
505—193=312—30=282—28  (73:1)=254— 4  h  col.— 
505— 193=312— 50=262— 208  (73:1)— 54. 
505— 193=312— 50=262— 90  (73:1)— 172. 
505—193=312—50=262—15  b  &  //— 247— 237=10— 

3  b  (237)— 7.     284—7=277+1=278+3  h  coL— 
505—193=312—50—262—154  &  7^=247— 237=10— 

3  4=7.     284—7=277+1=278. 
505— 193=312— 50=262— 50=212— 78(73:1)— 134. 

237— 134=103+1— 104+3  4  col.— 107. 
505— 193=312— 50=262— 79(73:1)— 183. 

Here  it  will  be  observed  that  every  word  grows  out  of  505  minus  193,  the  upper 
section  of  75:1;  we  will  have  directly  a  sentence  that  grows  out  of  505  minus  254, 
the  lower  section  of  the  same  column  and  page.  The  above  sentence  is  produced 
by  counting  from  the  beginnings  and  ends  of  the  subdivisions  of  the  preceding  col- 
umn, 73:2;  the  next  sentence  will  be  derived  by  counting  from  the  beginnings  and 
ends  of  74:1  or  74:2.  Thus  the  reader  will  perceive  that  there  is  not  only  regularity 
in  the  results,  but  a  method  and  system  in  the  work. 

But  the  sentence  goes  on: 

505—254—251—15  4  &  h  (254)=236.  284—236=48+1—49 
505— 248=257— 2  h  (248)=255.     284—255—29+1= 

30+7// col.  =37.  37 

505—254—251—248—3.  3 

505—248—257—51  (74:2)=206.     284—206=78+1= 

79+7// col.— 86.  86 

505—254—251.     284—  251— 33+1— 34+5  b  col.—  39 

505—248=257—4  h  col.— 253.  253 

505—254=251—156  &  h  (254)=236— 50=186.     284— 

186=98+1=99.  99 

505—248=257—22  4=235.  284—235=49+1=50+5  £—55 
505—254=251—15  b  &  4=236.     284—236—48+1=49 

+  7 //col. —56.  56  74:1         reports 

Observe  the  perfect  symmetry  of  this:  505 — 254  (75:1)— 251  is  regularly  alter- 
nated with  505 — 248(74:2)— 257.     And  all  the  words  are  in  column    1  of  page  74! 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

32 

74:1 

This 

446 

75:1 

thing 

419 

75:2 

must 

9 

74:1 

stop. 

236 

74:1 

Between 

7 
253 

74:1 
75:1 

you 
and 

2 
254 

74:1 
74:1 

your 
crafty 

251 

74:1 

old 

250 

74:1 

father, 

54 

74:1 

with 

172 

73:2 

your 

281 

74:1 

smooth. 

278 

74:1 

tongues, 

197 
183 

73:2 
73:2 

you 
are 

74:1         stuffing 


74:1 

my 

74:1 

ears 

74:1 

with 

74:1 

continual 

74:1 

lies 

74:1 

and 

74:1 

false 

THE  QUEEN'S  ORDERS  TO  FIXD  SHAKSPERE. 


857 


tt'ord. 

Page  and 
Column. 

222 

78:2 

this 

139 

78:1 

many 

263 

74:1 

a 

84 

74:1 

year. 

And  what  a  concatenation  of  words:  stuffing  my  ears  with  continual  lies  and  false 
report*!  And  we  know  that  Cecil  desired  to  keep  Bacon  out  of  office  and  power, 
and  we  can  surmise  that  this  would  be  the  very  means  he  would  resort  to.  And 
the  coarse-minded,  crafty  old  Queen,  even  if  she  suspected  Bacon,  would  be  very 
apt  to  talk  in  this  way  to  Cecil,  for  we  have  historical  testimony  that  she  would 
assault  "this  little  man  "  (as  she  called  him)  with  bitter  vituperation. 


505— 193— 312— 90— 222. 
505—248—257—208  1 73:2)— 49+90— 189. 

505— 193=312— 30=282— 15  3  &  *— 267— 4*  col. 
505—254—251—50—201.     284—201—83+1—84. 


And  here  I  would  ask  the  reader  to  turn  to  pages  719  and  720,  ante,  and  note 
how  the  same  words  stuffing —  ears  — false  —  reports  —  lies  —  this  —  many — a  — year, 
which  here  come  out  at  the  summons  of  505  carried  through  74:2  and  the  upper 
and  lower  subdivisions  of  75:1,  were  also  brought  out,  by  an  entirely  different  mode 
of  counting,  by  the  root-number  516 — 167=349 — 22  b  &  //  (i67)=327  !  For  instance, 
327 — 30,  carried  through  74.2  and  down  74:1,  yields  stuffing,  while  505 — 254=251 
— 15  b  &  h  (254)=236,  carried  up  74:1,  yields  the  same  word,  stuffing;  and  the  same 
number  236,  plus  the  hyphens,  up  the  same  column,  yields  reports;  while  the  same 
number  327,  again  less  30,  again  carried  through  74:2  and  again  carried  down  74:1. 
yields  the  same  word,  reports.  And  so  with  the  other  words.  The  adjustments  here 
are  as  delicate  and  as  manifold  as  in  the  works  of  a  watch;  and  the  one  is  just  as 
likely  to  have  come  together  jy  chance  as  the  other. 

And  the  Queen  was  in  a  — 


505—193=312—30=2*2—15  b  &  A— 267— 29  (73:2)—     238 
50.5—193=312—30=282—50  (74:2)— 282— 12  b 

col. =220.  220 

and  commenced  to  rebuke  Cecil  severelv: 


505—193=312—50=202.     284—262—22+1—28+ 

col.  =30. 
505—193—312—284—28—10  b  col. =18. 
505—193=312—237  (73:2)— 75.     169—75=94-1=95 

+1  h  col.— 96. 
505—193=312—209  (73:2)— 103.     169—103=66  +  1= 
505—193=312—15  3  &  h  (193)— 297— 24S»  10    56  col.. 
505— 193=312— 10  b  &  h  (193)— 197— 30=267— 28 

(73:2)— 239.     284—239=45-1=46. 
505—193=312—15  b  &  A— 297— 30— 267— 28  (73:2)= 

239.     284—239—45+1—46+50—96. 
505—254-251—208—43.     284— 43=241-1=242. 
505— 193=312— 15  b  ft  *— 897— 30— 267— 28  (73:2)= 

239.    284— 239— 45+1— 46+30.J76. 
505—193—312—50—202  -15  b  &  A— 247.     2*4—247= 

37+I— 88+5*  col.— 43. 
505—254=251—30=221.     284—221=63-1=64. 
505—193=312—30=282.  284—282=2-1=3+7//  col. 
505—193=312—30=282.     284—282—2  - 1=3. 
505—254=251.     284-251=33  +  1=34. 


74:1  royal 

'4:1  rage, 


30 

74:1 

Commenced 

18 

73:2 

to 

96 

73:1 

rebuke 

67 

73:1 

him 

=44 

74:1 

in 

46 

74:1 

language 

96 

74:1 

stern 

242 

74:1 

and 

76 

74:1 

fearful, 

43 

74:1 

which 

64 

74:1 

wounds 

=10 

74:1 

the 

3 

74:1 

ears 

84 

74:1 

of 

s5s 


7  VIE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 


505—193—312—30=282—50  (74:2)=232.     284—232 

=52+1=53. 
505—254=251—30=221.     284—221=63+1=64+ 

7//  col. =71. 
505— 193=312— 15  b  &  ^=297—30=267—29  (73:2)= 

288—224*  h  col.— 216. 
505— 193=312— 50=262-50=212— 79(73 :1)=1 33. 
505—193=312—248=64—2  h  (248)=62— 50. 
505—153=252—248=4. 
505—193=312—49=263. 
505—193=312—30=282. 
505—193=312—50=262—15/;  &  /=247.     284—247= 

37+1=38.  38 

505—193=312—50=262—248=14—2/2  (248)=12.  237 

—12=225  +  1=226. 
505—193=312—50=262. 
505—193=312—284=28. 

505—193=312—248  (74:2)=64— 22^  (248)=42. 
505—193=312—50=162.     284—162=22+1=23+ 

12£&//=35.  35 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

53 

74:1 

them 

71 

74:1 

who 

216 

74:2 

listen 

133 

73:2 

to 

12 

73:2 

it; 

4 

74:1 

for 

263 

74:1 

a 

262 

74:1 

worse 

74:1        tongue 


226 

73:2 

is 

262 

74:1 

not 

28 

73:2 

upon 

42 

74:1 

the 

74:1 


earth. 


Observe  how  regularly  this  sentence  moves.  It  accords  with  historical  truth, 
so  far  as  it  concerns  Elizabeth's  violent  temper  and  abusive  tongue;  and  it  accords 
with  the  probabilities  that  the  Queen  would  not,  without  conclusive  proof,  believe 
that  Sir  Nicholas  Bacon's  son  could  engage  in  treasonable  practices.  Nearly  all 
the  words  grow  out  of  505 — 193=312;  or,  where  they  do  not  come  from  the  505 
minus  the  upper  section  of  75:1,  they  come  from  505  minus  the  lower  section  of 
75:1,  and  they  are  nearly  all  found  on  74:1,  except  where  fragments  left  after  deduct- 
ing 74:1  or  74:2  are  carried  backward  to  the  last  page  or  forward  to  the  next  page. 

And  the  Queen  tells  Cecil  that  he  has  been  unfair  to  Bacon;    that  he  has  — 

505—254=251—30=221 . 
505—254=251—50=201—30=171.  284—171= 
505—254=251—15  £=236—10  b  col. =226. 

as  to  assail  Bacon  — 


221 

74:1 

stooped 

=113+1=114 

74:1 

so 

226 

74:1 

low, 

161 


f4:l 


505— 254=251— 50=201— 30=171— 10  h  col  —161. 
505—193=312—248=64—2//  (248)=62.     284—62 

=222+1=223+6//  col.  =229. 
505—193=312—248=64—2  h  (248)=62. 
505—193=312—30=282—248=34. 
505— 254=251— 15  b  &  h  (254)=236.     284—236=48 

+1=49+12  b  &  h  col. =61. 
505—248=257—208  (73:2)=49— 3  b  (208)=46.     169 

—46=123+1=124. 
505—193=312—30=282—237  (73:2)=45.     169—45 

=124  +  1=125. 
505— "248— 257— 2  h  (248)=255. 

And  in  her  "royal  rage  "  she  tells  Cecil  that,  if  he  does  not  find  Shakspere, 
and  prove  his  charge  against  Bacon  to  be  true,  he  shall  lose  his  office: 


229 

74:1 

this 

62 

74:1 

covert 

34 

75:1 

way, 

61 

74:1 

while 

124 

73:1 

thy 

125 

73:1 

kinsman's 

255 

74:1 

sick. 

THE  QUEEN'S  ORDERS  TO  EIND  SHAKSPERE. 


859 


-505—193=312—284  (74:1)— 28.     237—28=209+1= 
505—248=257—50=207—10  b  col.=197. 

And  the  Queen  tells  the  posts  — 

505—248=257—50=207.     447—207=240+1=241. 
505—254=251.     284—251=33+1=34+7/;  col.— 
505—193=312—248=64. 

505—248=257-22  b  (248)=235.     284—235=49+1= 
505—193=312—248=64.     237—64=173+1. 
£05— 254=251.     284—251=33+1=34. 
505—248=257—22  (248)=235.     284—235=49+1= 
505—193=312—30=282—15*  &  h  (193)=267.     284— 

267=17  +  1=18+10*=(28). 
505— 248=257— 24  b  &  A— 333. 
505—248=257—237  (73:2)=20+90=110. 
505—193=312—30=282.  284—282=2+1=3+"/;  col. 
505—248=257—22*  (248)— 285. 

505—248=257—24  *  &  h  (248)=233.  284—233=51  + 1  - 
505—193=312—50=262.  284—262=22+1=23. 
505— 193=312— 30=282— 15  £  &  h  (193)=267.  284— 

267=17+1=18+7  h  col. =25. 


Page  and 

Word. 

Column. 

210 

73:2 

lose 

197 

74:1 

office. 

241 

75:1 

To 

41 

74:1 

ride 

64 

73:2 

with 

50 

74:2 

the 

174 

73:2 

speed 

34 

74:1 

of 

50 

74:1 

the 

28 

74:1 

wind 

233 

74:1 

through 

110 

73:1 

all 

=10 

74:1 

the 

235 

74:1  peasant-towns 

=52 

74:1 

of 

23 

74:1 

the 

25 


(4:1 


West. 


Observe  here  the  recurrence  of  the  same  root-numbers:  505  carried  through 
74:2,  containing  248  words,  leaves  a  remainder  of  257;  257  taken  down  the  pre- 
ceding column,  74:1,  brings  us  to  posts;  but  less  the  bracket  words  in  74:2  it  produces 
peasant-towns;  and  less  both  the  oracketed  and  hyphenated  words  it  gives  us 
through  {posts  through peasant-towns);  and  up  the  column  it  is  stuffing,  slanders,  of, 
•etc.     And  note  how  505 — 193=312  produces  speed — wind — West,  etc. 

And  the  Queen  tells  them  to  give  large  rewards  to  the  man  who  finds  the 
•actors. 

505—193=312—237  (78:2)— 75. 
505—193=312—237  (73:2j=75— 3/;  (287)— 72 

501— 193=312— 284=28+90  (73:1)— 118. 
505—193=312—28  (73:2)— 284— 10*  col. =274. 
505—193=312—284=28.     90—28=62+1=63. 
505—193=312—50=262—237=25.     170  (72:2)— 25 

=145+1=146. 
505—193=312—50=262—237=25. 
505—193=312—50—262—237=25.     346 + 25=37 1 . 
505—193=312—50—262—208  (73:1)=54— 3*  (208)= 
505—193=312—30=282—15*  &  h  col. =267. 
505— 193=312— 50=262— 209  (73:2)=53. 
505—193=312—30=282—29  (73:2)=253.     284—253 

—31+1—32+126  &  h  col.— 44. 
505—1 93=31 2—50=262  —209  (73:2)— 58 . 
505—193—312—50=262—237=25+170(72:2)= 
505—193=312—50=262—237=25.    169—25=144+1=145 

Some  of  my  readers  may  have  thought  that  the  marvelous  revelations  of  the 
foregoing  pages  were  merely  coincidences.  But  here  we  are  invading  another 
play,  the  play  of  1st  Henry  IV. ,   with  cipher  numbers  derived  from  2d  Henry  IV., 


75 

74:1 

Make 

72 

73:1 

great 

118 

73:1 

offers 

274 

74:1 

of 

63 

73:1 

rewards 

146 

72:2 

to 

25 

72:2 

the 

371 

72:2 

man 

51 

73:1 

who 

267 

74:1 

brings 

53 

74:1 

them 

44 

74:1 

in, 

53 

73:1 

dead 

195 

72:2 

or 

=145 

73:2 

alive. 

86o 


THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 


and  we  find  the  words  of  the  story  coming  out  in  regular  order  as  in  the  above  sen- 
tence. And  how  completely  does  this  fit  into  the  story  already  told.,  We  have 
had  the  narrative  of  the  Queen's  rage,  the  flight  of  the  actors,  the  despair  of  Bacon, 
the  order  to  send  out  posts  to  find  Shakspere  and  his  fellows,  the  separation  of  the 
soldiers  into  three  divisions;  and  here  we  have  the  offer  of  great  rewards  to  the  man 
who  brings  them  in  dead  or  alive.  If  this  is  accident,  then  the  world  is  an  acci- 
dent. 

And  the  Queen  says  she  does  not  believe  that  this  woe-begone,  hateful,  fat 
creature,  Shakspere,  had  been  a  mask  for  her  brilliant  friend,  whom  she  has  known 
since  a  child: 

Page  and 
Column. 


75:1  This 

75:1   woe-begone  > 


75:1 

72:2 

73:1 
73:1 
73:1 

73:1 
75:1 


74:1 


hateful, 
fat 

creature 
had 
been 


mask 


known 


Word. 

505—193=312—30=282—29  (73:2)=253.     447—253= 

194+1=195.  195 

505— 193— 312— 29(73:2)— 283.  283 

505—193=312—50=262—28  (73:2)=234.  234 

505— 193=312— 50=262— 29  (73:2)=233— 90  (73. iw  143 
505— 193=312— 50=262— 208  (73:2)=54— 3  b  (208)= 

51  +  90=141.  141 

505—193=312—50=262—209  (73 :2)=53+ 90=143.  143 
505—193=312—50=262—208  (73:2)=54+90=144.  144 
505—193=312—50=262—209  (73:2)=53— 3  b  (209)= 

50+90=140.  140 

505-193=312—30=282—29  (73:2)=253— 13  b  col.—    240 

for  the  son  of  her  old  friend;  for  she  had  — 

505—193=312—50=262—90=172—28=144.  144 

505—193=312—209  (73 :2)=103— 79=24.     588—24= 

564+1=565+1  h  565  (79)=566. 
505—193=312—91  (73:1)— 221. 
505—193=312—30=282—29  (73:2)=253.     447—253 

=194+1=195+11  b  col.  =206. 
505—193=312—91  (73:1)— 221— 29  (78:2)— 192.  284— 

192=92+1=93. 

And  the  Queen  had  all  the  incredulity  of  the  Shakspereolators  of  the  nine- 
teenth century,  and  she  says:  I  pronounce  this  story  the  strangest  tale  in  the  world, 
and  not  to  be  believed,  and  a  lot  of  lies. 

505—193=312—209  (73:2)— 103— 90— 13.     588—13= 

575  +  1=576.  576 

505—193=312—209  <73:2)= 103— 91=12.     588—12= 

576+1=577.  577 

505—193=312—50=262—28  (73:2)=234— 169  (73:1) 

=65.     170-65=105+1=106.  106 

505—193=312—28  (73 :2)=284— 79=205.     588—205 

-383+1—884.  384 

505—193=312—50=262—15  b  &  A— 247— 28  (73:2)= 

219.     284—219=65+1=66.  66 

505—193=312—29  (73 :2)=283— 90=193.  193 

505— 193— 812— 28(73:2)— 284— 27  (73:1)— 257+171—  428 
505—193=312—50=262—28  (73:2):==234— 169  (73:1)= 
65.     588—65=523+1=524.  524 


566 

72:2 

him 

221 

73:2 

since 

206 

75:1 

a 

93 

74:1 

child. 

72:2 

Strangest 

72:2 

tale 

72:2 

in 

72:2 

the 

74:1 

world; 

not 

72:2 

to 

72:2 

be 

72:2 

believed. 

Page  and 

Word. 

Column. 

346—205 

144 

72:2 

a 

205 

72:2 

lot 

)  b  (237)= 

42 

73:1 

of 

253 

74:1 

lies. 

THE  QUEEN* S  ORDERS  TO  FIXD  SHAKSPERE.  86 1 

And  the  Queen  says  Cecil  has  been  telling  her  — 

505— 193=312— 28  ( 73 :2)=284— 79=205. 

^141  +  1=142+2  h  col.— 144. 
505—193=312—28  (78:2)— 284— 79— 205. 

505— 193=312— 30=282— 237  (73 :2)=45- 
505—193=312—30=282—29=253. 

And  here  again  we  have  the  combination  —  it  is  found  more  than  twenty  times 
in  these  two  plays  —  giving  the  name  of  Bacon's  cousin: 

505—193=312—28  (73:2)=284— 27  (73:1)=257.     588— 

257=331+1=332.  332  72:2  Sees 

505—193=312—30=282—208  (73:2)=74.     169—74= 

95+1=96+1  *— 97.  97  73:1  ill 

And  here  we  have  it  again: 

505—193=312—30=282—28  (73:2)=254— 90=164+ 

170_ 884—2 h  col.— 882.  332         72:2  Sees 

505—193=312—30=282—209  (73:2)=73.     169-73= 

96+1=97.  97  73:1  ill 

In  this  last  instance  it  will  be  observed  that  the  two  words  move  in  paralle. 
lines:  505 — 193=312 — 30=282;  and  the  first  word,  sees,  starts  from  the  end  of  the 
first  subdivision  on  73:2,  and  goes  upward  and  to  the  end  of  the  scene  on  73:1,  and 
up  again  and  backward  and  down  from  the  end  of  the  second  section  of  72:2.  The 
other  word,  ///,  starts  from  the  same  point  of  departure,  the  end  of  the  first  section, 
but  moves  downward  through  the  column  and  backward  and  up  the  preceding 
column  to  the  word  ill.  And  in  the  first  instance  the  count  departs  in  the  same 
way  from  the  same  starting-point  and  moves  up  through  28  and  down  through  208 
in  the  same  order. 

And  right  here,  in  connection  with  the  elements  of  the  pame  of  Cecil,  we  have 
kinsman's  and  your  cousin.  We  saw  that  164  (505—193  (75:1)— 312 — 30  (74:2)=2S2 
— 2S  (73:2)=254 — 90  (73:i)=i64)  produced  sees;  but  it  also  produces  cousin: 

505— 193=312— 50=262— 90=172.  172  73:2  your 

505—193=312—30=282—28=254—90=164.  164  73:2         cousin. 

And  that  same  282,  which,  modified  by  carrying  it  through  the  first  section  of 
73:2,  produced  sees  and  ill  and  cousin,  also,  carried  through  all  of  73:2,  produces 
kinsman's: 

505— 193=312— 208  (73:2)=104— 27  (73:2)=77.  77  72:2  thy 

505—193=312—30=282—237=45.    169—45=124+1=125  72:2      kinsman's 

And  the  "old  termagant"  goes  on  to  say  that  if  Cecil  can  prove  that  Bacon 
Avrote  the  Plays  she  will  have  him  executed.  I  have  not  time  to  work  this  out  in 
detail,  but  I  call  the  attention  of  the  critical  to  the  way  in  which  the  same  num- 
bers, which  have  already  done  such  good  service,  respond  again  with  most  signing 
cant  words.     Here  we  have: 

505—1 93=3 1 2—50=262—208  (73 :2)=54— 3  b  (208)— 51 . 

90—51=39  +  1=40.  40  73:1  the 

505—193=312-209=103—3  b  (209)— 100— 27— 73. 

170—73—97-hl—98.  98         72:2  old 

505—193=312—50=262—208  (73:2)— 54— 27  (73:1  )= 

27+171=198.  1^  72:2     termagant 


862  THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 

And  let  us  pause  and  observe  the  manner  in  which  this  word  termagant  is  so> 
placed  that  like  Seas-ill,  ShaJc  st-spur,  old  jade,  etc  ,  it  can  be  repeatedly  used  in 
referring  to  the  Queen.     It  is  accompanied  by  the  word  old —  "  the  old  termagant. " 

Let  us  take  the  combination  with  which  we  are  already  familiar,  505 — 167= 
338 — 50=288.  If  we  commence  to  count  at  the  end  of  scene  third  (73:1),  and 
count  up  that  fragment  of  a  column  and  down  the  preceding  column,  we  have: 

Page  and 
Word.      Column. 

505— 167=338— 50=288— 90(73 :2)=198.  198  72:2     termagant 

Take  516-167=349 — 22  b  ft  li=32j — 50=277.      If  we   commence   to  count   at 
the  same  point  of  departure  as  in  the  last  instance,  but  count  downward  through 
73:1,  and  then  again  down  the  next  column  as  before,  we  again  reach  termagant > 
thus: 
516— 167=349- 22/;  &//=327— 50=277—  79(73:2)=      198  72:2    termagant 

Or  let  us  take  still  another  root-number,  to-wit:  513 — 29  (74:2),  and  we  have, 
going  through  the  same  90  used  in  the  first  instance: 

513—29  (74:2)=484— 90  (78:1)— 894     588—394=194 

+  1=195+3  h  col.=198.  198  72:2     termagant 

Here  we  perceive  that  484 — 90=394.  Let  the  reader  turn  to  the  fac-simile  and 
he  will  find  that  394  in  the  same  column  with  termagant  is  plays  ! 

513—29  (74 :2)=484— 90=394.  394  72:2  plays 

Surely  a  very  significant  combination;  for  the  old  termagant  and  the  plays  rep- 
resented very  important  subjects  in  Bacon's  life  and  thoughts.  We  noted  how 
plays  was  brought  in  in  78:1:  —  "  for  one  or  t'other  plays  the  rogue  with  my  great 
toe;"  and  here  we  have: 

Art  thou  alive, 
Or  is  it  fantasy  that  plays  upon  our  eye-sight  ? 

We  can  see  the  Cipher  in  the  very  process  of  construction.  And  if  I  had  time 
and  space  I  could  show  that  nearly  every  word  in  that  sentence,  nay,  in  all  these 
columns,  is  a  Cipher  wore1       But  to  resume: 

We  have  seen  that  the  text  was  so  arranged  as  to  bring  out  the  word  termagant 
in  response  to  the  summons  of  505,  516  and  513:  —  here  we  have  the  fourth  primal 
root-number,  523.  We  have  just  reached  termagantby  deducting  29,  the  lower  sec- 
tion of  74:2,  from  513;  we  now  deduct  the  upper  section  of  74:2  from  523,  and  we  have: 

523—50  (74:2)=473— 79  (73:1)=394.     588—394=194 

+  1=195+3  h  col.  =198.  198  72:2     termagant 

Here  again  we  have  the  terminal  number,  394;  but  how?  We  obtained  it  in  the 
last  instance  by  deducting  from  513  ( — 29=484)  the  upper  section  of  73:2,  to-wit,  90  ; 
now  we  obtain  it  by  deducting  from  523  ( — 50=473;  the  loiver  section  of  73:2,  to-wit, 
79.  And  again  the  394  produces  the  word  plays  !  But  think  of  the  exquisite  ad- 
justments that  were  necessary  to  bring  this  about.  The  cryptologist  could  not  use 
the  word  termagant  (even  though  applied,  as  in  the  text,  to  a  man  !),  or  the  word 
plays,  very  often,  without  exciting  suspicion;  and  he  tells  us  in  the  Be  Augment  is  that 
one  of  the  first  requirements  of  a  cipher  is  that  it  "be  such  as  not  to  raise  suspicion."  ' 
Therefore  he  so  adjusted  the  fragments  of  73:1  that,  counting  upward  from  the  end 
of  the  scene,  with  the  number  513 — 29,   it  would   yield  394,  which  gives   us   both 

l  Bacon's  Works,  vol.  ix,  p.  115. 


THE  QUEEN' S  ORDERS  TO  FIND  SHAKSPERE.  863. 

termagant  and  pl&ys;  while  counting  downward,  from  the  same  point,  with  523 — 50, 
would  again  give  us  394  and  the  same  words,  termagant  and  plays  ! 

But  this  is  not  all.  Turn  back  to  the  two  immediately  preceding  instances, 
and  we  have  the  same  process  repeated,  but  with  different  elements.     Thus: 

Page  and 
Word.       Column. 

505—167=338—50=288—90=198.  198  72:2     termagant 

516— 167=349— 22/; &  A— 327— 50=277— 79=198.  198  72:2     termagant 

Here  we  have  the  same  process  of  cunning  adjustment: — Again  we  count  up 
from  the  end  of  the  scene  to  produce  19S  —  termagant;  and  again  we  count  down 
from  the  same  point  to  produce  19S  —  termagant !  And  observe  these  numbers  are 
not  accidental:  they  are  produced  in  the  same  way: 

505—167  (74:2)=338—  50=288. 

516=167  (74:2)=349— 50=299— 22  <$  &/z=277. 

And  the  difference  between  288  and  277  is  eleven;  and  the  difference  between 
79  and  90  is  eleven  ! 

But  even  this  is  not  all.  Let  us  take  the  fifth  primal  number,  506,  and  deduct 
50,  and  we  have  456.  Now  we  have  seen  that  in  the  middle  section  of  73:1,  be- 
tween 28  and  90,  there  are  62  words.  Let  us  deduct  this  fragment,  just  as  we 
deducted  79  and  90  before,  and  we  have: 

506—50=456—62=394.  394  72:2  plays 

506—50=456-62=394.     588—394=194+1=195+ 

3/;col.=198.  198  72:2     termagant 

Or  let  us  take  the  first  primal  number  again,  505,  and  deduct  the  fragment  at 
the  top  of  74:2,  from  50  upwards,  to-wit,  49,  and  we  have  the  same  result : 

505—49=456—62=394. 

505—49=456—62=394.     588—394=194+1=195+ 
3//  col. =198. 

But  even  this  does  not  end  the  use  of  the  word  tt 

505—193  (75:1) — 312— 284  (74 :1)=28+ 170=198. 

But  there  is  still  more.  When  the  brothers,  Francis  and  Anthony  Bacon,  are 
discussing  the  bad  news,  the  Cipher  (with  a  root-number  carried  back  from  74:2) 
refers  again  to  the  old  termagant;  thus: 

523— 30(74:2=493— 254  (75:1)=239— 141  (73:1)=  98  72:2  old 

523—30=493—254=239—90=149.     346—149=197 

+  1=198.  198  72:2     termagant 

Let  the  critical  reader  study  this.  Here  we  have  the  same  formula,  523 — 30 
=493 — 254=239.  But  how  do  the  terminals  vary  ?  Old'is  obtained  by  counting  239  * 
words  from  the  beginning  of  the  second  section  of  73:1  to  the  end  of  the  column; 
now,  as  between  28  and  169  there  are  141  words,  we  deduct  141  from  239,  and  we 
have  98  left;  and  the  98th  word  on  the  next  preceding  column  is  old.  But  to  find  the 
word  termagant  we  commence  at  the  top  of  the  first  section  73:1,  instead  of  the 
second,  and  instead  of  going  to  the  end  of  the  column  we  go  to  the  end  of  the  scene; 
this  gives  us  90  words;  and  90  deducted  from  239  leaves  149,  and  this,  taken  to  the 


394 

72:2          plays 

198 

72:2     termagant 

'rmagant. 

We  have  : 

198 

72:2     termagant 

86± 


THE  CIPHER  NAKRA  TIVE. 


end  of  the  second  section  of  72:2,  and  carried  upward,  yields  termagant. 
put  this  in  the  form  of  a  diagram: 


Let 


Col.  2,  p.  72./ 


Col.  1,  p.  73. 


I  think  it  is  probable  that  a  full  investigation  of  the  Cipher  will  show  that  these 
words  —  old  termagant —  are  used  at  least  a  score  of  times  in  the  internal  nar- 
rative.    Here  are  some  instances  of  the  word  old: 

If  we  commence  with  the  root-number  505,  to  count  from  the  end  of  73:2  and 
count  upward  and  forward,  counting  in  the  whole  of  page  73,  containing  406 
words,  and  also  the  one  hyphenated  word,  the  505th  word  is  the  98th  word,  old; 
thus: 


505-407=< 


Word. 
98 


Page  and 

Column. 

72:2 


We  also  have,  matching  the  termagant  already  cited,  the  following: 


old 


old 


523-29  (74:2)=494)    588— 494=94 +1=95 +3  h  col.  =   98  72:2 

523—50  (74:3)— 473— 79— 894.     588—394=194+1= 

195+3  A  col.— 198:  198  72:2     termagant 

Observe  the  precision  of  this:  the  only  difference  is  this,  that  the  first  word 
comes  out  of  523  less  the  last  section  of  74:2;  the  other,  out  of  the  first  section  of 
74:2;  and  that  in  the  first  case  we  commence  to  count,  really,  from  the  end  of  the 
third  section  of  73:1,  and  in  the  other  case  from  the  beginning  of  the  same. 

And  here  we  have  another  duplication: 

505-167=338— 237  (73:2)=101— 3/;  (237)=98.  98  72:2  old 

505— 107=338— 50=288— 90(73 :1)=19  3.  198  72:2     termagant 

Here  the  count  runs  first  from  the  end  of  scene  4,  act  v,  1st  Henry  IV.,  then 
from  the  beginning  of  it. 

And  here  is  still  another: 

505—30  (74:2)=475— 50=425— 237  (73:2)=188 

—90(73:1^=98  98  72:2  old 

505—49  (74:2)— 466— 62  (73:1)=394.     588—394=194 

+  1—195+3//— 198.  198  72:2     termagant 

But  away  and  beyond  all  these  adjustments  the  word  termagant  is  used  by  the 
large  root-numbers,  which  I  have  shown  to  lie  at  the  very  beginning  of  the  Cipher 
narrative,  and  of  which  505,  506,  513,  516  and   523  are  but  modifications.     Thus, 


THE  QUEEN'S  ORDERS  TO  FIND  SHAKSPERE.  865 

there  are  twelve  italic  words  in  column  1  of  page  74;  let  us  multiply  74,  the  num- 
ber of  the  page,  by  this  number  12,  and  we  have  888.  Now  commence  to  count 
at  the  top  of  72:1  and  count  downward,  and  go  forward  to  the  next  column  and  down- 
ward again,  and  we  have  plays,  and  counting  downward  and  forward  as  before, 
but  upward,  counting  in  the  hyphens  on  73:2,  we  have  termagant.     Thus: 

Paare  end 

Word.      Column. 

74x12=888— 494  (72:1)=394.  394  72:2         plays 

74X12=888—494=394.     588—394=194+1=195+ 

3/;col.=198.  198  72:2    termagant 

Here,  then,  I  have  shown  that  not  only  does  termagant  come  out  at  the  call  of 
every  one  of  our  Cipher  numbers,  505,  506,  513,  516  and  523,  but  even  at  the  sum- 
mons of  one,  at  least,  of  the  higher  numbers  which  precede  these  in  the  order  of 
the  narrative. 

In  short,  every  act,  scene,  fragment  of  scene,  page,  column,  word,  bracket 
and  hyphen,  in  all  the  pages  of  these  two  plays,  and,  as  I  believe,  of  all  the  Plays, 
has  been  the  subject  of  the  most  patient,  painstaking  prevision  and  arithmetical 
calculation  and  adjustment,  to  a  degree  that  is  almost  inconceivable.  These  His- 
tories are,  indeed,  histories  in  a  double  sense;  these  Comedies  may  be  the  mask  for 
inner  tragedies;  and,  perhaps, —  with  a  fine  touch  of  humor, —  the  Tragedies  them- 
selves may  be  but  the  cover  for  comedies  of  real  life. 

The  man  was  sublime:  —  he  played  with  words  ;  he  made  the  grandest  and  pro- 
foundest  thoughts  of  which  the  brain  is  capable  the  strings  of  his  exquisite  puz- 
zle; he  made  a  jest  of  mankind,  by  setting  up  a  stock  and  stone  for  their  worship; 
and  he  dealt  at  once  and  forever  a  deadly  blow  to  all  absolute  belief  in  the  teach- 
ings of  history. 

I  should  not  dare  to  utter  these  opinions  save  in  the  presence  of  so  many 
marvelous  proofs.  But  there  is  no  imagination  in  the  multiplication  table;  no  self- 
deception  can  invade  the  precincts  of  addition  and  subtraction;  two  and  two  are 
four,  everywhere,  to  the  end  of  the  chapter. 

But  to  resume  our  narrative: 

And  Cecil  tells  them  when  they  find  Shakspere  and  his  men  to  offer  them 
immunity  for  their  past  misdeeds,  if  they  will  make  a  clean  breast  of  it  and  tell 
who  really  prepared  the  dangerous  play  of  Richard  II.  Observe  how  remarkably 
the  significant  words  come  out  from  the  terminal  root-number,  312. 

505-193  (75:1)=312. 

312—237  (73:2)=75— 50  (73:2)=25. 

312—208  (73:2)=104— 90  (73:1)=14. 

312—209  (73:2)=103. 

312—208  (73:2)=104. 

312—90=222—30=192—3  b  col  —189. 

312—208  (73:2)=104.     169—104=65+1=66. 

312—237=75—30  (74:2)=45. 

312—27  (73:1)=285— 237=48. 

312—208  (73:2)=104— 27  (73:1)=77.  588—77=511+1=512 

312—79  (73:1)=233. 

312—237=75—30  (74:2)=45— 3  b  (237)=42. 

312— 50=262— 79=183+ 346  (72:2)=529. 

312—142  (73: 1)=170— 30  (74:2)=140.     588—140= 

448+1=449. 
312— 28(73:1)=284. 


25 

73:1 

Terms 

14 

72:2 

of 

103 

73:1 

grace, 

104 

73:1 

pardon 

189 

73:2 

and 

66 

73:1 

reward 

45 

73:1 

to 

48 

74:2 

himself 

=512 

72:2 

and 

233 

73:2 

all 

42 

73:2 

of 

529 

72:2 

them 

449 

72:2 

if 

284 

72-2 

he 

866 


THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 


312—79=233+170=403—1  h  col. =402. 

312—90=222.     588—222=366—1=367. 

312—208  (73:2)=104— 27  (78:1)— 77. 

312—90=222—27  (73:1)— 196. 

312—79=233. 

312— 90=222— 169  (73:1)— 53+170— 223. 

312—50=262—27  (78:1)— 385. 

312—50=262—208=104—90=14+346=360. 

312—27  (73:1)— 285— 29  (74:2)=256— 237=19.     248- 

19=229+1=230. 
312—90=222—30  (74:2)— 192.     237—192=45  +  1= 

46+3  £  col.—  49. 
312—27  (73:1)— 285— 29  (74:2)— 256— 237=19.     248 

—19—229+1—230+1  b  col.— 231. 
312—90  (73:1)— 222. 

312—90—222—50=172—28  (73:2)— 144— 10  b  col.— 
312— 79— 233— 30— 203— 3  £  col.— 200. 
312—237—75—27  (73:1)— 48— 29  (73:")— 19. 
312—90—222—50—172.     237—172=65+1—66. 
312—237—75—27  (73:1)— 48. 
312—209—103.     171-103—68+1—69. 
312—90=222—27  (73:1)— 195.     588—195—393+1— 
312— 90=  J"  22. 
312—90—222— 50— 172. 

312   -79=233— 27  (73 :1)= 206.     588—206=382+1— 
312—284  (74:1)— 28. 
312—284—28+91=119. 

512—143  (73:1)— 169.     237—169=68+1—69+3  b  col. 
312—28  (73:1)=284— 171  (72:2)— 118. 
312—29  (73:2)— 283— 90— 193. 
312—142  (78:1)— 170. 
312—29  (73:2)— 283— 90— 193— 170. 
312—90—222+171  (72:2)— 393— 2  h  col.— 391. 
312—29  (73:2)— 283— 79— 204. 
312—28  (73:1)— 284— 171  (72:2)— 113.     494—113— 

381  +  1=382. 
312—208—104—79—25. 
312—79  (73:1)— 233— 170= 63.     494—03—431+1— 

432+1  h  col.— 433. 
312—90  (73:1)— 222— 208  (73:2)— 14.     284—14— 

270+1=271. 
312—29  (73:2)=283— 90— 193.     346—193—153+1= 

154+2/4  col.— 156. 
312—209—103—30  (74:2)— 73+90— 163. 
312—29  (73 :2)=283— 90=193. 
312—90=222.     237—222=15+1=16. 
312—90—222.     237—222—15+1=16+28  (73:1)= 
312—90=222—169  (78:1)— 58.     588—53—535+1— 
312—90—222—169=53—1  h  (169)— 52.     588—52= 

036+1—537 


Page  and 

Column. 

Word. 

402 

72:2 

will 

367 

72:2 

tell 

77 

73:2 

the 

195 

74:2 

name 

233 

72:2 

of 

223 

72:2 

the 

235 

72:2 

man 

360 

72:2 

who 

230 

74:2 

furnished 

49 

73:2 

him 

231 

74:2 

with 

222 

73:2 

this 

134 

74:1 

play 

200 

73:2 

and 

19 

74:2 

the 

66 

73:2 

rest 

48 

72:2 

of 

69 

72:2 

these 

394 

72:2 

Plays. 

222 

72:2    . 

But 

172 

72:2 

if, 

383 

72:2 

on 

28 

73:1 

the 

119 

73:1 

contrary, 

=72 

73:2 

he 

113 

72:2 

means 

193 

72:2 

to 

170 

72:2 

lie 

23 

72:1 

about 

391 

72:2 

it 

204 

72:2   • 

and 

382 

72:1 

play 

25 

72:2 

the 

433 

72:1 

fool, 

271 

74:1 

they 

156 

72:2 

will 

163 

73:1 

have 

193 

72:2 

to 

16 

73:2 

bear 

44 

73:2 

the 

536 

72:2 

sin 

537 


72:2 


upon 


THE  QUEEN'S  ORDERS  TO  FIND  SHAKSPERE. 


867 


Word. 

538 
539 
540 

Page  and 
Column. 

72;2 
72:2 

72:2 

their 
own 
heads, 

143 

72:2 

Fat 

586 

72:2 

fellow. 

312—29  (73 :2)=283— 90=193+346=539— 1//  col.— 
312—29  (73:2)=283— 90=193+346=539. 
312—29  (73:2)=283— 90=193+347=540. 

And  Cecil  refers  to  Shakspere  as  "  the  fat  fellow  ' 

312— 169  (73:1)=1 43. 

312—169  (73:1)=143— 50  (74:2)=93— 90  (73:1)=3. 
588—3=585+1=586. 

Thus  confirming  the  statements  found  on  pages  78  and  79  of  the  Folio. 

And  Cecil  tells  the  Earl  that  the  Queen  is  in  a  great  rage.  And  here,  again,  it 
is  not  safe  to  say  in  the  text  Queen  or  her  Majesty,  or  to  have  more  than  one  terma- 
gant in  several  pages,  and  so  the  Queen  is  alluded  to  as  "  the  royal  maiden." 

312—28  (73:1)=284— 237=47.     284—47=237+1= 
312—79  (73:1)=233.     588—233=355+1=356. 
312—90=222+170=392—2//  col.=390. 
312—142=170+ 170=340. 
312— 90=222.     346—222=124+1=125. 
312—208  (73:2)=104— 29  (74:2)=75— 3  b  (208)— 72. 
312— 208(73:2)=104— 30  (74:2)— 74-8 b  (208)— 71. 
284— 71=213+1— 214+6  h  col. =220. 


238 

74:1 

Royal 

356 

72:2 

maiden 

390 

72:2 

is 

340 

72:2 

in 

125 

72:2 

a 

72 

73:1 

great 

220 

74:1 

rage. 

And  the  Queen  doth  swear: 


312. 


312 


that  every  man  engaged  in  the  production  of  the  play  of  Richard  II.  on  the  stage, 
unless  they  give  up  the  real  author, — 

312—237=75—27  (73:1)— 48.     170—48=122+1=  123 

312—237=75—30—45—3  b  (287)— 42+171=213.  213 

312— 90=222— 169  (73: 1)=53.     170—53=117  +  1=  118 

312_9o=222— 28  (73:1)=194.     346—194=152+1=  153 

312—90=222.     237—222—15+1=16+3  b  col.— 19.  19 


72:2 

should 

72:2 

die 

72:2 

a 

72:2 

bloody 

73:2 

death. 

And  Cecil  says  she  told  him  to  — 

312—  28(73:1)=284+170— 454—  3 //col  =451.  451  72:2            let 
312—27  (73:1)=285— 29  (74:2)— 256— 237=19.     284— 

19=265+1=266.  266  74:1          them 

312— 27(73 :1)=285.  285  72:2            be 
312—90=222—28  (73:1)— 194.     346—194—152+1= 

153+2// col.— 155.  155  72:2  imbowelled. 

And  as  for  Shakspere,  if  he  does  not  confess  the  truth,  she  will  — 

312—29  (73:2)— 283.  588—283=305+1—306. 

312—237=75—30=45+90=135. 

312—29  (73:2)  283—30=253.  433—253=180+1= 

312—79—233—30=203. 

312—209  (73:2)— 103.  169—103—66+1—67. 

But  if  he  will  reveal  a'l  he  knows  he  will  be  spared: 


306 

72:2 

make 

135 

73:1 

a 

181 

71:2 

carbonado 

203 

73:2 

of 

67 

73:1 

him. 

868  THE  CIPHER  NARRA  TIVE. 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

312—79  (73:1)— 888. 

346—233=113+1=114+ 

3  h  col. =117. 

117 

72:2 

spared; 

and  not  only  spared,  but  favors  shown  him  by  the  court: 

312— 90=222— 169  (73:1)=53.  53  72:2         favors. 

And  the  officers  are  directed  to  say  nothing  to  any  one  about  their  mission,  lest 
the  actors  fly  the  country.  And  when  they  arrest  Shakspere  they  are  at  first  to 
treat  him  kindly,  and  ask  him  why  he  should  try  to  injure  the  Queen,  who  had 
never  harmed  him;  and  appeal  to  his  better  feelings;  and  urge  him  to  confess,  to 
save  his  own  life  and  fortune. 

312— 79  (73:1)=233.     433(71:2)— 233=200+1=201.  201  71:2  Save 

312— 27  (78:1)— 285— 50— 285.  235  73:2  own 

312—90=222—30=192.     213  (71:2)— 192=21  +  1=22 

+  1=23.  23  71:2  life 

312—79=233.    237—233=4+1=5.  5  73:2  fortune. 

And  they  are  to  say  to  him  that  he  must  not  hold  back  the  information  he  has 
as  to  the  treasonable  play;  that  there  is  — 

312— 27— 285— 170(72:2)— 115.     494—115=379+1=  380  72:1  No 

312—90=222—30=192.  192  72:2  time 

312— 169(73:1)=143.     346+143=489.  489  72:2  to 

312-29  (73:2)=283.     433—283=150+1=151.  151  71:2  dally. 

In  short,  the  crafty  Cecil  directed  the  officers  that  when  they  found  Shakspere 
they  were  to  work  upon  him  in  every  way  possible  —  by  appeals  to  his  cupidity,  his 
ambition,  and  his  terror  of  being  burned  alive  —  to  tell  the  real  author  of  the  Plays, 
especially  of  that  dangerous  play  which  represented  the  deposition  and  murder  of 
an  unpopular  King,  and  the  execution  of  those  councilors  who  stood  to  him  in 
the  same  relation  in  which  Cecil  stood  to  the  Queen. 

The  reader  will  observe  that  every  word  of  the  story,  for  the  last  few  pages, 
grows  out  of  the  same  terminal  root-number,  ji2,  and  nothing  else.  And  that  all  the 
modifications  of  this  number  arise  out  of  the  fragments  of  the  scenes  in  columns 
i  and  2  of  the  same  page,  73.  A  few  words  are  carried  backward  to  the  begin- 
ning of  the  third  scene,  page  71,  column  2;  just  as  we  saw  the  Cipher  carried  for- 
ward to  the  ends  or  the  beginnings  of  acts  and  scenes  in  2d  Henry  IV.  So 
that  not  only  do  we  find  the  same  capacity  of  the  text  to  produce  a  coherent  narra- 
tive in  these  pages  of  1st  Henry  IV.,  which  we  found  to  exist  in  2d  Henry  IV.,  but 
the  story  coheres  with  the  narrative  produced  by  the  same  root-number,  312, 
in  2d  Henry  IV.  For  instance,  we  saw  that  505,  counting  from  the  end  of  the  first 
section  of  75:1  forward  and  down  the  next  column,  produced  sent  out: 

505—193=312.  312  75:2  Sent 

505—193=312.     498—312=186+1=187.  187  76:1  out 

505— 248  (74:2)— 257.  257  74:1  posts 


505—193=312—237=75.     169—75=194-1  1=195.         195  73:1  find 

505—30  (74:2)— 475— 447— 28.  28  75:2  Shak'st  i 

505—197=308—248=60.  60  75:1  spur.    \ 

» 

But  here  the  very  312    which  produced  sent  out  and  find  tells  the   story  of 


THE  QUEEN'S  ORDERS  TO  FIND  SHAKSPERE.  869 

what  the  posts  were  to  do  when  they  did  find  Shakspere;  how  they  were  to  offer 
him  pardon  and  grace  if  he  would  make  a  confession  as  to  who  was  the  real  author 
of  the  Plays;  and  if  he  would  not,  that  they  were  to  threaten  all  the  players  who 
had  taken  part  in  the  presentation  of  the  deposition  scene  of  Richard  II.  with  a 
bloody  death,  that  they  should  be  imbowelled,  etc. ;  and  we  have  even  the  fierce  threat 
of  the  savage  old  termagant,  that  of  Shakspere  himself  she  would  make  a  carbonado 
—  a  bon-fire  —  for  the  insults  to  the  Christian  religion  contained  in  Measure  for 
Measure,  of  which  he  was  the  alleged  author. 

And  observe  how  the  fragments  of  312  carried  over  from  the  first  column  of 
page  74  produce  so  many  significant  words:  312 — 284  (74:i)=28;  and  28  up  the 
the  next  column  (73:2)  is  lose  (lose  his  office),  addressed  by  the  Queen  to  Cecil,  if 
he  did  not  find  Shakspere  and  prove  his  story  against  Bacon  to  be  true.  And  28 
up  from  the  end  of  scene  third  (73:1)  is  rewards;  and  28  down  from  the  same  point 
is  offers  ("offers  of  rewards  ")  : 


iVord. 

Page  and 
Column. 

63 

73:1 

rewards 

118 

73:1 

offers 

312—284=28.     90—28=62+1=63. 
312—284=28.    90+28=118. 

Or  take  312  again  less  the  second  column  of  page  74  instead  of  the  first;  we  have 
312 — 248=64;  now  d^down  73:2  is  with;  and  64  ///  73:2  is  speed;  and  312 — 50  (74:2) 
=262,  and  this  carried  up  74:1  lands  us  in  the  midst  of  the  first  bracket  sentence 
on  the  word  wind  (ride  with  the  speed  of  the  wind);  and  while  64  up  73:2  produces 
speed,  the  174th  word,  if  we  add  the  modifier  30  it  gives  us  march  (174+30=204); 
thus: 

312— 248=64— 30  (74:2)=34.     237—34=203+1=         204  73:2         march; 

and  march,  applied  to  the  movements  of  the    "well-horsed  posts,"  is  cunningly 
disguised  in  the  name  of  "  the  Earl  of  March." 

I  repeat  that  we  cannot  penetrate  the  text  of  these  two  plays,  at  any  point, 
without  perceiving  that,  apart  from  any  rule,  the  Cipher  numbers  call  out  words 
that  cohere  in  meaning  and  purpose,  in  a  way  that  no  other  text  in  the  world  is 
capable  of. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

FRAGMENTS. 

And  the  hand  of  time 
Shall  draw  this  brief  into  as  huge  a  volume. 

King  John,  it,  i. 


I  AM  constrained  by  the  great  size  of  my  book  to  leave  out  much 
that  I  had  intended  to  insert.     I  have  worked  out  the  story  of 
Bacon  attempting  suicide  by  taking  ratsbane: 

Page  and 
Word.      Column. 

505—50  (74:2)=455— 50  (76:1)=405— 145  (76:2)=260 

— 50  (76:1)=210.     508—210=298+1=299.  299  75:2         Took 

505—50  (74:2)=455— 50  (76:1)=405— 145  (76:2)=260. 

603— 260=343+1=344+8  <$  col  =352.  352  76:2      ratsbane. 

Preceding  this  we  have,  originating  from  pages  72  and  73  and  their  subdivi- 
sions, a  full  account  of  his  griefs,  his  intense  feelings,  his  desire  to  shield  the  mem- 
ory of  his  father,  Sir  Nicholas,  from  the  ignominy  which  would  fall  upon  it  if  it 
was  known  that  his  son  had  shared  with  such  a  low  creature  as  Shakspere  the 
profits  of  the  Plays.     Observe  how  the  number  505  brings  out  ignominy: 

505.     588—505=83+1=84.  84  72:2      ignominy. 

And  here  we  have  his  father's  name: 

505—27  (73:1)=478— 212  (71:2)=266.     494—266= 

228+1=229.  229  72:1  Sir 

505—169  (73:1)=336-212  (71.2)=124.  124  72:1      Nicholas. 

Observe  this:  the  Sir  is  505  commencing  at  the  end  of  the  first  section  of  73:1, 
at  the  27th  word,  and  counting  upward;  the  remainder  is  then  taken  to  the  end  of 
the  third  scene  (71:2),  and  carried  up  and  brought  back  into  the  scene  and  down 
the  column.  The  Nicholas  is  the  same  root-number,  505,  carried  through  precisely 
the  same  process,  save  that  we  begin  to  count  with  505  from  the  top  of  the  same 
first  section  of  73:1,  instead  of  the  bottom,  and  we  go  down  73:1,  instead  of  up; 
and  when  we  return  from  the  beginning  of  scene  3  (71:2)  we  go  up  the  column  in- 
stead of  down. 

And  here  observe  that  the  same  number  478  (505 — 27  (73:1)— 478),  which  car- 
ried to  the  end  of  the  scene  and  brought  back  gave  us  Sir,  if  carried  up  72:2  gives 
us   Tack;  and  this,  with  sphere,  — 

Two  stars  keep  not  their  motion  in  one  sphere,  — 

gives  us  another  form  of  the  word  Shakspere. 

870 


FRAGMENTS.  871 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

Ill 

72:2 

■    291 

72:1 

505—27=478.     588—478=110+1=111.  Ill  72:2  Jack       | 

505— 80=425—  221  (71 :2)=204.     494—204=290+1=    291  72:1        sphere.    \ 

Here  again  we  see  the  systematic  arrangement:  505 — 27  (the  first  section  73:1) 
is  alternated  with  80,  the  number  of  words  from  the  end  of  the  second  section  of 
73:1  to  end  of  the  column.  But  when  the  remainder  is  carried  to  the  beginning 
of  scene  3,  71:2,  it  is  taken  down  the  column  through  221  words,  instead  of  up  the 
column  through  212  words. 

And  here  we  have  Sir  Nicholas  again, —  repeated  in  the  progress  of  the  inner 
story: 

505— 169  (73:1)=336— 1  h  (169)=335— 212  (71:2)=        123  72:1  Sir 

505— 63(73 :1>=442— 212  (71 :2)=230.  230  72:1      Nicholas. 


\ 


Here,  it  will  be  observed,  the  words  flow  again  from  the  same  corner  of  73:1: 
that  is,  for  Sir  we  commence  to  count  from  the  top  of  the  first  section  of  73:1, 
and  count  down  the  column,  as  we  did  to  obtain  Nicholas  before ;  but  now  we  count 
in  the  one  hyphenated  word  in  the  column,  and  we  get  Sir.  And  the  next  Nicholas 
is  a  different  word  from  the  one  we  used  last  :  that  was  124,  72:1  ;  this  is  230,  72:1. 
We  obtained  that  word  by  beginning  to  count,  with  505,  from  the  beginning  of  the 
first  section  of  73:1  and  going  through  the  whole  column;  we  procure  this  Nich- 
olas by  starting  with  the  same  number,  505,  but,  instead  of  going  through  the  whole 
column,  we  stop  at  the  end  of  scene  third;  this  gives  us  63  words.  (27  to  90=63.) 
And  here  again  we  note  the  beautiful  adjustments  of  the  text  to  the  Cipher;  for,  start- 
ing from  substantially  the  same  place,  with  the  same  root-number,  we  produce  Sir 
Nicholas  twice  and  Shakspere  once  !  And  the  442  (505 — 63=442)  which  gave  us 
the  last  Aricholas,  carried  down  72:2  gives  us,  as  the  442d  word,  father  (my  father, 
Sir  Nicholas) ! 

And  Bacon  refers  to  the  ignominy  his  exposure  would  bring  upon  his  ancestors, 
"  those  proud  spirits,"  Sir  Anthony  Cooke,  his  grandfather;  his  father,  Sir  Nicholas, 
and  others  of  whom  we  know  little  or  nothing,  who  had  "won  great  titles  in  the 
world." 

It  is  a  pitiful  and  terrible  story,  told  with  great  detail.  Bacon  sacrificed  him- 
self, or  intended  to  do  so,  to  save  his  family  and  the  good  name  of  his  ancestors 
from  the  ignominy  of  his  trial  and  execution  at  Smithfield  as  a  traitor  and  an 
infidel. 

And  then  we  have  the  terrible  story  of  his  sufferings:  He  lost  consciousness 
for  a  time  and  fell  in  the  orchard  and  cut  his  head  on  the  stones.  He  thought,  in 
'  is  dreadful  mental  excitement  and  torture, —  for  he  knew  what  it  was         • 

Upon  the  tortures  of  the  mind  to  lie 
In  restless  ecstacy, — 

that  the  spirits  of  his  dead  ancestors  appeared  and  urged  him  to  die  !  Then  came 
a  young  gentleman  who  was  visiting  at  the  house,  St.  Albans;  he  walked  forth  into 
the  orchard;  he  stumbled  over  Bacon's  body;  he  thought  at  first  it  was  a  dead 
deer:  — 

523— 79  (73:1)=444.     588—444=144+1=145.  145  72:2  deer. 

When  he  found  it  was  a  man,  he  drew  his  sword,  in  great  terror,  and  asked  who  it 
was,  and  what  he  was  doing  there,  and  finally  ran  to  the  house  and  returned,  fol- 
lowed by  Harry  Percy  and  the  whole  household,  who  came  running.  Then  we  have 
Bacon  resolving  to  keep  quiet  and  counterfeit  death,  so  as  to  allow  the  deadly  drug, 


87 2  THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 

"  which  like  a  poisonous  mineral  doth  gnaw  the  inwards,"  to  do  its  complete  work; 
rejoicing  to  think  that  in  a  little  while  he  will  be  beyond  the  reach  of  Cecil's  envy 
and  the  Queen's  fury.  Then  we  have  the  recognition,  by  Percy,  that  it  is  "our 
young  master;  "  and  the  lifting  up  of  the  body,  and  the  carrying  of  it  to  the  house 
and  to  his  room: 

Page  and 
Word.      Column. 

505—79=426—1  h  (79)— 425— 406=19.  19  72:2         room. 

Then  follows  the  wiping  the  blood  from  his  face;  the  undressing  of  him, — 
taking  off  "  his  satin  cloak  and  silken  slops; "  the  sending  for  the  doctor,  — 

505—50=455.  455        76:1      doctor,— 

who  was  the  village  apothecary,  a  Mr.  Moore;  then  the  discussion  of  the  family 
as  to  what  was  the  matter,  some  thinking  he  had  fought  a  duel,  others  that  he  had 
been  assailed  by  ruffians,  for  he  was  too  gentle,  it  was  said,  to  quarrel  with  any 
one.  Then  we  have  the  refusal  of  the  doctor  to  come,  because  the  young  man 
owed  him  a  large  bill  for  previous  services,  which  had  been  standing  for  some  time 
and  not  paid;  and  he  demanded  payment. 

And,  strange  to  say,  we  find  this  very  doctor's  bill  referred  to  in  a  letter  of 
Lady  Bacon  to  her  son  Anthony,  given  by  Hepworth  Dixon.1  She  says,  under 
date  of  June  15,  1596: 

Paying  Mr.  Moore's  bill  for  my  physic,  I  asked  him  whether  you  did  owe  any- 
thing for  physic  ?  He  said  he  had  not  reckoned  with  you  since  Michaelmas  last. 
Alas  !  Why  so  long?  say  I.  I  think  I  said  further  it  can  be  muted,  for  he  hath 
his  confections  from  strangers;  and  to  tell  you  truly,  I  bade  him  secretly  send  his 
bill,  which  he  seemed  loth,  but  at  my  pressing,  when  I  saw  it  came  to  above  xv  /. 
or  xvj  /.  If  it  had  been  but  vij  or  viij,  I  would  have  made  some  shift  to  pay.  I 
told  him  I  would  say  nothing  to  you  because  he  was  so  unwilling.  It  may  be  he 
would  take  half  willingly,  because  "  ready  money  made  always  a  cunning  apothe- 
cary," said  covetous  Morgan,  as  his  proverb. 

We  can  imagine  that  the  apothecary  was  incensed,  because  after  his  bill  had 
been  presented,  at  the  request  of  Lady  Ann  Bacon,  it  had  not  been  paid;  and 
that  months  had  rolled  by,  from  June,  1596,  until  the  events  occurred  which  are  nar- 
rated in  the  Cipher  —  that  is  to  say,  until  as  I  suppose,  the  spring  of  1597;  and 
hence  the  heat  of  the  man  of  drugs  and  his  refusal  to  attend.  The  apothecary  was 
probably  the  only  substitute  for  a  doctor  possessed  by  the  village  of  St.  Albans 
at  that  time. 

And  here  we  have  another  little  illustration  of  the  cunning  of  the  work. 
Where  the  doctor  said  that  they  "owed"  him  money,  the  text  is  twisted  to  get  in 
the  word  thus  :     Falstaff  says  to  the  page: 

Sirra,  you  giant,  what  says  the  doctor  to  my  water  ? 
Page.     He  said,  sir,  the  water  itself  was  a  good   healthy  water;  but  for  the 
party  that  owned  it,  he  might  have  more  diseases  than  he  knew  for. 

This  is  the  way  it  is  found  in  the  standard  editions;  but  if  the  reader  will  turn 
to  my  facsimiles  he  will  find  the  word  07vned  printed  owd.  In  this  way,  Bacon 
got  in  the  doctor's  statement  in  the  Cipher  story,  by  misspelling  a  word  in  the 
text. 

But  Bacon's  aunt,  Lady  Burleigh,  sister  to  his  mother,  and  mother  of  his  per- 
secutor, Cecil,  overheard  the  servants  report  that  the  doctor  would  not  come  unless 

1  Personal  History  of  Lord  Bacon,  page  391. 


FRAGMENTS.  873 

his  bill  was  paid,  and  she   secretly  gave   the   servant  the  money  to  pay  it.     And 
observe,  again,  how  cunningly  the  word  aunt  is  hidden  in  the  text: 

Page  and 
Word.       Column. 

505— 145  (76:2)=360.  360        77:1  aunt 

But  it  is  not  spelled  aunt,  but  ant,  to-wit,  and  it. 

Now,  if  the  reader  will  examine  the  text  of  the  play,  he  will  find  that  and  it  is 
usually  printed,  where  it  is  condensed  into  one  word,  asand't.  See  the  485th  word, 
76:2.  ' 

And  Essex  had  arrived  to  warn  Bacon  of  his  danger,  and  he  observed  that  the 
doctor  did  not  come  when  he  was  first  sent  for,  and  he  rebuked  him  fiercely,  and 
threatened  to  have  his  ears  cut  off;  and  the  doctor  answered  with  considerable  spirit, 
under  cover  of  the  retorts  of  Falstaff  to  the  Chief  Justice's  servants.  See  upper 
part  of  77:1. 

Then  we  have  the  voluble  doctor's  declaration  that  Bacon's  troubles  were  due 
to  overstudy  and  perturbation  of  the  brain,  and  were  in  the  nature  of  an  apoplectic 
fit;  and  he  prescribed  for  him.  In  the  meantime,  Bacon  suffered  terribly  from  the 
effects  of  the  poison,  and,  as  he  had  taken  a  double  dose,  his  stomach  rejected  it, 
and  his  life  was  thereby  saved. 

Then  we  have  the  story  of  Harry  Percy  being  sent  in  disguise  to  Stratford.  I 
have  worked  out  enough  of  it  to  make  a  story  as  long  as  all  the  Cipher  narrative  thus 
far  given  in  these  pages. 

Percy's  rapid  journey,  his  arrival,  his  demand  to  speak  at  once  with  Shakspere; 
the  difficulties  in  the  way.  At  last,  he  is  shown  up  into  the  bed-room;  the  windows 
are  all  closed,  according  to  the  medical  treatment  of  that  age;  and  Shakspere  is 
sweltering  in  a  fur-trimmed  cloak.  Here  we  have  a  full  and  painful  and  precise 
description  of  his  appearance,  very  much  emaciated  from  the  terrible  disorder 
which  possessed  him.  Percy  told  him  the  news  and  urged  him  to  fly.  Shakspere 
refused.  Percy  saw  that  Shakspere  intended  to  promptly  confess  and  deliver  up 
"  Master  Francis,"  and  save  himself.  Percy  was  prepared  for  such  a  contingency, 
and  told  him  that  the  man  who  was  the  ostensible  author  would  suffer  death  with  the 
real  author;  and  he  asks  him :  Did  you  not  share  in  the  profits ;  did  you  not  strut  about 
London  and  claim  the  Plays  as  yours,  and  did  you  not  instruct  the  actor  who  played 
Richard  II.  to  imitate  the  peculiarities  of  gesture  and  speech  of  the  Queen,  so  as  to 
point  the  moral  of  the  play:  that  she  was  as  deserving  of  deposition  as  King  Richard  ? 
("  Know  you  not, ' '  said  the  Queen  to  Lambarde,  * '  that  I  am  Richard  the  Second  ! ' ') 
And  do  you  think,  said  Percy,  that  the  man  who  did  all  this  can  escape  punish- 
ment? When  Shakspere  saw,  as  he  thought,  that  he  could  not  save  himself  by 
betraying  Bacon,  he  at  last  consented  to  fly.  Then  followed  a  stormy  scene.  Mrs. 
Shakspere  hung  upon  her  husband's  neck  and  wept;  his  sister,  Mrs.  Hart,  bawled; 
her  children  howled,  and  the  brother  Gilbert,  who  was  drunk,  commenced  an  assault 
on  Harry  Percy,  and  drew  a  rusty  old  sword  on  him.  Harry  picked  up  a  bung- 
mallet,  and  knocked  him  down,  and  threw  him  down  stairs  into  the  malt  cellar. 
Then  bedlam  was  let  loose.  In  the  midst  of  the  uproar  entered  Susannah,  who  at 
once  calmed  the  tempest.  Harry  was  astonished  at  her  beauty  and  good  sense. 
He  wonders  how  "  so  sweet  a  blossom  could  grow  from  so  corrupt  a  root."  We 
have  a  long  description  of  her.  She  put  the  children  to  bed,  and  when  she  had 
heard  Percy's  story  she  advised  her  father  to  fly.  He  commenced  to  talk  about 
his  family,  and  how  well  he  stood  with  his  neighbors,  for  that  question  of  gentility 
was  his  weak  point.  She  replied,  very  sensibly,  that  they  owed  their  neighbors 
no   obligations,    and   need   care   nothing   for   what    they  said    or    thought.     And 


874  THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 

Percy  advised  that  they  tell  the  neighbors  that  the  Queen  had  sent  for  him 
to  prepare  a  play  for  some  approaching  marriage  at  court.  Mrs.  Shakspere 
still  wept  and  clung  to  him,  and  said  she  would  "  never  see  her  dear  hus- 
band again;"  that  he  was  too  sick  to  travel,  etc.  To  all  this  Percy  replied  that 
a  sea- voyage  and  change  of  scene  and  air  were  the  best  remedies  for  his  sickness; 
that  they  would  go  to  Holland  and  from  there  to  France,  and  that  "  Master  Fran- 
cis" was  acquainted  with  the  family  of  De  la  Montaigne,  and  they  could  visit  there; 
and  in  the  meantime  that  Essex  would,  as  soon  as  the  Queen's  rage  had  subsided, 
intercede  for  him,  and  he  would  thus  be  able  to  come  back  improved  in  health  to 
the  enjoyment  of  his  wealth;  while  if  he  stayed  he  would  forfeit  both  life  and  fortune. 
And  Percy  said  he  had  a  friend,  a  Captain  Grant,  who  was  about  to  marry  a  rela- 
tive of  his;  his  ship  was  then  unloading  at  London,  and  they  would  have  time  to 
get  to  London  before  it  was  ready  to  sail.  They  would  go  twenty  miles  a  day 
across  the  country,  and  hide  in  the  vicinity  of  St.  Albans,  with  some  friends  of 
Percy's,  and  thence  work  their  way  to  London  in  the  night;  that  when  the  posts 
found  he  had  fled  they  would  naturally  think  he  had  gone  northward  to  Wales  or 
Scotland;  they  would  not  look  for  him  near  St.  Albans  or  London.  And  Percy 
suggested  that  Shakspere  tell  Captain  Grant,  to  account  for  his  secret  flight,  that 
he  was  an  unmarried  man,  and  that  he  had  fallen  into  some  trouble  with  a  young 
woman;  that  a  child  was  about  to  be  born  and  that  he  was  leaving  the  country  on 
that  account.  The  night  was  stormy  and  dark,  and  the  roads  muddy,  and  there 
would  be  none  abroad  to  notice  their  flight. 

Convinced  by  all  these  arguments,  Shakspere  told  his  wife  to  get  some  supper 
ready  and  to  bring  him  an  old  suit  of  leather  jerkins,  etc.,  which  he  had  worn  when 
a  butcher's  'prentice,  and  he  proceeded  to  array  himself  in  these. 

Then  follows,  with  great  detail,  a  description  of  the  supper,  served  by  the 
handsome  Susannah;  and  every  article  of  food  is  given,  much  of  it  coarse  and  in 
poor  condition;  and  Percy  is  vehement  in  his  description  and  denunciation  of  the 
very  poor  quality  of  the  wine,  which  was  far  inferior  to  the  kind  that  wras  served 
at  his  spendthrift  master's  table. 

I  only  touch  upon  the  salient  points  of  the  narrative.  We  have  all  the  conver- 
sations given  in  detail,  and  with  the  graphic  power  that  might  be  expected  from 
such  a  writer. 

I  have  progressed  far  enough  beyond  this  point  to  see  that  Shakspere  went 
to  sea.  Turn  to  page  85  of  the  facsimiles,  and  in  the  first  column  we  have  tempest, 
commotion,  vapor,  captains,  etc.,  while  in  the  second  column  of  the  same  page  the 
reader  will  find  high  and  giddy  mast,  ship,  surge,  winds,  monstrous  billows,  slippery, 
clouds,  hurley,  sea,  sea,  ocean,  Neptutie;  while  on  page  82,  column  2,  we  have  vessel* 
vessel,  vessel,  marchanfs  venture,  Burdeaux-stuff,  hold  (of  a  ship),  hogs-head,  etc.; 
in  83:2  we  have  Captain,  several  times  repeated,  and  in  82:2  we  have  grant, 
two  or  three  times.  The  story  of  the  brawl  is  told  on  pages  83  and  84;  in 
85:1  we  have  Percy's  description  of  how  he  overtook  and  outrode  the  scouts," 
concealed  in  the  lines: 

I  met  and  over-tooke  a  dozen  captains, 
Bare-headed,  sweating,  knocking  at  the  taverns 
And  asking  every  one  for  Sir  John  Falstaffe. 

For  the  description  of  the  supper,  we  have  (82:1)  dish,  apple-Johns;  (82:2)  cana- 
ries —  wine  — pike  —  dry  toasts;  (83 : 1)  ancient  —  mouldy  —  dried  —  cakes;  stezaed- 
prunes  —  bottle-ale  —  cup  —  sack;  (84 : 1 )  bread —  m ustard;  (84 : 2)  bread —  kitchen  —  roast 
— fat;  (85:1)  joint  of  mutton.  Here  are  all  the  essentials  of  a  supper,  and  yet 
there  is  no  supper  described  in   the  text.     And  we  have  just   seen   that  we  have 


FRAGMENTS.  875 

(85:1,  85:2  and  82:2)  all  the  words  to  describe  a  sea-voyage  and  a  tempest  on  the 
ocean,  and  yet  there  is  no  sea-scene  in  the  play. 

And  here  is  another  evidence  of  the  Cipher,  and  of  the  microscopic  character 
of  the  work.  I  showed  some  time  since  that  on  page  83  the  184th  word  was 
shake,  and  that  it  is  forced  into  the  text;  because  Dame  Quickly,  who  had,  in  a  pre- 
ceding scene  in  the  same  act,  threatened  to  throw  the  corpulent  Sir  John  Falstaff  into 
the  channel,  and  who  did  not  fear  his  thrust,  is  now  so  terrified,  by  the  mere 
approach  of  a  swaggerer,  that  she  says,  "  Feel,  masters,  how  I  shake."  This  is 
the  first  part  of  the  name  of  Shakspere.  Where  is  the  rest  of  the  name?  It  is  on 
the  same  page,  in  the  next  column,  and  yet  it  will  puzzle  my  readers  to  find  it. 
Let  them  attempt  it.  And  here  I  would  observe  that  Bacon  avoids  putting  Shake 
and  jr/d'ar  near  each  other,  lest  it  might  create  suspicion.  Hence,  where  we  have 
shak' st,  we  find  near  at  hand  spur;  where  we  have  sphere  (pronounced  then  spere) 
we  have  close  at  hand  not  Shake  but  Jack,  pronounced  shack.  And  so  here,  where 
we  have  shake,  the  last  syllable  is  most  cunningly  concealed  in  the  Italian  quota- 
tion of  Pistol:  Si  fortune  me  tormente,  sperato  me  contente.  Now,  in  the  Folio  there 
is  a  hair  space  between  sper  and  ato;  and  this  gives  us  the  necessary  syllable  to 
make  the  "  Shake"  Shake-sper.  But  the  distinction  is  so  minute  that  when  Lionel 
Booth  made  his  literal  copy  of  the  Folio  of  1623,  the  printers,  while  they  faithfully 
followed  every  detail  of  capitalization,  spelling,  pronunciation,  etc.,  of  the  original 
Folio,  missed  this  point  and  printed  the  word  as  sperato.  And  in  the  very  last  scene 
of  the  play,  page  100,  Pistol  repeats  his  quotation,  in  a  different  form:  Si  fort  una 
me  tormento  sper  a  me  contento.  Here  again  we  have  sper  separated  from  a.  And 
note  the  different  spelling:  in  the  first  instance  fortune  serves  in  the  Cipher  story 
for  fortune,  the  name  of  the  Fortune  theater;  tormente  is  used  for  torment;  and  con- 
tente ior  content;  but  m  the.  other  instance,  we  have  "fortune,"  "torments,"  and 
"contents,"  because  the  Cipher  grew  less  intricate  as  the  end  of  the  play 
approached,  and  there  was  no  necessity  for  the  words  to  do  double  duty,  as  in  the 
former  instance. 

And  here  I  would  note  another  point.  Falstaff  says,  "Throw  the  quean  in  the 
channel;"  and  some  of  the  commentators  have  changed  this  word,  because  there  was 
no  channel  a.t  or  near  London,  and  the  scene  of  Falstaff 's  arrest  is  clearly  placed  in 
London.  What  does  it  mean?  The  Cipher  is  telling  something  about  the  English 
Channel;  and  hence  this  violation  of  the  geographical  unities.  In  the  same  way  it 
will  be  found  that  the  sea-coast  of  Bohemia,  Machiavel,  in  1st  and  jd  Henry  J' I., 
and  Aristotle,  in  Troilus  and  Cressida,  are  to  be  accounted  for:  they  were  necessi- 
ties of  the  Cipher  narrative,  and  the  congruities  of  time  and  p>ace  had  to  give  way 
to  its  requirements.  The  correctness  of  the  inside  story  was  more  important,  in 
the  mind  of  the  author,  than -the  proprieties  of  the  external  play. 

If  the  reader  will  turn  to  page  56  he  will  see  how  adroitly  the  name  of  the 
Spanish  city  of  Cadiz,  the  scene  of  an  English  invasion,  is  worked  into  the  text. 
The  Prince  is  talking  nonsense  to  the  drawer,  Francis,  and  he  says: 

Wilt  thou  rob  this  Leatherne-jerkin,  Christall  button,  Not-plated,  Agat  ring, 
Puke  stocking,  Caddice  garter,  Smooth  tongue,  Spanish  pouch  ?  , 

And  the  boy  very  naturally  exclaims:     "  O  Lord,  sir,  who  do  you  mean  ?" 
Yet  here,  in  this  rambling  nonsense,  Caddice  conceals  Cadiz,  and  four  words 
distant  we   have   Spanish — and  Cadiz  was  a  Spanish  town.     In  that  incoherent  "^ 
jumble  of  words  were  probably  grouped  together  the  tail-ends  of  half  a  dozen  dif- 
ferent parts  of  the  Cipher  story.     The  wonder  of  the  world  will  never  cease  when 
all  this  Cipher  narrative  is  worked  out;  it  will  be  indeed  — 


876  THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 

"  The  life-long  wonder  and  astonishment  " 

of  mankind  for  thousands  of  years  to  come. 

It  is  not,  of  course,  possible  for  me  to  prove  the  truth  of  my  statements  as  to 
the  foregoing  Cipher  narrative  in  this  volume;  but  I  hope  to  follow  this  work 
with  another,  in  which  I  shall  give  the  story  in  detail,  and  even  follow  the  sick 
Shakspere  across  the  sea.  While  Cecil  could  not  prove  his  case  against  Bacon 
without  the  testimony  of  Shakspere,  it  must  have  been  apparent  to  the  Queen  that 
the  actor  had  received  warning  of  his  danger  from  some  one  about  the  court;  and 
it  might  have  been  that  facts  enough  came  out  to  satisfy  the  Queen  of  Bacon's 
guilt;  and  hence  his  inability  to  rise  to  any  office  of  great  trust  during  Elizabeth's 
reign. 

But  I  will  give  one  little  specimen  which  is  most  significant,  and  may  be  clearer 
to  the  reader  because  of  its  simplicity.  In  most  cases  the  scenes  are  divided  up 
into  fragments  by  the  stage  directions,  and  these  fragments  complicate  the  working 
of  the  Cipher;  but  here  the  entire  scene  is  but  a  column  in  length,  about  one-half 
of  it  being  in  81:2,  and  the  remainder  in  the  next  column,  82:1.  The  sentence  I 
give  is:  Harry  at  length  persuaded  him  to  fly.  This  significant  collocation  of  words 
refers  to  Harry  Percy,  after  a  long  discussion,  persuading  Shakspere  to  fly  the 
country  —  the  very  flight  referred  to  by  Coke,  in  his  allusion  to  clapping  a  capias 
utlagatum  on  Bacon's  back,  some  years  afterward. 

The  Cipher  number  is  505.  It  commences  to  count  from  the  upper  section  of 
73:2,  containing  2g  words;  therefore,  505 — 29=476;  and  the  number  here  used  is 
476.  And  here  we  perceive  the  subtlety  of  the  Cipher:  If  any  one  thought  he 
saw  on  pages  81  and  82  traces  of  a  Cipher,  he  would  naturally  look  for  the  key- 
number  on  or  near  those  pages;  he  would  not  think  of  going  back  to  the  end  of  a 
preceding  play,  1st  Henry  IV. ,  to  find  the  first  modifier  of  a  number  obtained  from 
the  first  page  of  2d  Henry  IV.  But  here  we  have  the  Cipher  contained  on  pages 
•81  and  82  revealed  by  a  number  growing  out  of  pages  73  and  74,  eight  or  nine 
pages  distant. 

Now  this  little  scene  of  one  column  (scene  3,  act  ii,  2d  Henry  IV.)  is  literally 
packed  with  Cipher  words.     I  give  only  a  fragment. 

First  we  have  : 

505—29=476. 

But  I  stated  in  the  chapters  in  which  I  explained  the  Cipher  rule  that  the 
second  group  of  modifiers  was  found  in  73:1,  and  that  they  consisted  of  27  or  28, 
62  or  63,  90  and  79,  and  141  or  142.  Here  we  have  in  this  brief  sentence  of  seven 
words  these  modifiers :     28  —  62  —  90. 

If  we  deduct  28  from  476  we  have  448;  if  we  deduct  from  it  62  we  have  414; 
if  we  deduct  from  it  90,  we  have  386.  Now,  if  these  numbers,  carried  to  a  part  of 
the  play  eight  pages  distant  from  where  they  are  obtained,  produce  a  perfectly 
coherent  sentence,  no  one  but  an  individual  lacking  in  the  ordinary  faculties  of  the 
human  mind  can  believe  that  it  is  accidental. 

Here,  then,  we  have  the  sentence: 

476—28=448—234  (81:2)=214. 

83+9  b  &  *— 93. 
476—62=414—134  (82:1)=280. 
476—28=448—234  (81:2)=214. 
476—62=414—296  (82:1)=118. 
476—90=386—296  (82:1)=90. 


296—214=82+1= 

Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

420—280=140+1= 

92 
141 

82:1 
81:2 

Harry 
at 

186+118=304. 
420—90=330+1= 

214 
304 
331 

82:1 
81:2 
81:2 

length 

persuaded 

him 

FRAGMENTS. 


877 


Word . 

Page  and 
Column. 

118 

81:2 

to 

145 

82:1 

fly. 

476-62=414—296  (82:1)=118. 
476—90=386—234  (81 :2)=1 52 .     296—1 52=144 + 1= 

And  note  that  the  first  formula  above,  476 — 28=448 — 234,  carried  up  from  the 
end  of  the  scene,  gives  us  the  83d  word  (82:1),  which  is  Marshal,  and  here  is  its 
associate,  Knight — the  "  Knight  Marshal  "  was  one  of  the  officers  of  the  court: 


476— 28=448— 186  (81 :2)=262.  262 

476— 28=448— 234  (81 :2)=214.     296—214=82+1=       83 


81:2        Knight 
82:1       Marshal. 


But  to  make  the  first  sentence  plainer  I  give  the  following  diagram,  showing 
the  precise  and  regular  movement  of  the  four  words  —  Harry  at  length  persuaded: 


Col.  2,  p.  81 , 


^_Col._i,  p.\82 


'ix      \   I 

1  Harry  \     \ 

1    f      \    1 

S    '  1   V  J 

1  / len^ 

8*  1           1 

\/ 

^              1 

A 

"E  Scene  4 

i     J 

T       ' 

V     / 

Or  take  the  words  Knight  Marshal: 


Col.  1,  p.  81.  ^ — .x    Col.  2,  p.  81 


p.  82. 


IMarshal 

I 

I 

I 

/ 


Scene  4 


Those  words  —  Harry  at  length  persuaded  - 
of  a  Cipher  in  the  Plays. 
They  stand  thus: 

476—28= 
476—62= 

476—28= 
476—62= 

But  observe  the  movement  of  them: 


ought  alone  to  settle  the  question 


Harry 

at 

length 

persuaded. 


^   Of  TMt 


*T 


^HlVERS^y 


or 


878  THE  CIPHER  NA RRA  TIVE. 

476 — 28.  Commence  beginning  scene  3,  down,  Harry 

476 — 62  "            end  scene  3,  «/,  at 

476 — 28  "            beginning  scene  3,  dozun,  iength 

476 — 62  "            end  scene  3,  up,  persuaded. 

But  everywhere  you  touch  with  these  numbers  in  this  vicinity  you  bring  out 
significant  words.  For  instance,  476 — 90  gave  us  386  (which  yielded  him  and  fly). 
But  the  same  go  (386 — 296=90),  which,  carried  up  81:2,  gave  us  him,  carried  down 
the  same  column  gives  us  go  (90,  81:2),  a  word  naturally  connected  with  "per- 
suaded him  to  fly; "  and  carried  up  from  the  end  of  the  break  in  the  same  column 
the  same  90  gives  us  rode;  and  the  same  476 — 28=448,  carried  through  that  same 
first  section  of  81:2,  leaves  262,  and  this,  carried  through  the  second  section  of  82:1 
and  down  82:2,  plus  the  brackets,  gives  us  muddy  ("  muddy  roads  ");  and  the  same 
90  taken  downward  from  the  end  of  first  section  of  81:2  yields  vow  (the  road  is  now 
muddy);  and  if  we  deduct  from  476,  instead  of  90,  its  co-modifier,  79,  we  have  left 
397;  and  if  we  commence  at  the  beginning  of  scene  third,  as  before,  and  count 
down  and  then  up  from  the  end  of  the  scene,  as  in  the  other  instances,  we  get  the 
word  seek  (the  Knight  Marshal  comes  to  seek  you): 

Page  and 
Word.      Column. 

476—79=397—234=163.     296—163=133+1=134        134.         82:1  seek. 

And  this  same  163,  down  tew,  plus  the  brackets,  is  armed  (the  armed  soldiers 
with  the  Knight  Marshal). 

And  here  we  have  the  drunken  brother  alluded  to.  We  saw  that  505 — 29=476 
— 28=448  produced,  less  the  fragments  in  81:2,  Harry,  length,  muddy,  etc.  Now, 
if,  instead  of  counting  from  the  beginning  of  scene  third  downward,  through  234 
words,  we  count  upward,  through  186  words,  counting  in  that  first  word  (for  this 
part  of  the  narrative  belongs  to  the  third  scene),  we  have  the  following: 

476—28=448—186=262.                                                   262  82:1  A 
476—28=448—234=214—133  (82:1)=81.     425—81= 

344+ 1^345.                                                               345  82:2  swaggering 

476—28=448—186=262—134  (82:1)=128— 5  k  (134)=  123  82:2  rascal. 

Here  the  214  which  produces  swaggering  is  the  same  root-number  that  produced 
length  —  "  Harry  at  length  persuaded,"  etc.  And  here  we  have  the  statement  that 
he  was  drunk,  growing  out  of  the  same  414  which  gave  us  persuaded: 

476— 62=414— 234=180— 134  (82:1)=46— 5 // (134)=      41  82:2  drunk. 

And  so  I  might  go  on  for  another  volume. 

Here  we  have  Shakspere's  sister  alluded  to:  Mistress  Hart  —  see  word  136,  82:2, 
and  word  78,  82:2;  and  again  in  Hart-de  ere -Harry,  282,  81.2;  and  just  as  we 
found  the  dear  in  this  triple  hyphenation  spelled  deere,  because  in  the  Cipher  story 
it  referred  to  a  deer,  so  we  even  have  heart  misspelled,  to  give  us  the  correct  spell- 
ing of  Shakspere's  sister's  name.      Here  we  have  it:  273,  80:2,  hart  ! 

And  here,  growing  out  of  the  same  root-number,  448,  we  have  St.  Albans: 

476— 28=448— 134  (82:1)=314.     420—314=106+1=    107  81:2     St.  Albans. 

And  if  we  count  in  the  nine  brackets  in  the  column  below  St.  Albans,  we  have 
the  word  bestow;  and  if  we  count  in  both  brackets  and  hyphens  we  have  night; 
and  if  we  take  414  (476 — 62=414),  which  we  have  seen  to  alternate  with  448,  up 
82:1,  plus  the  brackets,  it  brings  us  to  second;  thus: 

476—  28=448— 297  (82:1)— 151.  151  82:2  The 


FRAGMENTS. 


879 


476—62=414.     430  (82:1) — 414=16+1=17+9  b  col. 
476—28=448—134=314.     420  (81 :2)— 314=106  + 1= 
107+12  b&  h=119. 

And  here  we  have: 


Word. 
=  26 

119 


169 


Page  and 
Column. 

82:1 

81:2 

81:2 
8^:1 

81:2 


second 
night 

shall 
bestow 

at 


82:1     St.  Albans. 


476—28=448—430  (82:1)=18.     186—18=168+1= 
476—28=448—134  (82:1)=314.     420-314=106+1= 

107+9  <5col.=116.  116 

The  second  night  we  shall  bestow  ourselves  at  St.  Albans. 

476—28=448—297  (82:1)=151— 9/.  (297)=142- 

\b  col.  =141.  141 

476— 28=448— 134  (82: 1)=314.    420—314=106+1=    107 

Here  the  number  448  parts  at  the  stage  direction  in  82:1,  and  carried  up,  back- 
ward and  down,  it  produces  at,  while  carried  down,  backward  and  up,  it  produces 
St.  Albans .' 

And  observe  how  cunningly  that  at  is  made  to  do  double  duty,  first  in  the  sen- 
tence, Harry  at  length  persuaded,  etc.,  and  then  in  the  above: 

476— 62=414— 134  (82:1)=280.     420—280=140+1=   141  81:2  at 

476—28=448—297  (82:1)=151— 9  b  (297)=142— 

l^col.=141.  141  81:2  at 

Think  of  the  infinite  adjustments  in  every  part  of  this  text,  any  one  of  which 
failing  would  destroy  much  of  the  Cipher  narrative  ! 

And  here,  again,  we  have,  out  of  the  same  root-numbers,   The  Merry  Wives  of 

Windsor: 

476—62=414—26  (85:l>=388+50  (84:1)=438. 
476—28=448—186  (81 :2)=262— 57=205— 186  (81:2) 

=19— l/zcol.=18. 
476—62=414—186  (81:2)=228— 31  (79:1)=197— 

±b&  h  col.  =193. 


438 

84:1 

Merry 

18 

81:1 

Wives 

193 

79:2 

Windsor. 

And  here  we  have: 


476—62=414—234(81:2) 

—123=62+1=63. 
476—28=448—186  (81 :2)=262. 

+1=72+12  £  &  h  col.=84 


180—57  (80:1)=123.     185 
333  (85:1)— 262=71 


84 


81:2 


85:1 


Master 


Francis. 


The  word  Francis  occurs  in  the  Folio  fifteen  times;  Francisco  twice;  Francois 
once;  and  Frank  ten  times;  or  twenty-eight  in  all.  It  is  probable  that  Bacon  often 
refers  to  himself  under  the  disguise  of  France-is.  France  fills  up  nearly  three  col- 
umns of  Mrs.  Clarke's  Concordance,  and  is  found  in  twenty  of  the  Plays;  even  in 
plays  like  The  Merry  Wives,  the  Merchant  of  Venice,  the  Comedy  of  Errors,  and 
Hamlet,  where  we  would  not  naturally  expect  to  meet  it. 
iii,  scene  1,  the  word  Francis  is  dragged  in  very  oddly: 


In  Love's  Labor  Lost,  act 


Armado.     Sirra  Costard,  I  will  infranchise  thee. 

Clown.     O  marry  me  to  one  Francis.     I  smell  some  Lenvoy,  some  goose  in  this. 

Here  infranchise  is  introduced  to  make  a   foundation   for  a  pun  on  Francis. 
But,  as  Costard  is  a  man,  he  could  not  marry  a  man,  and  the  word  should  be 


880  THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 

Frances,  and  so  it  is  printed  in  the   ordinary  editions  of  to-day;  but  in  the  Folio  of 
1623  it  is  Francis  !     And  in  the  same  play  we  have,  act  v,  scene  1: 

Pedant.     Pa,  pueritia,  with  a  horn  added. 
Page.     Ba,  most  seely  sheepe,  with  a  horn. 

There  is  little  meaning  and  no  wit  in  this;  but  the  word  can  added  to  Ba,  with 
the  broad  pronunciation  of  that  age,  would  give  us,  with  the  misspelled  Frances, 
the  whole  name:  Francis  Ba-con. 

But  let  us  pass  away  from  these  examples  and  this  part  of  2d  Henry  IV.,  and 
go  backward,  twenty-six  columns,  to  act  v,  scene  1,  of  1st  Hetuy  IV.,  and  see  if 
the  text  there  also  responds  to  the  magical  influence  of  these  same  Cipher  num- 
bers. Some  may  say  that  I  have  shown  nothing  in  the  Cipher  narrative  that  asserts 
that  Francis  Bacon  wrote  the  Plays.  True;  and  that  is  one  of  the  proofs  of  the 
reality  of  the  work  I  have  performed.  If  I  had  wrought  out  only  such  sentences 
as  I  desired,  I  would  probably  in  the  beginning  have  constructed  a  sentence  directly 
making  the  claim  that  "  /,  Francis  Bacon,  of  St.  Albans,  son  of  the  late  Lord  Chan- 
cellor Nicholas  Bacon,  wrote  the  so-called  Shakespeare  Plays."  But  I  could  not  find 
what  is  not  in  the  text;  and  I  doubt  if  any  such  direct  and  distinct  assertion  of 
authorship  is  made;  nor  would  it  be  natural,  when  one  thinks  it  over,  that  it  should 
be  made;  for  if  Bacon  proceeds  to  give,  in  a  long  narrative,  the  history  of  his  life, 
he  would  advance,  step  by  step,  from  his  youth  upward;  we  should  hear  of  his 
first  essays  in  poetry;  then  of  his  first  attempts  at  dramatic  writing;  then  of  his 
acquaintance  with  Shakspere;  then  the  history  of  a  particular  play;  and  so  the 
narrative  would  advance  without  any  sign-board  declaration  of  the  kind  supposed 
above.  But  I  have  shown  enough  to  satisfy  any  one  that  Shakspere  did  not  write 
the  Plays;  and  I  have  also  shown  that  the  man  who  did  write  them  was  a  certain 
Master  Francis,  a  cousin  of  Cecil,  and  that  his  father's  name  was  Sir  Nicholas;  that 
he  resided  at  St.  Albans.  But  here  we  have  a  reference  to  my  uncle  Burly,  which 
still  further  serves  to  identify  the  mysterious  voice  which  is  talking  to  us  out  of 
these  arithmetical  adjustments,  as  the  voice  of  the  great  Francis  Bacon.  And  it 
comes  from  another  part  of  the  text,  showing  that  the  Cipher  is  everywhere;  and 
it  responds,  not  to  505,  like  the  sentences  I  have  just  been  giving,  but  to  another 
Cipher  number,  523. 

Let  us  commence  with  523  at  the  beginning  of  scene  2,  act  i,  1st  Henry  IV., 
page  70,  column  1.  From  the  first  word,  inclusive,  of  the  scene,  upward,  we  have 
in  the  column  341  words:  deduct  341  from  523.  and  we  have  182  left;  carry  this  up 
the  preceding  column,  and  it  brings  us  to  the  word  burly: 

Which  gape  and  rub  the  elbow  at  the  news 
Of  hurly  burly  innovation. 

Why  are  these  words  not  united  by  a  hyphen,  as  are  water-coloiirs,  two  lines 
below  them  ? 

Now,  if  we  take  that  root-number  523  again,  and  commence  at  the  same  point, 
but  count  down  the  column,  instead  of  up,  as  in  the  last  sentence,  we  pass  through 
138  words;  and  theee  deducted  from  523  leave  385;  now  deduct  the  common  modi- 
ifier,  30(74:2),  and  we  have  355.  Now,  instead  of  going  up  69:2,  let  us  carry  this 
355  to  the  end  of  the  first  section  of  scene  1,  act  i,  69:1,  and  go  upward;  there  are 
179  words*  from  the  end  of  that  section  to  the  top  of  the  column;  179  deducted 
from  355  leaves  176,  and  176  carried  down  the  preceding  column  (68:2)  is  uncle. 
But  if  we  count  from  the  top  of  the  second  section  of  act  i,  scene  r,  we  have  180 
words,  and  this  deducted  from  355  leaves  175,  which  gives  us  the  word  my.  Here 
we  have  the  words  my  uncle;  and,  growing  out  of  precisely  the  same  root-number^ 
we  have  the  word  Burly,  by  a  different  count  from  that  just  given: 


Page  and 
Column. 

Word. 

175 

68:2 

My 

176 

68:2 

uncle 

323 

69:2 

Burly. 

FRAGMENTS.  88 1 


523—138  (70:1)=385— 30  (74:2)=355— 180  (69:1)= 
523—138=385—30=355—1 79  (69 : 1  )=  1 76. 
523— 138=385— 60  (2d  §  79:1)=325— 2  h  col.— 

Or,  to  give  the  word  Burly,  as  at  first  stated,  we  have: 

23-341=182.    504—182=322+1=323.  323  69:2         Burly. 

Here  the  length  of  column  2  of  page  69  was  adjusted  to  the  fragments  of  70:1, 
so  that  523  would  produce  the  word  Burly  both  up  and  down  the  column  ! 

And  observe  how  singularly  this  word  uncle  appears  in  the  Plays.  It  is  found  but 
once  in  each  of  the  following  plays:  Merchant  of  Venice,  All's  Well,  Comedy  of 
Errors  and  Cymbeline  j  but  twice  in  each  of  the  following  plays:  Tempest,  Merry 
Wives,  Macbeth,  Romeo  and  Juliet  and  Othello;  while  it  is  altogether  absent 
from  The  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  Measure  for  Measure,  Love  s  Labor  Lost,  Mid- 
summer Night's  Dream,  The  Taming  of  the  Shrew,  Twelfth  Night,  The  Winters 
Tale,  Henry  VIII. ,  Coriolanus,  Timon  of  Athens,  Julius  Ciesar,  Lear  and  Anthony 
and  Cleopatra.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  found  eight  times  in  King  John,  twenty 
times  in  Richard  II.,  ten  times  in  1st  Henry  1 V.,  seventeen  times  in  Richard  III.,  and 
eleven  times  in  Troilus  and  Cressida.  But  while  found  ten  times  in  1st  Henry  IV.  and 
eight  times  in  Henry  V.,  it  does  not  occur  at  all  in  the  play  between  these, —  2d  Henry 
IV. !  There  is  no  reason  why  uncle  should  appear  eleven  times  in  the  Greek  play 
of  Troilus  and  Cressida,  and  not  at  all  in  that  other  Greek  play  of  Timon  of  Athens, 
or  in  the  Roman  plays  of  Coriolanus  and  Julius  Cesar,  or  why  it  should  be  found 
twenty  times  in  Richard  II.  and  not  at  all  in  Henry  VIII!  The  explanation  will 
be  found  to  be,  that  in  some  plays  Bacon  is  telling  the  history  of  his  youth,  with 
which  his  uncle  Burleigh  had  a  great  deal  to  do,  while  Lear,  Timon  of  Athens,  the 
Roman  plays,  Hen?yVIII,  etc.,  were  written  after  his  uncle's  death,  and  the  inter- 
nal story  does  not  relate  to  him,  while  the  more  youthful  and  joyoms  plays,  like  The 
Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona  and  Love's  Labor  Lost,  were  composed  before  the  dark 
shadow  of  his  kinsman's  hostility  fell  upon  his  life. 

And  here  is  another  significant  fact.  The  difference  between  the  first  Burly 
and  the  last  is  the  difference  of  deducting  the  modifier  30.  Now  let  us  take  the 
last  Burly  and  deduct  the  other  modifier  50,  that  is,  go  down  the  column  50  words, 
a~d  what  do  we  find  ?  Burly  is  the  323d  word,  69:2,  counting  up  the  column;  add 
50  to  323  and  we  have  373,  69:2,  and  the  373d  word  is  nephew ;  and  Bacon  was 
Burleigh's  nephew  !  Now  take  that  same  186  and  carry  it  through  the  first  section  of 
scene  1,  act  i,  69:1  ;  we  have  122  or  123  left,  accordingly  as  we  count  from  the  179th 
or  180th  word;  and  we  get  the  following  words: 

523—341=182—59=123.  123  69:2  Had 

202  (68:2)— 122=80+1=       81  68:2        sought 

202(68:2)— 123=79 -fl 

82  68:2  to 

202  (68:2)— 122=80+1 
=81+2  //=83.  83  68:2         intrap 

523— 341=182— 6  =422,     203  (68:2)— 122=81  +  1 

=82  +  2/^=84.  84  68:2  me. 

How?  By  excessive  and  extravagant  praises  of  the  Plays,  hoping  that  in  his 
pride  Bacon  would  admit  the  authorship.  The  accomplice  of  Burleigh  and  Cecil 
in  this  work  was  Sir  Walter  (Raleigh),  and  Sir  Walter  is  often  referred  to  in  the 
text.     Here  we  have  him: 


523- 

-341= 

=182- 

-60= 

=122. 

523- 

-341= 

=182- 

-59= 

=123. 

=80+2  h= 

=82. 

523—431= 

=182- 

-60= 

=122. 

Word. 

Page  and 

Column. 

205 

68:2 

Sir 

-201 

34 

68:1 

Walter. 

THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 


523—138  (70:l)=3o5— 180  (69:1)— 205. 
523—138  (70:1)=385— 30=355— 120  (69:1)=235- 

(68:2)=34. 

And  here  is  the  word  praise: 

523—138=385.  385  69:2         praise. 

And  the  play  they  especially  praised  was  The  Famous  Victories,  one  of  the 
early  plays,  here  alluded  to  simply  as  the  Victories.  And  the  same  root-num- 
ber, 123,  that  produced  sought  to  intrap  vie,  produces  also  Victories,  thus  : 

523—341  (70:1)— 182— 66  (69:1)=123.     202—123=79+1=80.     68:2      Victories. 

And  note  again,  that  while  523 — 138  (7o:i)=385,  and  this,  counting  from  the 
beginning  of  the  second  section  of  69:1,  produced  sir,  and  from  the  top  of  the  first 
section  of  69:1  produced  Walter,  that  from  the  end  of  the  first  section  of  69:1  it 
leaves  206,  and  this  less  the  modifier  30  is  176,  and  176  is  again  uncle. 

523—138=385—179=206—30=176.  176  68:2  uncle. 

And  I  could  go  on  and  on  ad  infinitum,  and  show  how  176  up  from  the  end  of  scene 
third  (68:2)  produces  King;  and  I  might  then  point  to  the  word  Richard's,  387,  69:1; 
deposed,  25,  68:2;  dtp  rived,  31,  68:2;  life,  35,  68:2;  purpose,  180,  68:2;  council-board, 
92,  68:2;  insurrection,  329,  69:2;  rebellion,  296,  69:2;  Sir  Walter,  147-8,  68:2,  and  a 
whole  host  of  most  significant  words,  every  one  of  which  has  its  Cipher  arithmet- 
ical arrangements.  And  here,  too,  is  told  the  story  of  the  sending  of  Percy  to 
Shakspere's  home.     There  are  283  words  in  scene  1,  act  i,  in  column  1,  page  69: 

505— 193  (75 :1)=312— 283=29.  29  69:2         home. 

And  here   we   have  the  word  strait  growing  out  of  precisely  the  same  root  as 
home: 
505— 193(75:1)=312— 59  (first  section,  act  v,  scene  1) 

=253—191  (68:2)=62.     458—62=396+1—397.       397  68:1         strait. 

And  we  saw  that  29,  carried  forward  to  69:2,  made  the  word  home,  but  carried 
backward  to  68:2  and  down  from  the  end  of  scene  third,  it  gives  us  directed,  thus: 

505—193=312—288=29+202=231.  231  68:2       directed. 

While  counting  in  the  four  hyphens  in  283  and  in  the  column  gives  us  227,  to; 
and  312 — 120  (from  top  of  act  v  to  top  of  column)=i92,  and  the  ig2d  word,  69:2,  is 
bird,  a  rare  word;  the  sentence  is:  directed  him  to  go  as  straight  as  a  bird  flies  to  his 
home;  and  312—59  again  =253,  less  the  two  hyphens  in  the  column,  gives  us  251 
(69:2),  as;  and  312 — 179  (from  end  section  1,  scene  1,  act  v,  up  to  top  of  column) 
gives  us  133;  and  133  up  the  next  preceding  column  (68:2)  gives  the  261st  word, 
a  {straight  as  a  bird);  and  then  we  have  the  word  indirect:  Percy  is  to  go  not  by  the 
indirect  ways,  but  straight  as  a  bird  flies,  etc. 

312—179=133.  133  68:2       indirect. 

And  312 — 180  (from  the  top  of  second  section,  act  v,  scene  1,  upward)  =  132, 
and  this  minus  50(74:2)  leaves  82,  and  this  carried  to  the  beginning  of  scene  4(68:2) 
and  downward  gives  us  understand  (82  +  202=284,  68:2),  while  83  (312 — 179= 
133 — 50=83)  carried  up  from  the  same  point  yields  the  120th  word,  safety:  to  let 
Shakspcre  understand  that  his  own  safety  requires  him  to  fly.  And  so  I  might  go 
on  and  work  out  another  volume  of  the  story  right  here. 


FRAGMENTS. 


S83 


And  now  let  us  turn  to  some  other  fragments,  for  I  desire  to  show  that  all  the 
Cipher  numbers,  505,  506,  513,  516  and  523,  applied  in  all  parts  of  the  text,  pro- 
duce coherent  narratives,  which  I  have  now  neither  the  space  nor  time  to  work  out 
in  full. 

Take  the  root-number  516  and  deduct  the  167  words  in  the  second  section  of 
74:2,  and  wre  have  349;  now  deduct  the  22  b  &  //  in  167,  and  we  have  327. 

And  here  we  have  a  fragment  of  the  statement  of  Cecil  to  the  Queen,  to-wit, 
that,  suspecting  the  real  authorship  of  the  Plays,  the  Earl  of  Shrewsbury  went  to  the 
Curtain  (286,  75:1)  Play-house  to  see  Shakspere  act: 

516— 167=340— 22  b  &  h  (167)=~327. 


Page  and 
Word.       Column. 


-284  (74:1)=43— 10  b  (284)=33. 
-50=277—248=29.     447—29= 


73— 175+1- 


448—73=375 


349—22  b  ft  A— 827- 
349—22  b  &  /^=327- 

418+1=419. 
349—22  b  &  //=327— 284  (74:1)— 48. 
349—22  b  &  A— 827— 254— 73.     248- 

176+3=179. 
349—22  b  a  //— 327— 254  (75:1)— 73. 

+  1=376. 
349—22  b  &  A— 327— 50— 277— 248— 29 — 22  b  (248)— 
349—22  /,&  /&— 327— 50— 277— 248— 29+440— 478. 
349— 22/;  &  A— 327— 50— 277— 145— 182— 2  £—180. 
349—22  b&  //=327— 30=297— 50  (76:1)— 247— 146 

(76:2)  —101.     498—101=397+1=398. 
349—22  b  &  h— 327— 49  (76:1)— 278— 254    24— 

15  /,  &  /,=9.  508—9=499+1=500. 
349_22  b  ft  A— 327— 49— 278. 
349_22  b  ft  A— 827— 30— 297— 50— 247. 
349—22  b  &  A— 827— 254  ( 75 :2  h- 78.  248—73=175 

.4-1=1.76+4/;  ft  //— 180. 
349—22  b  ft  A— 827— 80— 297— 50— 247— 3  *— 248. 
349—22  b  &  *— 827— 50— 277— 248— 29— 22  b  (248)= 
349—22/^  &  A— 827— 50— 277. 
349—22  b  &  //=327— 50=277— 248=29.  447—29= 

418+1=419+2  *— 421. 
349—22  b  ft  //— 327— 193=134.     284—134=150+1= 
349—224  ft  A— 327— 50— 277— 145(76:2)— 132— 

8  b  &  //=124. 


33 

419 
43 

179 

376 

478 
130 

398 


78:2 

75:1 
73:2 


The 

Earl 
of 


r4:2   Shrewsbury 


76:1 
75:1 
76:1 
75:2 

76:1 


tells 
me 
he 
saw 

him 


500 

75:2 

act. 

278 

76:2 

He 

247 

76:2 

said, 

180 

74:2 

I 

243 

76:2 

assure 

7 

74:1 

you 

277 

76:2 

your 

421 

75:1 

divination 

151 

74:1 

is 

124 


"4:2 


right. 


And  he  goes  on  to  say  that  he  — 

349_22  b  ft  7^=327— 50=277— 219  (74:2)— 58. 

498—58=440+1=441.  441  76:1  never 

349—22  b  ft  A— 827— 50— 277— 248— 29+193— 222 

2  //=220.  220  75:1       witnessed 

such  a  performance;  that  he  had  to  stuff  his  quoife  (his  cap)  into  his  mouth  to  keep 
from  laughing  out  loud.     Shakspere  was  acting  the  part  of  Hotspur,  and  the  Earl 
says:    "  He  speaks  the  rude  tongue  of  the  peasant-towns  of  the  West  ever  since  the 
Conquest,"  and  — 
349-22  b  &  *— 827— 49  (76:1)— 278.  278  75:2  his 


884 


THE  CIPHER  NARRA  T1VE. 


Word. 

Pagre  and 
Column. 

349—22  b  &  £=327— 30=297— 50=247- 

-146=101—3 

=98—50=48—1  A— 47. 

47 

76:2 

walk 

is  grotesque  and  laughable. 

And  Cecil  then  gives  in  detail  Shakspere's  history  after  he  first  came  to  Lon- 
don, when  he  was  — 

349—22  £  &  4=327—30=297. 

349—22  £  &  4=327—50=277.  448—277=171  +  1= 

349—22  b  &  4=327—30=297—50  (76:1)— 247. 

because  Sir  Thomas  was  furious:     My  — 

349-22  b  &  4=327— 30=297— 193=104 +£=104. 
349—22  b  &  4=327—50=277.  477—277=170+1 

=171. 
349—22  b  &  4=327—30=297—50  (76:1)=247. 
508—247=261  +  1=262. 

And  Shakspere  would  have  been  — 

349—22  b  &  4=327—50=277—145=132. 

349—22  b  &  4=327—50=277. 

349—22  b  &  4=327—30=297—193=104—15  b  &  4= 

89— 50  (76:1)=39 +457=496.  496  76:2       robbery. 

And  Cecil's  friend  Morton  — 

349—254  (75:1)=95. 

349_146  (76:2)=203.     448—203=245+1=246. 

349—146  (76:2)=203— 22  £=181. 

349—50  (76: 1)=299— 27  £=272. 

349—254=95—15  ^  &  //=80+50  (74:2)=130. 

-,49—253=96.     284—96=188+1=189  +  6  4=195. 

349—145=204— 3  b  (145)=201. 

349—22  b  &  4=327—50=277—49  (76:1)=228. 

3^_22  b  &  4=327—30=297—193=104—15  b  &  4= 

349— 22  £  &  4=327—50=277—145=132—2  £=130. 

349—22  £  &  4=327— 30=297— 50  (76:1  )=247— 146= 

101.     498—101=397+1=398.  398  76:1 


297 
172 

247 

76:1 
76:1 
76:1 

constrained 
to 

fly 

104 

75:2 

Lord 

171 

75:1 

was 

262 

75:2 

furious. 

132 

277 

77:1 
76:1 

hanged 
for 

95 

75:2 

remembered 

246 

76:1 

well 

181 

75:2 

his 

272 

75:2 

appearance 

130 

74:2 

the 

195 

74:1 

first 

201 

77:1 

time 

228 

74:2 

he 

89 

75:2 

ever 

130 

75:2 

saw 

him. 


And  here  we  have  again,   growing  out  of  this  root-number,  349,  the  name  of 
Marlowe: 


349— 193(75:1)=!  56. 
349—254  (75:1)=95— 30= 
+  6£&4  col.  =226. 


=65.     284—65=219+1=220 


156 


226 


75:2 


74:1 


More 


low. 


And  he  describes  Shakspere  running  about  the  inn-yards,  with  lanthorn  in 
hand,  ready  to  run  an  errand  or  hold  a  horse.  Then  he  says  he  was  a  servant  of 
Henslow,  corroborating  the  tradition  which  said  he  entered  the  play-house  first  "  as 
a  serviture,"  or  servant. 


349— 22  £  &  4=327—254=73- 
+  1=206+1  £  col.=207. 


-30=43.     248—43=205 


207 


74:2       servant. 


And  here  we  have  the  name  of  Philip  Henslow: 


FRAGMENTS.  885 

Page  and 
Word.       Column. 

349—22  b  &  A— 327— 50  (74:2)— 277— 50(76:1)=227— 31 

(79:1)— 196— j  b  (31)— 191— 162— 29.      610—29= 

581+2  >&— 583.  583  77:2         Philip 

349—22  £&  4=327— 30=297— 193  (75:1)— 104* 

508—104=404+1=405+14=406.  406  75:2         Hence  \ 

349— 22  4  &  4=327—50=277—218  (74:2 >=59.    284—  [ 

59=225^1=226.  226  74:1  low.    J 

Observe  how  craftily  Philip  is  hidden  in  the  text.  Falstaff  says:  "If  I  do 
Jillop  me  with  a  three-man-beetle." 

The  whole  thing  is  forced.  A  Jillop  with  a  beetle  swung  by  three  men  is 
absurd;  and  why  are  three  man  beetle  all  hyphenated?  Because  if  they  were  not 
this  count  would  not  match  !  And  note,  too,  how  the  same  number,  516—167= 
349 — 22  b&  4—327  produces  low  in  More-4?7c  and  Hence/c^',  reaching  the  same 
word  low  {22b,  74:1)  up  the  same  column  by  65  and  59.  Why  ?  Because  there  are 
six  hyphenated  words  at  the  end  of  column  1,  page  74:  "  peasant-towns,"  "  worm- 
eaten-hole,"  "smooth-comforts-false,"  and  "  true  wrongs  ;"  all  in  eight  lines  and 
all  below  low;  so  that  59  without  these  extraordinary  hyphenations  produces  low; 
and  65  with  these  extraordinary  hyphenations  produces  the  same  word  low.  So  that 
to  produce  these  two  sets  of  words,  More-low  and  Philip  Hence-low,  here  given, 
thirteen  words  had  to  be  pounded  together,  by  hyphenating  them,  so  as  to  count  as 
Jive  words  !     Was   ever  anything  like  it  seen  in  the  annals  of  literature  ? 

But  how  was  Shakspere  serving  Henslow  ?     He  was  — 
349—22  b  &  k— 327— 60— 277— 26  b  &  /,— 25 1 .  251  75:2  then 

349—22  b  &  4=327— 30— 2fJ7— 49  (76: 1  ;=248.     508 

—248=260+1=261  +6  4— 267.  267  75:2       laboring 

for  him;  he  was  in  his  service  : 

349—22  b&h= 827— 30— 297— 50— 247— 146  (76:2) 

—101.     577—101=476+1=477.  477  77:1        service 

He  was  acting  first  in  the  capacity  of  call-boy,  to  summon  the  actors,  when 
their  time  came,  to  go  upon  the  stage.     Here  we  have  it  : 

349—22  b  &  4=327— 50=277— 193=84— 10  b  (193)= 
349—22  b  &  A— 327— 50— 277— 193— 84. 
349—22  b  &  4—327— 30=297— 50=247— 7  b  &  4— 
349—22  b  ft  A— 827— 193— 134— 5  A  (193)— 129— 50 

(76:1)— 79.     603—79=524+1=525.  525  76:2  call 

349—22  b  ft  4=327— 50—277— 193=84— 10  b  (173)— 

74.     458+74—532.  532  76:2  boy. 

And  then  we  have  the  whole  story  of  Bacon's  trouble  at  the  death  of  Marlowe; 
for  although  in  one  sense  he  was  glad  that  so  blatant  and  dangerous  a  fellow  was 
not  to  be  brought  before  the  Council  to  be  questioned  as  to  the  authorship  of  his 
Plays,  yet  Bacon  found  himself  without  a  mask.  He  consulted  Harry  Percy, 
who  recommended  Shakspere  as  a  shrewd,  prudent,  cunning,  close-mouthed  man, 
not  likely  to  fall  into  the  troubles  which  had  overtaken  Marlowe.  And  we  have,  in 
the  Cipher  narrative,  the  whole  story  of  Bacon  sending  Percy  to  interview  Shak- 
spere, whom  he  found  not,  as  he  did  later,  in  silken  apparel: 
523—167  (74:2)— 356— 22  b  &  h  (167)— 334.    603-334= 

269+1—270.  270  76:2  He 


74 

75:2 

The 

84 

75:2 

office 

240 

76:2 

of 

886 


THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 


523—167=356—22  b  &  4=334—30=304. 
523—167=356—22  b  &  4=334—50=284. 
523—167=356—22  b  &  4=234— 50=284— 4  b  col.— 
523—167=356—22  I  &  4=334—30=304. 
523—167=356—22  b  &  h— 334— 80— 804.     447—304 

=143+1=144. 
523—167=356—22  b  &  4=334.     457-334=123+ 

1=124. 
523—167=356—22  b  &  4=334. 
523—167=356—22  b  &  4=334—50  (74:2)=284— 163 

(78:1)— 121— 1  h  col.— 120. 
523—167=356—22  b  &  4=334—50=284—50  (76:1)= 

234—146=88—3  b  (146)— 85.     577—85=492+1= 
523—167=356—22  b  &  4=334—50=284—50=234— 

146=88—3  b  (146)— 85. 
523—167=356—22  b  &  4=334—50=284—49  (76:1)= 

235— 3  4  col.— 232. 
523—167—356—22  b  &  4= 334— 50=284.     603—284 

=319+1—320. 


Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

304 

75:1 

found 

284 

76:1 

him 

280 

76:2 

not 

304 

76:1 

in 

144 


75:1 


silken 


124 
334 

76:2 
76:2 

apparel, 
with 

120 

76:2 

silver 

493 

77:1 

buckles 

85 

77:1 

in 

232 

76:2 

his 

320 

76:2 

shoes. 

And  here  we  have  the  very  picture  of  hoi 
at  the  Curtain: 


Percy  drew  him  aside  one  night 


523— 167— 356— 22  b  &  7;— 334— 50— 284.  284  75:1  drew 
523—167—356—22  b  &  4=334—30=304—50  (76:1)= 

254— 145  (76:2)— 109.  109  77:2  aside 

523— 167=356— 22  4  &  4=334—30=304— 13  b  col.  =  291  75:1  night 

and  made  him  an  offer  of  one-half  of  all  that  might  be  earned  by  the  Plays  if  he 
would  father  them.     But  I  must  stay  my  hand  and  reserve  all  this  for  the  future. 

But  here  is  another  fragment,  and  the  last,  which  I  will  throw  into  the  hopper. 
When  the  wounded  Shakspere,  after  his  fight  with  the  gamekeepers,  was  bailed  out 
and  taken  to  his  father's  bouse,  the  village  doctor,  an  apothecary,  was  sent  for;  and 
he  told  Shakspere's  father  that  the  young  man  had  better  fly;  that,  though  his  wounds 
were  not  dangerous,  he  had  but  a  slender  chance  for  his  life,  because  of  the  wrath 
of  Sir  Thomas.     He  — 


505— 167=338— 22  6  m  A=316. 

316—50=266—50  (76:1)=216— 9  b  &  4=207.  207 

316—50=266.     448—266=182+1=183.  183 

316—50=266—49=217—145=72—49=23+457=  480 
316—193=123.  123 

316—50  (74:2)=266— 50(76:1)— 216.  284—216=68+1=69 
316—49=267—145=122.  448—122=326+1=327.  327 
316—49=267—50=217—145=72.  577—72=505+1=506 
316—50=206—50=216—145=71—5  b  &  4=66.  66 

316—49=267—145=122.  577—122=455+1=456.  456 
316—49=267—145=122—3  /;(145)=119.  119 

316—253=63.     448—63—385+1=386.  386 


76:1 

feared 

76:1 

that 

76:2 

he 

75:2 

had 

74:1 

but 

76:1 

a 

77:1 

slender 

76:1 

chance 

77:1 

for 

76:1 

his 

76:1 

life. 

And  he  advised: 


FRA  GA 

IENTS. 

316— 193=123— 15  b  &  h  (193)— 108. 

that  — 

S87 


316—49=267.     457— 267=190+ 1=191. 
316—50=266—3  /fc=263. 
316-49=267— 145=122— 3  b  (145)=119. 
316—49=267.     457—267=190+1=191+5  £=196. 
316— 50=266— 50=216— 50=166— 1/;=165. 

And  he  proceeds  to  tell  the  gossip  of  the  village: 

316—193=123—15  b  &  h  (193) — 1 08— 50=58.     603— 

58=545+1=546. 
316—145=171. 
316—145=171. 

316—145=171.     448—171=277+1=278. 
316—50=266—145=121—2  //= 119. 
316—145=171—3  b  (145)=168. 
316—248=68. 

316—30=286—49  (76:1)— 287. 
316—49=267—5  b  col.— 262. 
316—49=267.     603—267=336+1=337. 
316—49=267—15/;  &  //=252. 

316—145=171—3  b  (145)— 168.     577—168=409+1= 
316—30=286—145=141. 
316—30=286—50=236.     603—236=367+1=368+ 

8  £=376. 
316— 145=171— 3  b  (145)— 168.     577—168=409+1= 

410+3/^=413. 
316—50=266—145=121—3  b  (145)— 118.     577—118 

=459+1=460+3/^  col.— 463. 
316—145  (76:2)— 171.     577—171—406+1=407. 
316—30—286—49=237.    457—237=220+1=221  + 

5  b  col.— 226. 
316—193—123—15  b  &  /*— 108.     448—108—340+1— 
316—50  (74:2)— 266— 49(76:1)— 217.     603—217—386 

+  1=387+33(145)— 390. 
316— 50(74:2)— 266— 50  (76:1)=216. 
316—50  (74:2)— 266— 50  (76:1)— 216— 145— 71.     284— 

71=213+1=214+6  /;=220. 
316—50=266—146=120—3  b  col. =117. 
316—49=267—7  h  &  £=260. 

316—50=266—145=121.     498—121=377+1=378. 
316— 146=170— 3  b  (146)— 167.     508—167=341  +  1= 

342+6=348. 
316—193=123—15  b  &  h  (193)— 108— 50=58+457= 

515— 3  £=512. 
316—193=123—49  (76:1)— 74. 
316—49  (76:1 )— 267— 145=122. 
316—145  (76:2)=171— 145=26.     448—26=322+1= 
316— 49  (76:1)  =267— 15  b  &  h  col. =252. 
316-248  (74:2)— 68. 


Word. 

Page  and 

Column. 

108 

76:1 

advised 

191 

76:2 

he 

263 

76:2 

should 

119 

77:1 

leave 

196 

76:2 

at 

165 

75:2 

once. 

546 

76:2 

I 

171 

77:1 

heard 

171 

278 

76:2 
76:1 

say 
that 

119 

76:1 

his 

168 
68 

76:1 
74:1 

Lordship 
who 

237 

76:2 

is 

262 

78:1 

an 

337 

76:2 

honest 

252 

76:1 

man, 

410 

77:1 

but 

141 

76:1 

not 

376 

76:2 

as 

413 

77:1 

patient 

463 

77:1 

as 

407 

77:1 

Job, 

226 

76:2 

was 

341 

76:1 

in 

390 

76:2 

the 

216 

75:2 

greatest 

220 

117 

74:1 
76:1 

rage, 
and 

260 

76:2 

said 

378 

76:1 

he 

348 


r5:2 


512 

76:2 

going 

74 

76:2 

to 

122 

77:1 

hang 

323 

76:1 

every 

252 

7'-:l 

mm 

68 

74:1 

who 

Word. 

Page  and 
Column. 

61 

75:1 

was 

171 

76:1 

engaged 

256 

75:1 

in 

358 

76:1 

the 

394 

78:1 

destruction 

113 

76:1 

of 

154 

77:2 

his 

324 

76:1 

fish 

328 

76:1 

pond. 

888  7  HE  CIPHER  NA  RKA  7 7 1  rE. 


316—248  (74:2)=68— 7  b  col.=61. 

316— 145(76:2)=171. 

316—248=68+193=261—5  b  &  h  col.=256. 

31 6— 30=286— 145=141 .     498—141=357 +1=358 . 

316—50=266—32  (79:2)— 384+102— 896— 2  h  col .= 

316—  50=266— 145  (76:2)— 121— 3  b  (145)=118— 

!        5  b  ft  h  col.=113. 

316—162  (78:1)— 154. 

316—30=286—161  (78:1)— 125.     448—125=323+1= 

316—145  (76:2)— 171.     498—171=327+1=328. 

And  Shakspere's  father  tells  him  that  many  a  man  had  been  hanged  for  a 
less  offense;  and  that  Sir  Thomas  would  not  scruple  to  give  him  the  full  extent  of 
the  law;  and  that  it  did  not  take  much  in  that  day  to  send  a  man  to  the  gallows,  and 
that  he  had  better  fly.  And  he  sends  him  off  with  his  parental  blessing  and  a  very 
little  money. 

And  here,  before  closing  the  Cipher  narrative,  I  would  say  that  it  may  be 
objected  that  I  have  not  given  in  detail  much  of  the  story  set  forth  in  the  pros- 
pectus and  preliminary  notice  of  my  book,  as  to  Bacon's  attempted  suicide  and 
Percy's  visit  to  Stratford.  This  is  true,  but  I  have  given  much  that  I  did  not 
promise,  such  as  Shakspere's  marriage  and  the  description  of  Ann  Hathaway. 
And  instead  of  furnishing  the  reader  with  a  book  of  seven  hundred  pages,  as 
promised,  I  submit  to  him  a  book  of  nearly  one  thousand  pages. 

And  the  question  may  be  asked,  "  Did  Shakspere  know  there  was  a  cipher  in 
the  Plays  asserting  Bacon's  authorship  and  exposing  his  own  pretensions  ? "  I 
think  he  did.  I  think  that  famous  visit  of  Ben  Jonson  to  Stratford,  shortly  before 
his  death,  conveyed  to  him  the  intelligence,  and  that  he  requested  Bacon  to  write 
an  inscription  for  his  tombstone  that  would  prevent  his  bones  being  cast  out 
when  the  exposure  came.  But  he  took  a  still  further  and  most  remarkable  pre- 
caution. 

There  has  been  found  recently  (1884)  in  the  Bodleian  Library  an  old  letter  from 
a  certain  William  Hall,  a  Queen's  College  man,  who  took  his  B.  A.  degree  in 
October,  1694,  to  Edward  Thwaites,  of  Queen's  College,  a  well-known  Anglo- 
Saxon  scholar.  Halliwell-Phillipps  pronounces  the  letter  genuine,  and  has  printed 
it  for  private  circulation,  with  a  preface,  in  which  he*  shows  that  it  was  probably 
written  in  December,  1694,  seventy-eight  years  after  Shakspere's  death.  Mr. 
Hall  was  visiting  Stratford  and  wrote  to  his  "  dear  Neddy."  He  quotes  the  famous 
lines  on  the  tombstone,  and  adds,  "  The  little  learning  these  verses  contain  would 
be  a  very  strong  argument  of  the  want  of  it  in  the  author."  He  says  that  Shak- 
spere ordered  those  four  lines  to  be  cut  on  his  tombstone  during  his  life-time,  and 
that  he  did  so  because  he  feared  his  bones  might  some  day  be  removed;  and  he 
further  says  that  they  buried  him  "  full seventeen  feet  deep;  deep  enough  to  secure 
him  !  " 

And  so,  seventeen  feet  below  the  surface,  and  with  those  famous  lines  above 
him: 

Blest  be  the  man  that  spares  these  stones, 
And  cursed  be  he  that  moves  my  bones, 

Shakspere  awaits  the  revelation  of  the  Cipher. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 
A    WORD  PERSONAL. 


Report  me  and  my  causes  right 
To  the  unsatisfied.  Hamlet,  p,  j. 


I   BEGAN  this  book  with  an  apology;  I  end  it  with  another. 
No  one  can  be  more  conscious  of  its  defects   than  I   am.     So 
great  a  subject  demanded  the  utmost  care,  deliberation  and  per- 
fection; while  my  work  has,  on  the  other  hand,  been  performed  with 
the  utmost  haste  and  under  many  adverse  circumstances. 

It  was  my  misfortune  to  have  announced,  in  1884,  that  I  believed 
I  had  found  a  Cipher  in  the  Plays.  From  the  time  I  put  forth  that 
claim  until  the  copy  was  placed  in  the  hands  of  the  publishers,  I 
made  no  effort  to  advertise  my  book.  But  the  assertion  was  so 
startling,  and  concerned  writings  of  such  universal  interest,  that  it 
could  not  be  suffered  to  fall  unnoticed.  I  felt,  at  the  same  time, 
that  I  owed  some  duties  to  the  nineteenth  century,  as  well  as  to  the 
sixteenth,  and  hence  my  work  was  greatly  broken  in  upon  by 
public  affairs.  After  a  time  the  reading  world  became  clamorous 
for  the  proofs  of  my  surprising  assertion;  and  many  were  not  slow 
to  say  that  I  was  either  an  impostor  or  a  lunatic.  Goaded  by  these 
taunts,  I  made  arrangements  to  publish  before  I  was  really  ready  to 
do  so;  and  then  set  to  work,  under  the  greatest  strain  and  the 
highest  possible  pressure,  to  try  to  keep  my  engagements  with  my 
publishers.  But  the  reader  can  readily  conceive  how  slowly  such  a 
Cipher  work  as  this  must  have  advanced,  when  every  word  was  a 
sum  in  arithmetic,  and  had  to  be  counted  and  verified  again  and 
again.  In  the  meantime  upon  my  poor  devoted  head  was  let  loose  < 
a  perfect  flood-tide  of  denunciation,  ridicule  and.  misrepresentation 
from  three-fourths  of  the  newspapers  of  America  and  England.  I 
could  not  pause  in  my  work  to  defend  myself,  but  had  to  sit,  in  the 
midst  of  an  arctic  winter,  and  patiently  endure  it  all,  while  working 

889 


89c  THE  CIPHER  NARRA  TIVE. 

from  ten  to  twelve  hours  every  day,  at  a  kind   of  mental  toil  the 
most  exhausting  the  human  mind  is  capable  of. 

These  facts  will,  I  trust,  be  my  excuse  for  all  the  crudeness, 
roughness,  repetitions  and  errors  apparent  in  these  pages. 

In  the  Patent  Office  they  require  the  inventor  to  state  clearly 
what  he  claims.     I  will  follow  that  precedent. 

I  admit,  as  I  have  said  before,  that  my  workmanship  in  the 
elaboration  of  the  Cipher  is  not  perfect.  There  are  one  or  two 
essential  points  of  the  Cipher  rule  that  I  have  not  fully  worked 
out.  I  think  that  I  see  the  complete  rule,  but  I  need  more  leisure 
to  elaborate  and  verify  it  abundantly,  and  reduce  my  workmanship 
to  mathematical  exactness. 

But  I  claim  that,  beyond  a  doubt,  there  is  a  Cipher  in  the  so-called 
Shakespeare  Plays. 

The  proofs  are  cumulative.     I  have  shown  a  thousand   of  them. 

No  honest  man  can,  I  think,  read  this  book  through  and  say 
that  there  is  nothing  extraordinary,  unusual  and  artificial  in  the 
construction  of  the  text  of  1st  and  2d  Henry  IV.  No  honest  man 
will,  I  think,  deny  the  multitudinous  evidences  I  present  that  the 
text;  words,  brackets  and  hyphens  have  been  adjusted  arithmet- 
ically to  the  necessity  of  matching  the  ends  of  scenes  and  fragments 
of  scenes  with  certain  root-numbers  of  a  Cipher.  No  man  can  pre- 
tend that  such  words  and  phrases  as  the  following  could  come  in 
this,  or  any  other  book,  by  accident,  held  together  in  every  case 
by  the  same  Cipher  numbers: 

The  Names  of  Plays. 

1.  Measure  for  Measure,  three  times  repeated. 

2.  Contention  of  York  and  Lancaster,  three  times  repeated. 

3.  The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  twice  repeated. 

4.  Richard  the  Second,  twice  repeated. 

5.  Richard  the  Third,  given  once. 

6.  King  John,  twice  repeated. 

The  Names  of  Persons. 

1.  Shakspere,  repeated  about  twenty  times. 

2.  Marlowe,  repeated  several  times. 

3.  Archer,  used  once. 

4.  Philip  Hensloiv,  used  once  in  full,  and  twice  without  first  name. 

5.  Field,  several  times  repeated. 

6.  Cecil,  many  times  repeated. 

7.  The  Earl  of  Shrewsbury,  two  or  three  times  repeated. 


■\ 


A    WORD  PERSONAL.  891 


8.    Sir  Thomas  Lucy,  twice  repeated. 
.9.  Hayward. 

10.  Harry  Percy,  many  times  repeated. 

1 1 .  Master  Francis. 

12.  My  Uncle  Burleigh,  twice  repeated. 

13.  My  Lord  John,  the  Bishop  of  Worcester,  used  twice. 

14.  Del  hick,  King  of  Arms.  * 

15.  Ann  Hathaway. 

16.  Ann    Whatley,  twice  repeated.  * 

17.  King  Harry \  father  of  the  present  Queen. 

18.  Sir  Nicholas^  twice  repeated. 

19.  Sir  Walter. 

Names  of  Places. 

1.  St.  Albans,  twice  repeated. 

2.  The  Fortune  Play-house. 

3.  The  Curtain  Play-house. 

4.  Nexv-Place. 

5.  Gui negate. 

6.  The  Fire  of  Smith  field. 

7.  Holland. 

S.    The  Low  Countries. 

9.    The  fish  pond,  twice  repeated. 

Significant  Phrases. 

1.  The  old  jade,  many  times  repeated. 

2.  The  old  termagant,  many  times  repeated. 

3.  My  cousin,  many  times  repeated. 

4 .  The  roi 'a 1 1\ 'rant. 

5.  The  royal  maiden. 

6.  The  rascally  knave. 

7.  A  butcher  s  'prentice. 

8.  Glove-making,  two  or  three  times  repeated. 

9.  The  King's  evil. 

10.  Fifteen  hundred  and  fifteen. 

Now  I  submit  to  all  fair-minded  men  whether  this  is  not  an 
astonishing  array  of  words  to  find  in  about  a  dozen  pages  of  the 
text  of  two  plays;  and  whether  there  is  any  other  writing  on  earth 
in  which,  in  the  same  space,  these  words  can  be  duplicated.  I  can- 
not believe  there  is.  But  remember  that  not  only  are  these  sig- 
nificant and  most  necessary  words  found  in  this  brief  compass,  but 
they  fit  exactly  into  sentences  every  word  of  which  grows  out  of 
the  same  determinate  Cipher  number.  But,  in  addition  to  all  this, 
remember  the  dense  packing  of  some  columns,  and  the  sparse  con- 
dition of  the  adjoining  columns;  remember  how  heart  is  spelled 
hart  where  it  refers  to   Shakspere's  sister;    remember  how  and  it  is 


Sg2  THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 

spelled  an't,  and  not  and't,  where  allusion  is  had  to  Bacon's  aunt; 
remember  how  dear  is  spelt  deere  when  it  refers  to  deer;  remember 
how  sperato  is  separated  by  a  hair  space  into  sper  ato,  so  as  to  give 
the  terminal  syllable  of  Shake-sper ;  remember  how  the  rare  word 
rabbit  is  found  in  the  text  precisely  cohering,  arithmetically,  with 
hunting.  Then  turn  to  the  Cipher  story  on  page  79  of  the  Folio, 
where  not  only  scattered  words  come  out,  but  where  whole  long 
series  of  words  are  so  adjusted,  with  the  aid  of  the  brackets  and 
hyphens,  as  to  follow  precisely  the  order  of  the  words  in  the  play  ! 
Then  remember  how  every  part  of  this  Cipher  story  fits  precisely 
into  what  we  know  historically  to  be  true;  and,  although  much 
of  it  is  new,  that  part  is,  in  itself,  probable  and  reasonable. 

The  world  will  either  have  to  admit  that  there  is  a  Cipher  in  the 
Plays,  or  that  in  the  construction  of  this  narrative  I  have  manifested 
an  ingenuity  as  boundless  as  that  which  I  have  attributed  to  Bacon. 
But  I  make  no  such  claim.  No  ingenuity  could  create  the  words 
necessary  to  tell  this  extraordinary  story,  unless  they  were  in  the 
text.  Take  Bulwer's  Richelieu,  or  Byron's  Ma?ifred,  or  Goldsmith's 
She  Stoops  to  Conquer,  or  any  other  dramatic  composition  of  the  last 
hundred  years,  and  you  will  seek  in  vain  for  even  one-tenth  of 
the  significant  words  found  herein;  and  as  to  making  any  of  these 
modern  plays  tell  a  coherent,  historical  tale,  by  counting  with  the 
same  number  from  the  ends  of  scenes  and  fragments  of  scenes,  it 
would  be  altogether  and  absolutely  impossible. 

I  do  not  blame  any  man  for  having  declared  a  priori  against  the 
possibility  of  there  being  a  Cipher  in  the  Plays.  On  the  face  of  it 
such  a  claim  is  improbable,  and,  viewed  from  our  nineteenth  century 
standpoint,  and  in  the  light  of  our  free  age,  almost  absurd.  I 
could  not,  in  the  first  instance,  have  believed  it  myself.  I  advanced 
to  the  conception  slowly  and  reluctantly.  I  expected  to  find  only 
a  brief  assertion  of  authorship,  a  word  or  two  to  a  column.  If  any 
man  had  told  me  five  years  ago  that  these  two  plays  were  such  an 
exquisite  and  intricate  piece  of  microscopic  mosaic-work  as  the  facts 
show  them  to  be,  I  should  have  turned  from  him  with  contempt.  I 
could  not  have  believed  that  any  man  would  involve  himself  in 
such  incalculable  labor  as  is  implied  in  the  construction  of  such  a 
Cipher.     We  may  say  the  brain  was  abnormal  that  created  it.     But 


A    WORD  PERSONAL.  893 

how,  after  all,  can  we  judge  such  an  intellect  by  the  ordinary 
standard  of  mankind  ?  If  he  sought  immortality  he  certainly 
has  achieved  it,  for,  once  the  human  family  grasps  the  entirety  of 
this  inconceivable  work,  it  will  be  drowned  in  an  ocean  of  wonder. 
The  Plays  may  lose  their  charm;  the  English  language  may  perish; 
but  tens  of  thousands  of  years  from  now,  if  the  world  and  civilization 
endure,  mankind  will  be  talking  about  this  extraordinary  welding 
together  of  fact  and  fiction;  this  tale  within  a  tale;  this  sublime  and 
supreme  triumph  of  the  human  intellect.  Beside  it  the  Iliad  will  be 
but  as  the  rude  song  of  wandering  barbarians,  and  Paradise  Lost  a. 
temporary  offshoot  of  Judaism. 

I  trust  no  honest  man  will  feel  constrained,  for  consistency's  sake, 
because  he  has  judged  my  book  unheard,  to  condemn  it  heard.  It 
will  avail  nothing  to  assail  me.  I  am  not  at  issue.  And  you  cannot 
pound  the  life  out  of  a  fact  with  your  fists.  A  truth  has  the  inde- 
structibility of  matter.  It  is  part  of  God:  the  threads  of  continu- 
ity tie  it  to  the  throne  of  the  Everlasting. 

Edmund  Burke  said  in  a  debate  in  Parliament  about  the  popu- 
lation of  the  American  colonies:  "While  we  are  disputing  they 
grow  to  it."  And  so,  even  while  the  critics  are  writing  their  essays, 
to  demonstrate  that  all  I  have  revealed  is  a  fortuitous  combination 
of  coincidence,  keen  and  able  minds  will  be  taking  up  my  imperfect 
clues  and  reducing  the  Cipher  rule  to  such  perfection  that  it  will  be 
as  useless  to  deny  the  presence  of  the  sun  in  the  heavens  as  to  deny 
the  existence  of  the  inner  story  in  the  Plays. 

And  what  a  volume  of  historical  truths  will  roll  out  of  the  text 
of  this  great  volume  !  The  inner  life  of  kings  and  queens,  the  high- 
est, perhaps  the  basest,  of  their  kind;  the  struggles  of  factions  in  the 
courts;  the  interior  view  of  the  birth  of  religions;  the  first  coloniza- 
tion of  the  American  continent,  in  which  Bacon  took  an  active  part, 
and  something  of  which  is  hidden  in  The  Tempest;  the  death  of  Mary 
Queen  of  Scots;  the  Spanish  Armada,  told  in  Loves  Labor  Lost;  the 
religious  wars  on  thecontinent;  the  story  of  Henry  of  Navarre;  the  real 
biography  of  Essex;  the  real  story  of  Bacon's  career;  his  defense  of  his 
life,  hidden  in  Henry  VIII. ,  his  own  downfall,  in  cipher,  being  told 
in  the  external  story  of  the  downfall  of  Wolsey.  What  historical 
facts  may  we  not  expect,  of  which  that  account  of  the  introduction 


894  THE  CIPHER  NARRATIVE. 

of  "  the  dreaded  and  incurable  malady  "  into  England  is  a  specimen; 
what  philosophical  reflections;  what  disquisitions  on  religion;  what 
profound  and  unrestrained  meditations  !  It  will  be,  in  short,  the 
inner  story  of  the  most  important  era  in  human  history,  told  by  the 
keenest  observer  and  most  powerful  writer  that  has  ever  lived.  And 
then  think  of  the  light  that  will  be  thrown  upon  the  Plays  them- 
selves; their  purposes,  their  history,  their  meaning  !  A  great  light 
bursting  from  a  tomb,  and  covering  with  its  royal  effulgence  the 
very  cradle  of  English  Literature. 

And  so  I  trust  my  long-promised  book  to  the  tender  mercies  of 
my  fellow-men,  saying  to  them  in  the  language  of  the  old  rhyme: 

Be  to  its  faults  a  little  blind, 
And  to  its  virtues  very  kind. 


BOOK  III. 
•CONCLU/iORT 

"Delayed, 
But  nothing  altered.  What  I  was,  I  zsm? 

WnferJr7afe,/K3. 


BOOK  III. 


CONCLUSIONS 


CHAPTER  I. 

DELIA    BACON. 


Patience  and  sorrow  strove 
Which  should  express  her  goodliest. 

King  Lear,  ivyj. 

NO  work  in  regard  to  the  Baconian  theory  would  be  complete 
without  some  reference  to  Miss  Delia  Bacon,  who  first  an- 
nounced to  the  world  the  belief  that  Francis  Bacon  was  the  real 
author  of  the  Plays. 

America  should  especially  cherish  the  memory  of  this  distin- 
guished lady.  Our  literature  has  been,  to  too  great  an  extent,  a  col- 
onial imitation,  oftentimes  diluted,  of  English  originals.  But  here 
is  a  case  where  one  of  our  own  transplanted  race,  out  of  the  depths  of 
her  own  consciousness,  marshaled  to  her  conclusions  by  her  pro- 
found knowledge,  advanced  to  a  great  and  original  conception. 

I.     '.      ; ;  Bacon's  Biography. 

I  am  indebted  to  Mr.  W.  H.  Wyman1  for  the  following  notes  of 
Miss  Bacon's  biography: 

Delia  Bacon  was  born  in  Tallmadge,  Ohio,  February  2,  181 1.  She  was  the 
daughter  of  Rev.  David  Bacon,  one  of  the  early  Western  missionaries,  and  sister 
of  the  late  Rev.  Dr.  Leonard  Bacon.  She  was  educated  at  Miss  Catharine  E. 
Beecher's  school,  in  Hartford,  and  is  described  as  a  woman  of  rare  intellect  and 
attainments.     Her  profession  was  that  of  a  teacher  and  lecturer:  the  first  woman, 

1  Bacon-Shakespeare  Bibliography. 

899 


9°°  CONCL  USIONS. 

Mrs.  Farrar  says,  whom  she  had  ever  known  to  speak  in  public.  At  this  time 
she  resided  in  Boston.  Having  conceived  the  idea  of  the  Baconian  authorship, 
she  became  a  monomaniac  on  the  subject.  Visiting  England,  in  1853,  m  search  of 
proofs  for  her  theory,  she  spent  five  years  there;  first  at  St.  Albans,  where  she  sup- 
posed Bacon  to  have  written  the  Plays;  then  at  London,  where  she  wrote  The  Philoso- 
phy of  Shakespeare  Unfolded,  and  subsequently  at  Stratford-on-Avon.  Here,  after 
the  publication  and  non-success  of  her  book,  she  lost  her  reason  wholly  and 
entirely.  She  was  returned  to  her  friends'  in  Hartford,  in  April,  1858,  and  died 
there,  September  2,  1859. 

Mrs.  John  Farrar,  in  her  interesting  little  book,  Recollections  of 
Seventy  Years,  (pp.  319,  etc.),  gives  the  following  account  of  Miss 
Bacon's  first  appearance  as  a  lecturer: 

The  first  lady  whom  I  ever  heard  deliver  a  public  lecture  was  Miss  Delia 
Bacon,  who  opened  her  career  in  Boston,  as  teacher  of  history,  by  giving  a  pre- 
liminary discourse  describing  her  method,  and  urging  upon  her  hearers  the  impor- 
tance of  the  study. 

I  had  called  on  her  that  day  for  the  first  time,  and  found  her  very  nervous  and 
anxious  about  her  first  appearance  in  public.  She  interested  me  at  once,  and  I 
resolved  to  hear  her  speak. 

Her  person  was  tall  and  commanding,  her  finely-shaped  head  was  well  set  on 
her  shoulders,  her  face  was  handsome  and  full  of  expression,  and  she  moved  with 
grace  and  dignity.  The  hall  in  which  she  spoke  was  so  crowded  that  I  could  not 
get  a  seat,  but  she  spoke  so  well  that  I  felt  no  fatigue  from  standing.  She  was  at 
first  a  little  embarrassed,  but  soon  became  so  engaged  in  recommending  the  study 
of  history  to  all  present,  that  she  became  eloquent. 

Her  course  of  oral  lessons  or  lectures  on  history  interested  her  class  of  ladies 
so  much  that  she  was  induced  to  repeat  them,  and  I  heard  several  who  attended 
them  speak  in  the  highest  terms  of  them.  She  not  only  spoke  but  read  well,  and 
when  on  the  subject  of  Roman  history  she  delighted  her  audience  by  giving  them, 
with  great  effect,  some  of  Macaulay's  Lays. 

I  persuaded  her  to  give  her  lessons  in  Cambridge,  and  she  had  a  very  appre- 
ciative class,  assembled  in  the  large  parlor  of  the  Brattle  House.  She  spoke  with- 
out notes,  entirely  from  her  own  well-stored  memory;  and  she  would  so  group  her 
facts  as  to  present  to  us  historical  pictures  calculated  to  make  a  lasting  impression. 
She  was  so  much  admired  and  liked  in  Cambridge,  that  a  lady  there  invited  her  to 
spend  the  winter  with  her  as  her  guest,  and  I  gave  her  the  use  of  my  parlor  for 
another  course  of  lectures.  In  these  she  brought  down  her  history  to  the  time  of 
the  birth  of  Christ,  and  I  can  never  forget  how  clear  she  made  it  to  us  that  the 
world  was  only  then  made  fit  for  the  advent  of  Jesus.  She  ended  with  a  fine  cli- 
max that  was  quite  thrilling. 

In  her  Cambridge  course  she  had  maps,  charts,  models,  pictures,  and  every- 
thing she  needed  to  illustrate  her  subject.  This  added  much  to  her  pleasure  and 
ours.  All  who  saw  her  then  must  remember  how  handsome  she  was,  and  how 
gracefully  she  used  her  wand  in  pointing  to  the  illustrations  of  her  subject.  I  used 
to  be  reminded  by  her  of  Raphael's  sibyls,  and  she  often  spoke  like  an  oracle. 

She  and  a  few  of  her  class  would  often  stay  after  the  lesson  and  take  tea  with 
me,  and  then  she  would  talk  delightfully  for  the  rest  of  the  evening.  It  was  very 
inconsiderate  in  us  to  allow  her  to  do  so,  and  when  her  course  ended  she  was  half 
dead  with  fatigue. 


DELIA  BACON.  901 

II.     Her  Love  Affair. 

Delia  Bacon's  life  was  one  of  many  sorrows.  It  would  almost 
seem  as  if  there  is  some  great  law  of  compensation  running  through 
human  lives,  so  that  those  who  are  to  be  happy  in  immortal  fame 
too  often  pay  for  it  by  unhappy  careers  on  earth.  It  is  difficult 
to  conceive  of  a  more  wretched  life  than  was  that  of  Francis  Bacon. 
For  a  few  short  years  only  he  rode  the  waves  of  triumphant  suc- 
cess; but  his  youth  was  enshrouded  in  poverty,  and  his  age  cov- 
ered with  dishonor.  Even  the  great  philosophical  works,  which  the 
world  now  holds  as  priceless,  were  received  with  general  ridicule 
and  contempt;  but  his  fame  is  to-day  the  greatest  on  earth,  and  will 
so  continue  as  long  as  our  civilization  endures. 

And  we  seem  to  see  the  same  great  law  of  compensation  run- 
ning through  the  life  of  poor,  unhappy  Delia  Bacon.  Filled  with  a 
divine  enthusiasm  for  truth,  her  ideas  were  received  by  an  ignorant 
and  bigoted  generation  with  shouts  of  mockery.  Nay,  more,  as  if 
fortune  had  not  done  its  worst  in  this,  her  very  heart  was  lacerated 
and  her  womanly  pride  wounded,  by  a  creature  in  the  shape  of  a 
man  —  a  Reverend  ( !)  Alexander  McWhorter. 

A  writer  in  the  Philadelphia  Times  of  December  26th,  1886, 
gives  the  following  account  of  this  extraordinary  affair: 

Four  young  men  were  smoking  in  a  chamber  at  a  hotel  in  New  Haven.  It  is 
not  to  be  assumed  that  they  were  drinking  as  well  as  smoking  ;  for  at  least  one  of 
them  had  been  a  theological  student  in  the  Yale  Divinity  School,  who  was  then  a 
resident  licentiate  of  the  university;  and  another  was  a  nephew  of  a  professor  in 
the  theological  department  of  that  institution.  Although  they  were  so  near  to  the 
"  cloth,"  they  were  a  set  of  "  jolly  dogs,"  these  young  men,  and  so  not  averse  to 
a  good  cigar  .  Indeed,  the  resident  licentiate,  in  whose  room  they  were  gathered, 
was  not  only  a  good  fellow,  but  a  very  rich  young  man.  Presently,  a  waiter  en- 
tered and  delivered  a  note  to  the  host.     It  was  couched  in  the  following  words: 

Miss  Delia  Bacon  will  be  happy  to  see  Mr.  at  the  rooms  at  the 

Hotel  this  evening,  or  at  any  time  that  may  be  convenient  to  him. 

Delia  Bacon  was  the  daughter  of  a  Michigan  missionary,  and  when  she  came 
east  in  her  girlhood,  it  was  to  qualify  herself  as  a  teacher.  At  school  she  made 
rapid  progress  in  everything  except  in  English  composition,  to  excel  in  which  shei 
most  aspired,  and,  later  on,  it  was  conceded  that  her  learning  was  not  only  unus- 
ual, but  extraordinary,  in  a  woman.  She  was,  indeed,  from  the  outset  of  her 
career  as  an  instructor,  a  sibyl  in  aspect,  as  in  fact;  and  her  classes  at  New  Haven 
and  Hartford,  when  she  succeeded  in  establishing  them,  soon  became  the  fashion. 
Her  lectures,  for  such  her  lessons  really  were,  were  attended  by  the  most  culti- 
vated ladies  of  the  two  chief  cities  of  Connecticut,  the  wives  of  the  governors  of 
the   State,    the  judges  of  the  courts,    the    professors   in    the  colleges,    and   other 


go  2  CONCL  USIONS. 

dignitaries,  who  came  to  her  to  learn  wisdom.  It  was  her  custom  to  give  receptions 
at  her  parlors,  and,  as  she  was  admitted  to  be  particular  and  discriminating  in  her 
invitations,  it  was  esteemed  an  honor,  especially  by  young  men,  to  receive  them. 
This  accounts  for  the  peculiar  phraseology  of  the  letter  quoted  above,  and  it  would 
deprive  her  invitation  to  the  resident  licentiate  of  any  indelicacy,  although  he  had 
not  been  formally  presented  to  her,  if  she  had  reason  to  know  that  he  desired  to 
call  upon  her. 

Such  was  the  case. 

The  young  theologian  lived  at  the  same  hotel,  and  had  sought  an  introduction. 
He  was  ten  years  her  junior.  He  was  well  known,  and  was  a  young  man  of  good 
repute.  He  and  Miss  Bacon  met  daily  at  the  same  table.  She  had  no  objection 
to  the  introduction,  but  the  person  who  it  was  proposed  should  make  it  was  ob- 
jectionable to  her.  She  therefore  considered  the  request  for  an  introduction  as 
equivalent  to  the  ceremony,  and  asked  the  young  man  to  call.  Had  the  resident 
licentiate  been  a  gentleman  who  was  offended  at  the  informal  character  of  the 
invitation,  he  would  simply  have  put  the  letter  into  the  fire  and  said  nothing  about 
it.  The  young  theologian,  from  a  want  of  that  delicacy  he  affected  to  find  absent 
in  another,  chose  to  adopt  a  different  course.  He  read  the  note  to  his  companions. 
He  and  they  considered  the  invitation  a  gross  violation  of  propriety  in  the  lady. 
It  was  with  them  the  subject  of  uproarious  mirth  ;  but  the  resident  licentiate 
accepted  the  invitation  all  the  same,  and,  after  making  the  call,  wrote  a  ludicrous 
account  of  the  affair  for  the  amusement  of  one  of  his  classmates,  a  clergyman, 
already  ordained  and  ministering  to  a  charge.  But  his  first  visit  was  not  his  last. 
He  was  more  than  pleased  with  Delia  Bacon's  intellectual  attainments  —  he  was 
interested  in  her  personal  attractions.  He  called  upon  her  frequently.  He  showed 
her  marked  attention.  He  acted  as  her  escort  in  public.  He  professed  for  her  a 
profound  and  lasting  affection,  and  would  not  take  "no"  for  an  answer.  He  even 
followed  her  to  a  watering-place,  with  no  other  excuse  than  to  be  near  her.  These 
two  —  the  learned  lady  of  New  Haven,  always  busy  and  already  impressed  with 
the  notion  that  she  had  "  the  world's  work  "  to  perform,  and  the  resident  licentiate, 
idle,  because  he  was  rich,  and  living  near  the  university  for  years  after  he  should 
have  been  caring  for  souls — were  lovers.  She  had  allowed  him  to  ensnare  her 
affections,  notwithstanding  the  discrepancy  in  their  years.  He  was  completely 
fascinated  by  the  brilliant  talk  of  a  refined  and  cultivated  woman,  to  whom  the 
whole  field  of  belles  leitres  was  a  familiar  garden.  They  read  and  studied  to- 
gether, and,  with  two  such  natures,  it  was  only  natural  that  their  talk  should  be 
more  of  books  than  of  love.  She  even  confided  to  him  her  favorite  theory  that 
was  afterwards  to  take  complete  possession  of  her,  that  Shakspere  was  not  the 
author  of  Shakespeare's  Plays,  and  that  they  were  written  in  cipher  in  order  to 
conceal  for  a  time  a  profound  system  of  political  philosophy  which  it  was  her  mis- 
sion to  reveal.  He  approved  these  ideas  and  encouraged  the  delusion  in  its  inci- 
pient stages.  Then,  when  he  tired  of  the  flirtation,  as  all  men  do  who  fall  in  love 
with  women  older  than  themselves,  he  turned  viciously  upon  his  uncomplaining 
victim  and  contemptuously  characterized  an  affair,  that  had  begun  with  baseness 
on  his  part,  a  literary  intimacy.  .  .  .  Indeed,  the  very  person  to  whom  objection 
was  made  by  the  lady  became  from  the  very  outset  the  confidant  of  her  admirer, 
and  either  saw  or  heard  or  read  everything  she  subsequently  wrote  to  him.  Besides 
exposing  her  correspondence,  the  resident  licentiate,  while  he  was  paying  devout 
court  to  the  lady,  was,  also,  at  all  times,  secretly  holding  her  up  to  ridicule  among 
his  friends,  and,  when  it  was  reported  he  was  engaged  to  marry  her,  he  indig- 
nantly declared  his  surprise  that  any  one  who  knew  him  should  think  him  such  a 
fool.  .   .   . 


DELIA    BACON.  9- 

The  matter  grew,  after  a  time,  into  a  scandal,  and  eventuated 
in  a  trial  before  a  council  of  the  Congregational  Church. 

The  clerical  Lothario  asserted  in  his  own  behalf  that  he  had  never  made  a 
declaration  of  affection  —  that,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned,  there  had  been  no  sen- 
timent—  not  a  thimbleful.  In  disproof  of  this,  Miss  Bacon's  mother  and  brother 
testified  that  they  had  seen  a  letter  from  her  suitor  to  her  that  was  "  a  real  love 
letter."  This  letter  contained  an  account  of  the  progress  of  the  affection  of  the 
gay  young  cleric  for  the  tall  sibyl.  In  it  were  such  expressions  as,  "  Then  I  loved 
you,"  "  I  have  loved  you  purely,  fervently,"  "  Though  you  should  hate  me,  my 
sentiment  for  you  would  remain  unchanged."  He  said  he  would  retain  this  senti- 
ment through  life,  in  death,  and  after  death.  .  .  .  The  toothsome  gossip  once  begun, 
it  went  from  pious  tongue  to  pious  ear  and  from  pious  ear  to  pious  tongue,  until 
it  had  spread  all  over  the  State  of  Connecticut,  and  even  penetrated  New  York  and 
Boston.  Not  only  were  the  old  Professor  and  his  family  concerned  in  the  circula- 
tion of  the  story  almost  from  the  outset,  but  his  house  became  the  resort  of  those 
who  wished  to  hear  it.  Day  after  day  his  reception-room  was  thronged  with  those 
who  came  to  listen  to  the  tale  of  wonder.  As  we  have  seen,  other  clergymen  and 
professors  repeated  the  story  everywhere  on  pretense  of  defending  their  clerical 
brother.  It  was  in  this  way  that  "  the  facts  in  the  case"  reached  the  ears  of  Miss 
Bacon's  friends. 

"  From  village  to  village,  from  city  to  city,  the  marvel  spread,"  wrote  Cather- 
ine Beecher  afterwards,  "till  almost  every  village  in  New  England  was  agitated 
with  it.  No  tale  of  private  scandal  had  ever  before  been  known  to  create  so  exten- 
sive an  excitement." 

It  is  scarcely  surprising  that  as  the  tale  was  told  the  wonder  grew.  The  story 
of  a  literary  lady  of  five  and  thirty  angling  for  a  clergyman  of  twenty-five,  and 
ensnaring  his  unsophisticated  affections,  — it  was  always  told  with  his  share  in  the 
courtship  carefully  excluded,  —  could  not  fail  to  prove  grateful  to  the  ears  of  good 
people  to  whom  society  scandal  and  sensations  were  a  boon  not  often  afforded. 

No  one  can  read  all  this  without  thrills  of  indignation  at  the 
base  wretch  who  could  thus,  for  the  amusement  of  his  friends, 
trifle  with  the  affections  of  a  great  and  noble-hearted  woman.  And 
it  is  not  difficult  to  realize  what  must  have  been  the  feelings  of  the 
eloquent  scholar  to  find  herself  the  talk  of  all  New  England,  and 
to  have  the  tenderest  emotions  of  her  heart  laid  bare,  and  made  the 
subject  of  discussion  by  a  public  Congregational  Church  council. 
The  whole  thing  is  horrible.  And  the  writer  in  the  Philadelphia 
Times  intimates  that  this  great  trial  of  her  heart  and  pride  had 
something  to  do  with  the  final  overthrow  of  the  poor  lady's  reason^ 

III.     The  Putnam's  Magazine  Article. 

It  would  seem  that  the  thought  that  Shakspere  did  not  write 
the  Plays  was  conceived  by  Miss  Bacon  as  far  back  as  1845  ;  but  it 
was   not   until    1856    that  she   announced   her  belief  to   the  world. 


904  CONCLUSIONS, 

This  announcement  was  made  in  Putnam  s  Magazine  of  January, 
1856,  in  the  first  article  of  that  number.  The  editor  was  careful  to 
accompany  the  essay  by  a  disavowal  of  any  belief  on  his  part  in 
the  truth  of  the  theory.     He  said  : 

In  commencing  the  publication  of  these  bold,  original,  and  most  ingenious  and 
interesting  speculations  upon  the  real  authorship  of  Shakespeare's  Plays,  it  is  proper 
for  the  editor  of  Putnam's  Monthly,  in  disclaiming  all  responsibility  for  their  start- 
ling view  of  the  question,  to  say  that  they  are  the  result  of  long  and  conscientious 
investigation  on  the  part  of  the  learned  and  eloquent  scholar,  their  author;  and  that 
the  editor  has  reason  to  hope  that  they  will  be  continued  through  some  future  num- 
bers of  the  magazine. 

But  they  were  not  continued.  I  have  been  told  that  Miss 
Bacon's  friends  interfered  to  prevent  the  publication  of  any  more 
such  startling  and  radical  ideas.  Mrs.  Farrar  gives  a  different 
explanation.  Be  that  as  it  may,  this  essay  is  the  only  one  that 
appeared  from  her  pen  in  any  American  publication;  and  it  is  the 
one  thing  that  will  save  Putnam's  Magazine  from  being  forgotten. 

Much  has  been  said  about  Miss  Bacon's  insanity,  as  if  it  had 
some  necessary  connection  with  the  Baconian  heresy  and  grew  out 
of  it.  And  every  one  who  has  denied  that  the  poacher  of  Stratford 
wrote  the  Plays  has  been  met  with  the  reminder  that  Miss  Bacon 
died  in  a  mad-house.  It  seems  to  have  been  forgotten  that  a  great 
many  worthy  people  have  died  in  mad-houses  who  believed  that 
Shakspere  himself  wrote  the  Plays;  and  a  great  many  others  have 
ended  their  lives  there  who  never  heard  of  either  Shakspere  or 
Bacon.  And  for  one  to  go  out  of  his  mind  implies  that  he  has 
some  mind  to  go  out  of,  and  hence  Miss  Bacon's  critics  have  spoken 
from  the  assurance  of  positive  safety.  The  truth  is,  insanity  does 
not  com.e  from  opinions  or  theories,  but  it  is  a  purely  physical 
disease,  implying  degeneration  of  the  substance-matter  of  the  brain. 
A  theory  should  stand  or  fall  by  itself,  on  its  own  merits,  upon  the 
facts  that  can  be  adduced  in  its  support;  not  by  reference  to 
the  personal  careers  of  its  advocates.  If  this  were  not  so,  what 
religion  on  earth  could  not,  in  this  way,  be  proved  false?  For  the 
insane  asylums  are  full  of  people  whose  mania  is  some  form  or 
other  of  religious  belief.     And  the  poet  tells  us,  that 

From  Marlborough's  eyes  the  tears  of  dotage  flow, 
And  Swift  expires  a  driveler  and  a  show. 


DELIA  BACON.  905 

But  does  it  follow  that  Marlborough  was  not  one  of  the  greatest 
and  most  successful  military  leaders  that  ever  lived;  or  that  Swift 
was  not  a  powerful  and  incisive  writer  and  thinker  ? 

The  injustice  and  absurdity  of  all  such  arguments  is  further 
shown  in  the  fact  that  the  first  book  ever  written,  in  defense  of 
Shakspere,  against  the  assaults  of  Delia  Bacon  and  William  Henry 
Smith,  was  the  work  of  one  Geo.  H.  Townsend,  of  London,  pub- 
lished in  1857;  and  the  author  of  it  subsequently  became  crazy  and 
committed  suicide.  But  no  Baconian  ever  argued  therefrom  that 
every  man  who  believed  Shakspere  wrote  the  Plays  was  necessarily 
a  lunatic  and  would  end  by  self-murder,  unless  sent,  as  Grant 
White  suggested,  to  the  insane  asylum.  The  Shakspereans  have 
been  insolent  because  they  were  cowardly.  They  felt  that  the  uni- 
versal prejudice  and  ignorance  sustained  them;  inasmuch  as  the 
clear-seeing  and  original  thinkers  are  necessarily  in  the  minority  in 
all  generations.  In  all  ages  it  has  been  the  multitude  who  were 
wrong,  and  the  few  who  were  right. 

IV.  Her  Visit  to  England. 

Mrs.  Farrar  gives  the  following  account  of  Delia  Bacon's  visit  to 
England: 

She  expressed  a  great  desire  to  go  to  England,  and  I  told  her  she  could  go 
and  pay  all  her  expenses  by  her  historical  lessons.  Belonging  to  a  religious  sect 
in  which  her  family  held  a  distinguished  place,  she  would  be  well  received  by  the 
same  denomination  in  England,  and  have  the  best  of  assistance  in  obtaining  classes. 
After  talking  this  up  for  some  time,  I  perceived  that  I  was  talking  in  vain.  She 
had  no  notion  of  going  to  England  to  teach  history;  all  she  wanted  to  go  for  was  to 
obtain  proof  of  the  truth  of  her  theory,  that  Shakspere  did  not  write  the  Plays 
attributed  to  him,  but  that  Lord  Bacon  did.  This  was  sufficient  to  prevent  my 
ever  again  encouraging  her  going  to  England,  or  talking  with  her  about  Shak- 
spere. The  lady  whom  she  was  visiting  put  her  copy  of  his  works  out  of  sight, 
and  never  allowed  her  to  converse  with  her  on  this,  her  favorite  subject.  We 
considered  it  dangerous  for  Miss  Bacon  to  dwell  on  this  fancy,  and  thought  that, 
if  indulged,  it  might  become  a  monomania,  which  it  subsequently  did. 

She  went  from  Cambridge  to  Northampton,  and  spent  the  summer  on  Round 
Hill,  as  a  boarder,  at  a  hydropathic  establishment.  Separated  from  all  who  knew 
her,  and  were  interested  in  her,  she  gave  herself  up  to  her  favorite  theme.  She* 
believed  that  the  Plays  called  Shakespeare's  contained  a  double  meaning,  and  that 
a  whole  system  of  philosophy  was  hidden  in  them,  which  the  world  at  that  time 
was  not  prepared  to  receive,  and  therefore  Lord  Bacon  had  left  it  to  posterity  thus 
disguised.  At  Round  Hill  she  spent  whole  days  and  weeks  in  her  chamber,  took 
no  exercise,  and  ate  scarcely  any  food,  till  she  became  seriously  ill.  After  much 
suffering  she  recovered   and  went   to  New  York.     To   pay   her  expenses  she  was 


906  CONCL  USIONS. 

obliged  to  give  a  course  of  lessons  in  history;  but  her  heart  was  not  in  them  —  she 
was  meditating  a  flight  to  England.  Her  old  friends  and  her  relations  would  not, 
of  course,  furnish  her  with  the  means  of  doing  what  they  highly  disapproved;  but 
some  new  acquaintances  in  New  York  believed  in  her  theory,  and  were  but  too 
happy  to  aid  her  in  making  known  her  grand  discovery.  A  handsome  wardrobe 
and  ample  means  were  freely  bestowed  upon  her,  and  kind  friends  attended  her  to 
the  vessel  which  was  to  carry  her  to  England  on  her  Quixotic  expedition.  Her 
mind  was  so  devoted  to  the  genius  of  Lord  Bacon  that  her  first  pilgrimage  was  to 
St.  Albans,  where  he  had  lived  when  in  retirement,  and  where  she  supposed  he 
had  written  all  those  Plays  attributed  to  Shakespeare.  She  lived  there  a  year,  and 
then  came  to  London,  all  alone  and  unknown,  to  seek  a  home  there.  She 
thus  describes  her  search  after  lodgings: 

On  a  dark  December  day,  about  one  o'clock,  I  came  into  this  metropolis, 
intending,  with  the  aid  of  Providence,  to  select,  between  that  and  nightfall,  a  res- 
idence in  it.  I  had  copied  from  the  Times  several  advertisements  of  lodging-houses, 
but  none  of  them  suited  me.  The  cab-driver,  perceiving  what  I  was  in  search  of, 
began  to  make  suggestions  of  his  own,  and,  finding  that  he  was  a  man  equal  to  the 
emergency,  and  knowing  that  his  acquaintance  with  the  subject  was  larger  than 
mine,  I  put  the  business  into  his  hands.  I  told  him  to  stop  at  the  first  good  house 
which  he  thought  would  suit  me,  and  he  brought  me  to  this  door,  where  I  have 
been  ever  since.  Any  one  who  thinks  this  is  not  equal  to  Elijah  and  his  raven, 
and  Daniel  in  the  lion's  den,  does  not  know  what  it  is  for  a  lady,  and  a  stranger, 
to  live  for  a  year  in  London,  without  any  money  to  speak  of,  maintaining  all  the 
time  the  position  of  a  lady,  and  a  distinguished  lady,  too;  and  above  all,  such  a 
one  cannot  be  acquainted  with  the  nature  of  cab-drivers  and  lodging-house 
keepers  in  general. 

V.     A  Noble  Londoner. 

And  in  marked  contrast  with  the  treatment  she  received  from 
her  friends  and  relatives,  who  refused  to  give  her  money  or  encour- 
agement, is  the  course  of  this  poor  lodging-house  keeper  in  London. 
His  memory  should  be  perpetuated  for  the  honor  of  our  common 
humanity.     She  continues  in  her  letter: 

The  one  with  whom  I  lodge  has  behaved  to  me  like  an  absolute  gentleman. 
No  one  could  have  shown  more  courtesy  and  delicacy.  For  six  months  at  a  time 
he  has  never  sent  me  a  bill;  before  this  I  had  always  paid  him  weekly,  and  I  believe 
that  is  customary.  When  after  waiting  six  months  I  sent  him  ten  pounds,  and  he 
knew  that  it  was  all  I  had,  he  wrote  a  note  to  me,  which  I  preserve  as  a  curiosity, 
to  say  that  he  would  entirely  prefer  that  I  should  keep  it.  I  have  lived  upon  this 
man's  confidence  in  me  for  a  year,  and  this  comparatively  pleasant  and  comfortable 
home  is  one  that  I  owe  to  the  judgment  and  taste  of  a  cab-driver.  .  .  .  Your  ten 
pounds  was  brought  me  two  or  three  hours  after  your  letter  came,  and  I  sent 
it  immediately  to  Mr.  Walker,  and  now  I  am  entirely  relieved  of  that  most  painful 
feeling  of  the  impropriety  of  depending  upon  him  in  this  way,  which  it  has  re- 
quired all  my  faith  and  philosophy  to  endure,  because  he  can  now  very  well  wait 
for  the  rest,  and  perceive  that  the  postponement  is  not  an  indefinite  one.  Your 
letter  has  warmed  my  heart,  and  that  was  -chat  had  suffered  most.  I  would  have 
frozen  into  a  Niobe  before  I  would  have  asked  any  help  for  myself,  and  would  sell 
gingerbread  and  apples  at  the  corner  of  a  street  for  the  rest  of  my  days  before  I 
could  stoop,  for  myself,  to  such  humiliations  as  I  have  borne  in  behalf  of  my  work  — 
and  I  knew  that  I  had  a  right  to  demand  aid  for  it. 

VI.     Her  Interview  with  Carlyle. 
In  her  first  interview  with  Carlyle  she  told  him  of  her  great  discovery  in  regard 


DELIA  BACON.  9oy 

to  Shakespeare's  Plays,  so-called,  and  he  appeared  to  be  interested  in  her,  if  not 
in  her  hypothesis;  but  he  treated  that  with  respect,  and  advised  her  to  put  her 
thoughts  on  paper.  She  accordingly  accepted  an  arrangement  kindly  made  for  her 
by  Mr.  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  with  the  editors  of  a  Boston  magazine,  worked  very 
hard,  and  soon  sent  off  eighty  pages.  A  part  of  this  was  published,  and  she  re- 
ceived eighteen  pounds  for  it.  Had  this  contract  been  carried  out,  the  money 
made  by  it  would  have  supported  her  comfortably  in  London,  but  there  arose  some 
misunderstanding  between  her  and  the  editors,  owing,  perhaps,  to  her  want  oi 
method  and  ignorance  of  business.  She  considered  herself  very  ill-used,  and  would 
have  nothing  more  to  do  with  them. 

VII.     Her  Sanity. 

We  are  struck  here  by  the  fact  that  while  Thomas  Carlyle  and 
Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  not  only  believed  in  the  possibility  of  her 
theory  being  correct,  and  were  ready  to  aid  her  to  obtain  a  public 
hearing;  and  while  she  was  living  upon  the  bounty  of  poor  Mr. 
Walker,  and  the  contributions  of  Mrs.  Farrar  and  other  literary 
acquaintances,  her  own  family  and  immediate  friends  seem  to  have 
abandoned  her  to  starvation  in  London.  It  could  not  have  been 
upon  any  question  of  her  sanity,  for  the  Putnam's  Magazine  article 
gives  no  indication  of  lunacy;  it  is  an  exceedingly  lucid  and  able 
essay;  and  certainly  Carlyle  and  Emerson  were  better  fitted  to  judge 
of  her  mental  condition  than  any  coterie  of  the  McWhorter  stripe 
could  possibly  be;  and  those  eminent  men,  it  seems,  believed  her  to 
be  sane  enough  to  be  entitled  to  a  full  publication  of  her  views.  It 
may  have  been  that  the  mere  theory  that  Francis  Bacon  wrote  the 
Shakespeare  Plays  was,  in  that  day,  regarded,  by  the  average  mind 
in  New  England,  as  sufficient  proof  of  lunacy,  without  any  other 
act  or  acts  on  the  part  of  the  unhappy  individual  who  possessed  it. 
And  even  Mr.  Nathaniel  Hawthorne  — another  distinguished 
writer  of  that  day  —  held  out  his  hand  and  helped  her.  His  course 
throughout  was  courteous  and  generous,  and  should  be  remem- 
bered to  his  everlasting  honor. 

VIII.     The  Publication  of  Her  Book. 

Mrs.  Farrar  says  : 

She  now  found  an  excellent  and  powerful  friend  in  Mr.  Hawthorne.   He  kindly 
undertook   to  make   an  agreement   with  a  publisher,   and  promised  her  that  her 


9o8  CONCL  USIONS. 

book  should  be  printed  if  she  would  write  it.  Deprived  of  her  expected  endow- 
ment from  writing  articles  for  a  periodical,  she  was  much  distressed  for  want  of 
funds,  and  suffered  many  privations  during  the  time  that  she  was  writing  her  book. 
She  lived  on  ike  poorest  food,  and  was  often  without  the  means  of  having  a  fire  in 
her  chamber.  She  told  me  that  she  wrote  a  great  part  of  her  large  octavo  volume 
sitting  up  in  bed  to  keep  warm. 

There  is  scarcely  a  more  tragical  story  in  the  whole  history  of 
literature.  This  noble,  learned  woman,  with  a  mind  that  penetrated 
far  beyond  her  contemporaries,  suffering  for  want  of  food  in  Lon- 
don, and  writing  her  great  work  wrapped  in  the  bed-clothes,  for 
lack  of  a  fire  in  her  chamber. 

Is  it  any  wonder  that  her  mind  finally  gave  way?  Where  is 
the  brain  that  could  long  stand  such  a  strain  ?  Poverty,  hunger, 
cold,  intense  and  long-continued  mental  labor,  the  estrangement 
from  friends,  the  cruel  indifference  of  relatives,  the  contempt  of 
the  world,  the  sneers  of  the  shallow  and  the  abuse  of  the  base. 

And  does  any  one  believe  she  would  have  had  to  endure  such 
sufferings  if  she  had  been  writing  a  sentimental,  shallow  book  to 
illustrate  the  heroic  career  and  magnificent  virtues  of  that  illus- 
trious money-grabber  of  Stratford  ?  No.  All  New  England  would 
have  come  to  her  relief.  She  suffered  because  she  proclaimed  a 
belief  that  the  ignorant  age  regarded  as  improbable.  She  was 
scourged  into  the  mad-house  by  men  who  called  themselves  crit- 
ics. And  to  the  honor  of  England  be  it  remembered  that  when 
she  was  denied  a  hearing  in  America,  and  was  abandoned  by  her 
own  kith  and  kin,  she  found  friends  and  a  publisher  in  London. 

Mrs.  Farrar  continues: 

It  was  when  her  work  was  about  half  done  that  she  wrote  to  me  the  letter  from 
which  I  have  made  the  foregoing  extract.  Her  life  of  privation  and  seclusion  was 
very  injurious  to  both  body  and  mind.  How  great  that  seclusion  was  is  seen  in 
the  following  passage  from  another  of  her  letters  to  me  : 

I  am  glad  to  know  that  you  are  still  alive  and  on  this  side  of  that  wide  sea 
which  parts  me  from  so  many  that  were  once  so  near,  for  I  have  lived  here  much 
like  a  departed  spirit,  looking  back  on  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  a  world  in  which  I 
have  no  longer  any  place.  I  have  been  more  than  a  year  in  this  house,  and  have 
had  but  three  visitors  in  all  that  time,  and  paid  but  one  visit  myself,  and  that  was 
to  Carlyle,  after  he  had  taken  the  trouble  to  come  all  the  way  from  Chelsea  to 
invite  me  ;  and  though  he  has  since  written  to  invite  me,  I  have  not  been  able  to 
accept  his  kindness.  T  have  had  calls  from  Mr.  Grote  and  Mr.  Monckton  Milnes; 
and  Mr.  Buchanan  came  to  see  me,  though  I  had  not  delivered  my  letter  to  him. 

All  the  fine  spirits  who  knew  Miss  Bacon  found  in  her  what  pleased  and  inter- 
ested them,  and,  had  not  that  one  engrossing  idea  possessed  her,  she  might  have 
had  a  brilliant  career  among  the  literary  society  of  London. 


DELIA  BACON.  909 

Yes;  it  was  her  dissent  from  the  common  opinion  of  mankind 
that  ruined  everything. 

One  dark  winter  evening,  after  writing  all  day  in  her  bed,  she  rose,  threw  on 
some  clothes,  and  walked  out  to  take*  the  air.  Her  lodgings  were  at  the  West  End 
of  London,  near  to  Sussex  Gardens,  and  not  far  from  where  my  mother  lived.    She 

needed  my  address,  and  suddenly  resolved  to  go  to  the  house  of  Mrs.  R for  it. 

She  sent  in  her  request,  and  while  standing  in  the  doorway  she  had  a  glimpse  of 
the  interior.  It  looked  warm,  cheerful  and  inviting,  and  she  had  a  strong  desire 
to  see  my  mother;  so  she  readily  accepted  an  invitation  to  walk  in,  and  found  the 
old  lady  with  her  daughter  and  a  friend  just  sitting  down  to  tea.  Happily,  my 
sister  remembered  that  a  Miss  Bacon  had  been  favorably  mentioned  in  my  letters 
from  Cambridge,  so  she  had  no  hesitation  in  asking  her  to  take  tea  with  them. 
The  stranger's  dress  was  such  an  extraordinary  deshabille  that  nothing  but  her 
lady-like  manners  and  conversation  could  have  convinced  the  family  that  she  was 
the  person  she  pretended  to  be.  She  told  me  how  much  ashamed  she  was  of  her 
appearance  that  evening;  she  had  intended  going  only  to  the  door,  but  could 
not  resist  the  inclination  to  enter  and  sit  down  at  that  cheerful  tea-table,  which 
looked  so  like  mine  in  Cambridge. 

IX.     Her  Journey  to  Stratford. 

Poor  soul !  In  rags  and  wretchedness  she  clung  to  the  task 
which  she  believed  God  had  assigned  to  her. 

The  next  summer  I  was  living  in  London.  The  death  of  a  dear  friend  had 
just  occurred  in  my  house;  the  relatives  were  collected  there,  and  all  were  feeling 
very  sad,  when  I  was  told  by  my  servant  that  a  lady  wished  to  see  me.  I  sent 
word  that  there  was  death  in  the  house,  and  I  could  see  no  one  that  night.  The 
servant  returned,  saying,  "  She  will  not  go  away,  ma'am,  and  she  will  not  give 
her  name." 

On  hearing  this  I  went  to  the  door,  and  there  stood  Delia  Bncon,  pale  and 
sad.  I  took  her  in  my  arms  and  pressed  her  to  my  bosom;  she  gasped  for  breath 
and  could  not  speak.  We  went  into  a  vacant  room  and  sat  down  together.  She 
was  faint,  but  recovered  on  drinking  a  glass  of  port  wine,  and  then  she  told  me 
that  her  book  was  finished  and  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Hawthorne,  and  now  she  was 
ready  to  go  to  Stratford-upon-Avon.  There  she  expected  to  verify  her  hypothesis, 
by  opening  the  tomb  of  Shakspere,  where  she  felt  sure  of  finding  papers  that 
would  disclose  the  real  authorship  of  the  Plays.  I  tried  in  vain  to  dissuade  her 
from  this  insane  project;  she  was  resolved,  and  only  wished  for  my  aid  in  winding 
up  her  affairs  in  London  and  setting  her  off  for  Stratford.  This  aid  I  gave  with 
many  a  sad  misgiving  as  to  the  result.  She  looked  so  ill  when  I  took  leave  of  her 
in  the  railroad  carriage  that  I  blamed  myself  for  not  having  accompanied  her  to 
Stratford,  and  was  only  put  at  ease  by  a  very  cheerful  letter  from  her,  received  a 
few  days  after  her  departure. 

On  arriving  at  Stratford  she  was  so  exhausted  that  she  could  only  creep  up  to 
bed  at  the  inn,  and  when  she  inquired  about  lodgings  it  was  doubtful  to  herself, 
and  all  who  saw  her,  whether  she  would  live  to  need  any.  One  person  expressed 
this  to  her,  but  her  brave  heart  and  strong  will  carried  her  out  the  next  day  in 
search  of  a  home,  and  here  as  in  London  she  fell  into  good  hands.  She  entered  a 
very  pretty  cottage,  the  door  of  which  stood  open,  found  no  one  in  it,  but  sat  down 


9IO  CONCLUSIONS. 

and  waited  for  some  one  to  appear.  Presently  the  woman  entered,  an  elderly 
lady,  living  on  her  income,  with  only  one  servant.  She  had  never  taken  any 
lodger,  but  she  would  not  send  Miss  Bacon  away,  because  she  was  a  stranger  and 
ill;  and  she  remembered,  she  said,  that  Abraham  had  entertained  angels  unawares. 
So  she  made  her  lie  down  on  her  sofa,  and  covered  her  up,  and  went  off  to  prepare 
some  dinner  for  her.     Miss  Bacon  says,  in  her  letter  to  me: 

There  I  was,  at  the  same  hour  when  I  left  you,  the  day  before,  looking  out 
upon  the  trees  that  skirt  the  Avon,  and  that  church  and  spire  only  a  few  yards 
from  me,  but  so  weak  that  I  did  not  expect  ever  to  go  there.  I  know  that  I  have 
been  very  near  death.  If  anything  can  restore  me,  it  will  be  the  motherly  treat- 
ment I  have  here. 

These  incidents  cannot  fail  to  exalt  our  ideas  of  the  noble,  gen- 
erous English  character.  Twice  had  this  poor  castaway  found  in 
total  strangers  the  kindest  and  most  hospitable  treatment;  twice 
had  they  opened  their  hearts  and  homes  to  one  who  seemed  almost 
abandoned  by  the  world.     Mrs.  Farrar  continues: 

A  few  weeks  after  this  I  received  a  very  cheerful  letter  from  her  on  the  subject 
of  the  publisher  of  her  book.     She  writes  : 

I  want  you  to  help  me  ;  help  me  bear  this  new  kind  of  burden  which  I  am  so 
little  used  to.  The  editor  of  Frasers  Magazine,  Parker,  the  very  best  publisher  in 
England,  is  going  to  publish  my  book  immediately,  in  such  haste  that  they  cannot 
stay  to  send  me  the  proofs.  That  was  the  piece  of  news  which  came  with  your 
letter.  How  I  wished  it  had  been  yourself  instead,  that  you  might  share  it  with  me 
on  the  instant.  It  was  a  relief  to  me  to  be  assured  that  your  generous  heart  was  so 
near  to  be  gladdened  with  it.  Patience  has  had  its  perfect  work.  For  the  sake  of 
those  who  have  loved  and  trusted* me,  for  the  sake  of  those  who  have  borne  my 
burden  with  me,  how  I  rejoice  ! 

Mr.  Bennock  writes  to  me  for  the  title,  and  says  this  has  been  suggested, 
"The  Shakespeare  Problem  Solved  by  Delia  Bacon;''  but  I  am  afraid  that  the 
name  sounds  too  boastful.  I  have  thought  of  suggesting  "The  Shakespeare 
Problem,  by  Delia  Bacon,  "  leaving  the  reader  to  infer  the  rest.  I  have  also 
thought  of  calling  it  "The  Baconian  Philosophy  in  Prose  and  Verse,  by  Delia 
Bacon;"  or  the  "Fables  of  the  Baconian  Philosophy."  But  the  publishers  are  the 
best  judges  of  such  things. 

That  the  book  should  be  published  under  such  agreeable  auspices  was  the 
crowning  blessing  of  her  arduous  labors,  and  it  is  a  comfort  to  her  friends  that  this 
gleam  of  sunshine  illumined  her  path  before  the  clouds  settled  down  more  darkly 
than  ever  on  her  fine  mind. 

She  remained  for  several  months  in  Stratford,  but  I  believe  she  never  attempted 
to  open  the  tomb  of  Shakspere;  and  when  she  left  that  place,  she  returned  home 
to  die  in  the  bosom  of  her  family.  Thus  ends  the  history  of  a  highly  gifted  and 
noble-minded  woman. 

Thus  ends  Mrs.  Farrar's  melancholy  story — the  story  of  a  life 
which  was  sacrificed  for  an  idea  as  truly  as  ever  were  the  mar- 
tyrs of  old  who  suffered  in  flame  for  their  religious  convictions. 
For  what  death  at  the  stake,  with  its  few  moments  of  agony,  can  be 
compared  with  those  long  years  of  hardship,  want,  hunger,  cold, 
neglect  and  obloquy? 


DELIA  BACON.  -911 

It  has  been  the  habit  to  speak  of  her  book  as  an  insane  produc- 
tion. Doubtless  the  shadow  of  the  coming  mental  aberration  may 
hang  over  parts  of  it,  and  obscure  the  style,  but  there  is  a  great 
deal  in  it  ^hat  is  clear,  cogent  and  forceful.  As  it  may  interest 
the  reader  who  cannot  readily  procure  a  copy  of  the  original  work, 
I  copy  a  few  extracts.  The  work  is  called  The  Philosophy  of  the 
Plays  of  Shakespeare  Unfolded: 

X.     The  Art  of  the  Play-writer. 

Certainly,  at  the  time  when  it  was  written,  it  was  not  the  kind  of  learning  and 
the  kind  of  philosophy  that  the  world  was  used  to.  Nobody  had  ever  heard  of 
such  a  thing.  The  memory  of  man  could  not  go  far  enough  to  produce  any 
parallel  to  it  in  letters.  It  was  manifest  that  this  was  nature,  the  living  nature, 
the  thing  itself.  None  could  perceive  the  tint  of  the  school  on  its  robust  creations; 
no  eye  could  detect  in  its  sturdy  compositions  the  stuff  that  books  were  made  of; 
and  it  required  no  effort  of  faith,  therefore,  to  believe  that  it  was  not  that.  It  was 
enough  to  believe,  and  men  were  glad,  on  the  whole,  to  believe  that  it  was  not 
that  —  that  it  was  not  learning  or  philosophy  —  but  something  just  as  far  from  that, 
as  completely  its  opposite,  as  could  well  be  conceived  of. 

How  could  men  suspect,  as  yet,  that  this  was  the  new  scholasticism,  the  New 
Philosophy?  Was  it  strange  that  they  should  mistake  it  for  rude  nature  herself, 
in  her  unschooled,  spontaneous  strength,  when  it  had  not  yet  pubJicly  transpired 
that  something  had  come  at  last  upon  the  stage  of  human  development,  which  was 
stooping  to  nature  and  learning  of  her,  and  stealing  her  secret,  and  unwinding  the 
clue  to  the  heart  of  her  mystery? 

How  could  men  know  that  this  was  the  subtlest  philosophy,  the  ripest  scho- 
lasticism, the  last  proof  of  all  human  learning,  when  it  was  still  a  secret  that  the 
school  of  nature  and  her  laws,  that  the  school  of  natural  history  and  natural 
philosophy,  too,  through  all  its  lengths  and  breadths  and  depths,  was  open;  and 
that  "the  schools"  — the  schools  of  old  chimeras  and  notions  —  the  schools  where 
the  jangle  of  the  monkish  abstractions  and  the  "fifes  and  the  trumpets  of  the 
Greeks  "  were  sounding  —  were  going  to  get  shut  up  with  it. 

How  should  they  know  that  the  teacher  of  the  New  Philosophy  was  Poet  also  — 
must  be,  by  that  same  anointing,  a  singer,  mighty  as  the  sons  of  song  who  brought 
their  harmonies  of  old  into  the  savage  earth  —  a  singer  able  to  sing  down  antiqui- 
ties with  his  new  gift,  able  to  sing  in  new  eras  ? 

But  these  have  no  clue  as  yet  to  track  him  with;  they  cannot  collect  or  thread 
his  thick-showered  meanings.  He  does  not  care  through  how  many  mouths  he 
draws  the  lines  of  his  philosophic  purpose.  He  does  not  care  from  what  long  dis- 
tances his  meanings  look  toward  each  other.  But  these  interpreters  are  not  aware 
of  that.  They  have  not  been  informed  of  that  particular.  On  the  contrary,  they 
have  been  put  wholly  off  their  guard.  Their  heads  have  been  turned,  deliberately, 
in  just  the  opposite  direction.  They  have  no  faintest  hint  beforehand  of  the  depths 
in  which  the  philosophic  unities  of  the  piece  are  hidden;  it  is  not  strange,  therefore, 
that  these  unities  should  have  escaped  their  notice,  and  that  they  should  take  it  for 
granted  that  there  were  none  in  it.  It  is  not  the  mere  play-reader  who  is  ever  going 
to  see  them.     It  will  take  the  philosophic  student,  with  all  his  clues,  to  master 


9  r  2  CONCL  USIONS. 

them.     It  will  take  the  student  of  the  New  School  and  the  New  Ages,  with  the  torch 
of  Natural  Science  in  his  hand,  to  track  them  to  their  center. 

XI.     The  Age  of  Elizabeth. 

We  all  know  what  age  in  the  history  of  the  immemorial  liberties  and  dignities 
of  a  race  —  what  age  in  the  history  of  its  recovered  liberties,  rescued  from  oppres- 
sion and  recognized  and  confirmed  by  statute,  this  was.  We  know  it  was  an  age 
in  which  the  decisions  of  the  Bench  were  prescribed  to  it  by  a  power  that  had  "  the 
laws  of  England  at  its  commandment,"  that  it  was  an  age  in  which  Parliament,  and 
the  press,  and  the  pulpit,  were  gagged,  and  in  which  that  same  justice  had  charge, 
diligent  charge  "  of  amusements  also,  and  of  those  who  only  played  at  working." 
That  this  was  a  time  when  the  play-house  itself, —  in  that  same  year,  too,  in  which 
these  philosophical  plays  began  first  to  attract  attention,  and  again  and  again, —  was 
warned  off  by  express  ordinances  from  the  whole  ground  of  "  the  forbidden  ques- 
tions."  .   .   . 

To  the  genius  of  a  race  in  whose  nature  development,  speculation  and  action 
were  for  the  first  time  systematically  united,  in  the  intensities  of  that  great  histori- 
cal impersonation  which  signalizes  its  first  entrance  upon  the  stage  of  human 
affairs,  stimulated  into  premature  activity  by  that  very  opposition  which  would  have 
shut  it  out  from  its  legitimate  fields,  and  shut  it  up  within  those  impossible,  insuf- 
ferable limits  that  the  will  of  the  one  man  prescribed  to  it  then, —  to  that  many- 
sided  genius,  bent  on  playing  well  its  part  even  under  these  conditions,  all  the 
more  determined  on  it  by  that  very  opposition  —  kept  in  mind  of  its  manliness  all 
he  time  by  that  all-comprehending  prohibition  on  manhood,  that  took  charge  of 
every  act — irritated  all  the  time  into  a  protesting  human  dignity  by  the  perpetual 
meannesses  prescribed  to  it,  instructed  in  the  doctrine  of  human  nature  and  its 
nobility  in  the  school  of  that  sovereignty  which  was  keeping  such  a  costly  crib  here 
then  ;  "  Let  a  beast  be  lord  of  beasts,"  says  Hamlet,  "  and  your  crib  shall  stand  at 
the  king's  mess;  "  "  Would  you  have  me  false  to  my  nature?'''  says  another,  "  rather 
say  I  play  the  man  I  am;"  to  that  so  conscious  man,  playing  his  part  under  these 
hard  conditions,  on  a  stage  so  high;  knowing  all  the  time  what  theater  that  was  he 
played  it  in,  how  "  far"  those  long-drawn  aisles  extended;  what  "  far-off"  crowd- 
ing ages  filled  them,  watching  his  slightest  movements;  who  knew  that  he  was  act- 
ing "  even  in  the  eyes  of  all  posterity  that  wear  this  world  out  to  the  ending  doom:  " 
to  such  a  one  studying  out  his  part  beforehand,  under  such  conditions,  it  was  not 
one  disguise  only,  it  was  not  one  secret  literary  instrumentality  only,  that  sufficed 
for  the  plot  of  it.  That  toy  stage  which  he  seized  and  converted  so  effectually  to  his 
ends,  with  all  its  masks  did  not  suffice  for  the  exigencies  of  this  speaker's  speech, 
"who  came  prepared  to  speak  well"  and  "to  give  to  his  speech  a  grace  by  action."1 

XII.     Miss  Bacon's  Persecutors. 

I  take  pleasure  in  giving  the  following  very  interesting  letter 
from  William  D.  O'Connor.  I  need  not  say  that  Miss  Elizabeth  P. 
Peabody,  of  Jamaica  Plains,  Massachusetts,  referred  to  in  it,  is  well 
and  honorably  known  as  the  friend    of  Emerson   and    Hawthorne 

1  Delia  Bacon,     The  Philosophy  of  the  Plays  of  Shakespeare  Unfolded,  pp.  285-7. 


DELIA  BACON.  913 

and  all  the  really  great  men  of  New  England.  Always  a  woman  of 
remarkable  mental  powers,  she  has  attained  a  vast  age  with  un- 
clouded intellect. 

Washington,  D.  C,  Life-Saving  Service,  October  io-n  1887. 
My  Dear  Friend: 

I  have  your  note  about  the  suppression  of  Miss  Bacon's  MS.  I  had  the  story 
from  Miss  Peabody  more  than  twenty-five  years  ago,  and  lately  again,  when  I  sa- 
her  at  Jamaica  Plains. 

Her  second  version  differs  from  the  first  only  in  this:  —  She  now  does  not 
think  it  was  a  life  of  Raleigh;  but  she  told  me  it  was  when  I  first  talked  with  her: 
and  her  memory  was  nearer  the  event;  and  I  am  sure  that  the  extracts  from  the 
"  Life  of  Raleigh,"  which  you  will  see  in  the  early  part  of  Miss  Bacon's  book,  are 
her  attempt  to  recall  from  memory  some  fragments  of  the  lost  MS.,  which,  I  re- 
member Miss  Peabody  told  me  long  ago,  had  cost  twelve  years'  labor,  and  the  loss 
of  which  was  a  staggering  blow  to  its  author. 

The  tale  ran  thus:  Emerson  was  powerfully  impressed  with  Miss  Bacon's 
theory,  and  stood  her  friend  in  it  from  first  to  last.  He  was  instrumental  in  send- 
ing her  to  England,  to  prosecute  her  studies  on  the  subject  there;  and  gave  her 
letters  of  introduction  to  many  people,  and  got  her  material  aid.  Before  sailing,  it 
was  arranged  that  the  continuation  to  the  Putnam's  Magazine  article  in  1856 
should  appear  in  the  same  magazine,  and  she  went  off  flushed  with  hope  and  con- 
fidence. 

Now  came  the  beginning  of  disaster.  Richard  Grant  White  and  some  other 
Shaksperioloters  tore  down  to  Putnam's;  howled  over  the  profanation  like 
cayotes,  and  finally  scared  him  into  discontinuing  the  publication. 

Then  Emerson  had  to  write  to  Miss  Bacon  that  her  MS.  was  rejected,  and 
she  in  turn  wrote  back  to  have  it  sent  to  her  in  England  for  publication  there,  prob- 
ably in  her  book,  which  she  was  then  projecting. 

The  MS.  (which  I  believe  to  have  been  a  Life  of  Raleigh  and  a  sort  of  a  key  to 
the  theory,  dwelling,  as  I  have  been  told  it  did,  on  the  nature  of  Raleigh's  School), 
was  sent  to  one  of  Emerson's  brothers,  William  Emerson,  at  New  York,  for  safe 
keeping.  In  some  way,  and  for  some  reason,  which  I  cannot  gather,  it  was  passed 
over  to  the  care  of  Miss  P R ,  at  Staten  Island. 

When  Miss   Bacon's   request  to  have  the  MS.   sent  to  her  in   England  was 

received,  Miss  R was  asked  to  have  it  brought  over  to  New  York  to  William 

Emerson. 

The  story  goes  that  she  got  into  a  close  carriage  with  the  package,  at  her  resi- 
dence on  Staten  Island,  with  the  intention  of  driving  to  the  ferry,  crossing  over  to 
New  York,  and  delivering  it  in  person  to  William  Emerson.  It  was  in  the  dark 
twilight  of  an  autumn  evening,  the  roads  were  miry  and  full  of  hollows,  and  the 
carriage  swayed  and  joggled  as  it  rolled.     In  one  of  these  vehicular  convulsions, 

the  package  rolled  from   Miss   R 's  lap  into  the   straw-covered  bottom  of  the 

carriage.     Miss  R put  her  hand  down  in  search  of  it,  and,  not  coming  upon 

it,  reflected  that  it  was  perfectly  safe  in  the  close  interior,  and  would  be  better  found 
when  the  carriage  arrived  at  the  ferry,  where  its  motions  would  cease,  and  light 
would  aid  in  the  search.  Presently  the  terminus  was  reached,  but  the  MS.  could 
not  be  found,  though  a  rigorous  investigation  was  made.  I  was  told  that  it  was 
advertised  for,  but  nothing  was  ever  heard  of  it. 

Was  ever  any  occurrence  more  unexplainable,  or  more  sinister  ?     I  do  not  like 


9I4  CONCLUSIONS.^ 

to  suspect  Miss  R of  complicity  with  any  foul  play,  for  I  have  always  heard 

that  she  was  a  high-minded  lady;  but  how  can  this  loss  be  explained  under  the  cir- 
cumstances ?  When  you  bring  to  mind  the  nature  of  a  coach  interior,  you  will  see 
that  the  MS.  could  not  be  bounced  out  or  jolted  out  by  any  possibility.  It  is  an 
utter  mystery. 

However,  the  MS.  was  lost,  and  it  is  said  that  Miss  Bacon  went  wild  when  she 
got  the  next  letter  from  Emerson,  telling  her  the  bad  news. 

Whatever  may  be  the  explanation  of  this  incident,  I  think  there 
can  be  little  doubt  that  Delia  Bacon  was  persecuted  by  the  Grant 
Whites  of  that  era,  denied  a  hearing  in  her  own  country,  and  driven 
to  a  foreign  land  to  find  a  publisher.  The  treatment  of  the  poor 
woman  from  first  to  last  was  simply  shameful.  She  was  persecuted 
into  the  mad-house  and  the  grave  by  men  who  called  themselves 
scholars  and  gentlemen.  Their  asinine  hoofs  beat  upon  the  great 
sensitive  brain  of  the  shrinking  woman,  and  every  blow  was  an- 
swered by  a  shriek.  And  when,  at  last,  they  had,  by  their  on- 
slaughts, destroyed  her  intellect,  the  braying  crew  wagged  their 
prodigious  ears,  and  in  stentorian  chorus  clamored  that  her  insan- 
ity was  indubitable  proof  of  the  falsehood  of  her  theory,  and  of  the 
wisdom  which  lay  concealed  in  their  admirable  and  learned  hoofs. 

XIII.     Delia  Bacon's  Portrait. 

It  is  with  deep  regret  that  I  find  myself  unable  to  fulfill  the 
promises  made  by  my  publishers,  in  their  advertisements,  to  give 
the  public  in  this  work,  a  copy  of  Delia  Bacon's  portrait.  They 
applied  some  months  since  to  her  nephew,  the  Rev.  Leonard  W. 
Bacon,  of  Savannah,  Georgia,  and  he  referred  them  to  his  brother, 
Theodore  Bacon,  a  lawyer,  in  Rochester,  N.  Y.  He  replied  that 
he  possessed  a  picture  of  Delia  Bacon,  an  old  daguerreotype,  but 
that  the  dress  was  peculiar  and  not  fitted  for  publication.  My 
publishers  then  offered  to  send  an  artist  to  Rochester  to  copy  the 
features,  and  that  they  would  give  in  the  book  simply  an  engraving 
of  the  face  and  head.  A  representative  of  the  firm  even  went  to 
Rochester,  in  connection  with  the  matter,  but  failed  to  find  Mr. 
Bacon.  After  considerable  correspondence  a  family  council  was  at 
last  held  upon  this  grave  subject,  and  "the  family"  refused  to  fur- 
nish my  publishers  with  a  copy  of  the  picture,  or  permit  them  to 
copy  it  themselves. 


DELIA  BACON.  9I5 

It  is  difficult  to  account  for  such  action.  I  know  of  no  pre- 
cedent for  it.  The  world  is  entitled  to  look  upon  the  features  of 
its  illustrious  characters;  and  I  cannot  understand  how  any 
""family"  has  a  right  to  monopolize  them.  Suppose  there  was  but 
one  picture  of  Francis  Bacon  in  the  world,  and  that  was  in  the 
hands  of  the  family  of  one  of  his  nephews,  and  they  refused  to 
permit  the  world  to  look  at  it !  In  this  case  the  sun  painted  the 
picture,  and  it  would  seem  especially  to  belong  to  mankind.  But 
poor  Delia's  ill  fate  pursues  her  even  beyond  the  grave:  —  she  was 
suppressed,  by  her  family,  living,  and  she  is  suppressed  by  them 
dead. 

If  the  authors  of  books  had  been  clamoring,  for  years  past,  for 
Delia  Bacon's  picture,  the  case  might  be  different;  but  this  is  the 
first  work  ever  published  which  seeks  to  defend  the  poor,  misused 
woman,  and  to  honor  her  by  giving  her  features  to  the  world, —  and 
it  is  refused  permission  to  do  so  !  If  the  picture  itself  was  utterly 
unfit  to  be  seen  by  human  eyes,  it  might  be  different;  but  I  am  told 
that  copies  are  being  circulated  in  private  hands. 

It   is  to  be   regretted   that  some  of   the  tender  solicitude   now 

shown  toward  the  picture  of  Delia  Bacon,  by  her  family,   wTas  not 

manifested  for  the  poor  woman  herself  when  she  was  starving  and 

shivering  and  living  on  the  charity  of  strangers  in  London.     But, 

Seven  cities  claimed  immortal  Homer  dead,     * 
Through  which  the  living  Homer  begged  for  bread. 

I  am  shocked  to  hear,  since  writing  the  above,  that  there  is  rea- 
son to  believe  that  "the  family"  refuse  to  permit  Delia  Bacon's  por- 
trait to  appear  in  this  book  because  they  do  not  want  her  identified 
with  the  theory  that  Francis  Bacon  wrote  the  Shakespeare  Plays ! 

Alas  !  and  alas  !  As  if  Delia  Bacon  had  any  other  claim  upon 
immortality  than  the  fact  that  she  originated  that  very  theory! 
And  as  if  there  was  any  chance  of  any  of  her  "  family  "  escaping 
utter  oblivion,  in  a  generation  or  two,  except  by  their  connection 
with  her,  and  through  her  with  that  very  theory.  It  is  incompre- 
hensible. 


CHAPTER   II. 

WILLIAM  HENR  Y  SMITH. 

Here's  Nestor, — 
Instructed  by  the  antiquary  times, 
He  must,  he  is,  he  cannot  but  be  wise. 

Troilus  and  Cressida,  ii,  3. 

WE  turn  to  the  Nestor  of  the  Baconian  question  —  the  distin- 
guished William  Henry  Smith,  who  will  always  be  remem- 
bered as  the  first  of  Francis  Bacon's  countrymen  who  saw  through 
the  Shakespearean  myth,  and  announced  the  real  authorship  of  the 
Plays. 

It  is  a  gratification  to  know  that  this  distinguished  gentleman  is 
still  alive,  in  hale  old  age,  to  witness  the  overthrow  of  the  delusion 
which  he  challenged  in  1856.  His  portrait,  which  we  here  present,, 
represents  a  jovial,  clear-headed,  kindly-hearted  man. 

I.     Mr.  Smith  Described. 

A  Baconian  correspondent,  writing  to  Shakespeartana,  de- 
scribes Mr.  Smith  as  follows: 

He  is  an  old  gentleman,  seventy-five  or  seventy-six  years  of  age,  I  think,  with 
the  brightest  of  eyes  and  the  most  energetic,  kind  manner  that  you  can  imagine. 
His  interest  in  the  Baconian  subject  is  still  so  great  that  he  can  hardly  allow  him- 
self to  speak  upon  it,  it  excites  him  too  much;  and  on  this  account  he  has  never 
attended  any  of  our  meetings,  although  he  comes  here  after  them  to  hear  the  news. 
He  considers  that  we  have  got  quite  past  him,  and  he  will  never  again  be  dragged 
into  controversy.  But  no  one  is  better  up  than  he  is,  both  in  Bacon  and 
Shakespeare.  As  a  young  man  his  education  seems  to  have  been  peculiar.  He 
was  thrown  very  much  upon  himself  and  upon  a  few  books,  which  he  has  evident- 
ly read  until  he  has  them  at  his  fingers'  ends.  A  few  choice  classics,  Burton's 
Anatomy  of  Melancholy  and  The  Pilgrim's  Progress  for  his  theology;  Bacon  for  his 
solid  reading,  Shakespeare  for  his  lighter  studies.  It  was  the  persistent  reading  of 
these  two  groups  of  works  which  brought  him  to  perceive  the  identity  of  their  tone, 
their  field  of  knowledge,  and  finally  of  their  author.  He  had  no  preconceived  ideas, 
but  the   conviction   grew  upon  him.      He  belonged  to  a  young  men's  debating 

916 


/ /  ILLIA M  HENR  Y  SMI TH.  9^7 

club.  One  day,  a  subject  for  debate  being  lacking,  he  proposed  that  it  should  be 
debated  whether  Bacon  or  Shakespeare  had  the  better  claim  to  the  authorship  of 
the  Plays.  The  subject  was  considered,  at  first,  too  monstrous  to  be  discussed; 
but  John  Stuart  Mill,  being  one  of  the  members,  spoke  strongly  in  favor  of  giving 
Mr.  Smith  a  hearing.  A  paper  was  accordingly  read,  and  produced  such  a  sensa- 
tion that  Mr.  Smith  was  requested  to  print  it  in  the  form  of  a  letter  to  Lord  Elles- 
mere,  the  then  head  of  the  Shakespearean  Society.  Of  course  it  was  virulently 
assailed  by  the  Shakspereans,  who  tned  by  caricature  and  ridicule  to  annihilate 
Mr.  Smith  and  his  notions.  He  then  wrote  a  fuller  statement  and  published  it  in  a 
little  two-shilling-sixpence  volume,  and  having  done  this  he  retired  from  the 
scene.  He  did  not  care,  he  said,  to  have  literary  mud  cast  at  him;  the  truth  would 
come  out  some  day.  Great  domestic  troubles  overtook  him,  and  for  a  while  he 
lost  interest  in  everything,  even  in  the  fate  of  his  book,  living  a  very  recluse  life, 
sometimes  in  London,  but  more  often  in  a  little  country  estate  in  Sussex.  He  is  a 
highly  entertaining  old  gentleman,  always  ready  with  his  joke  and  his  apt  quota- 
tion, and  with  a  laugh  of  infectious  jollity.  He  had,  he  says,  no  desire  to  live,  but 
now  he  certainly  would  like  to  abide  the  publication  of  Mr.  Donnelly's  book,  and 
see  how  the  learned  Shakspereans  are  going  to  wriggle  out  of  their  very  decided 
statements. 

II.     The  Charge  of  Plagiarism. 

Mr.  W.  H.  Wyman,  in  his  Bacon-Shakespeare  Bibliography,  has  the 
following  remarks: 

A  question  of  precedence  as  to  the  Baconian  advocacy  arose  between  Mr. 
Smith  and  Miss  Bacon's  friends.  Hawthorne,  in  his  preface  to  Miss  Bacon's  book, 
animadverted  upon  Mr.  Smith  for  "taking  to  himself  this  lady's  theory,"  result- 
ing in  the  correspondence  published  in  Smith's  book.  In  his  letter  Mr.  Smith 
claimed  that  he  had  never  seen  Miss  Bacon's  Putnam 's  Monthly  article  until  after 
his  pamphlet  was  published,  and  also  that  he  had  held  these  opinions  for  twenty 
years  previously.  But  as  Miss  Bacon's  article  was  published  eight  months  pre- 
vious to  his  pamphlet,  and  reviewed  in  the  Athenceum  in  the  meantime,  his  want 
of  knowledge  was  certainly  very  singular,  and  the  precedence  must  be  awarded  to 
her. 

It  seems  to  me  that  any  one  who  reads  this  famous  pamphlet  of 
1856  will  come  to  the  conclusion  that  these  animadversions  are  not 
just.  There  is  no  resemblance  in  the  mode  of  thought  between. 
Miss  Bacon's  argument  and  that  of  Mr.  Smith.  Miss  Bacon  dealt* 
in  the  large,  general,  comprehensive  propositions  involved  in  the 
question;  Mr.  Smith's  essay  is  sharp,  keen  and  bristling  with 
points.  Both  show  wonderful  penetration,  but  it  is  of  a  different 
kind.  Miss  Bacon's  is  the  penetration  of  a  philosopher;  Mr.  Smith's 
that  of  a  lawyer, 

Neither  should  it  be  a  matter  of  surprise  that  two  different 
minds  should  arrive  at  the  same  conclusions,  at  the  same  time,  en 


9 1 8  CONCL  USIONS. 

this  question:    the  only  wonder  is  that  the  whole  world   did  not 
reach  the  same  views  simultaneously  with  them. 

III.     Mr.  Hawthorne's  Charge. 

Concerning  this  question  of  originality  in  the  discussion  of  the 

question,    Nathaniel   Hawthorne,   in   his    Preface   to  Miss  Bacon's 

book,  had  this  to  say: 

Another  evil  followed.  An  English  writer,  (in  a  "  Letter  to  the  Earl  of  Elles- 
mere,"  published  within  a  few  months  past),  has  thought  it  not  inconsistent  with  the 
fair  play  on  which  his  country  prides  itself,  to  take  to  himself  this  lady's  theory, 
and  favor  the  public  with  it  as  his  own  original  conception,  without  allusion  to 
the  author's  prior  claim.  In  reference  to  this  pamphlet,  she  (Miss  Bacon)  gener- 
ously says: 

This  has  not  been  a  selfish  enterprise.  It  is  not  a  personal  concern.  It  is  a 
discovery  which  belongs  not  to  an  individual,  and  not  to  a  people.  Its  fields  are 
wide  enough  and  rich  enough  for  us  all;  and  he  that  has  no  work,  and  whoso  will, 
let  him  come  and  labor  in  them.  The  field  is  the  world's;  and  the  world's  work 
henceforth  is  in  it.  So  that  it  be  known  in  its  real  comprehension,  in  its  true  rela- 
tions to  the  weal  of  the  world,  what  matter  is  it?  So  that  the  truth,  which  is 
dearer  than  all  the  rest — which  abides  with  us  when  all  others  leave  us,  dearest 
then  — so  that  the  truth,  which  is  neither  yours  nor  mine,  but  yours  and  mine,  be 
known,  loved,  honored,  emancipated,  mitered,  crowned,  adorned — "who  loses  any- 
thing, that  does  not  find  it?"  And  what  matters  it?  says  the  philosophic  wisdom, 
speaking  in  the  abstract,  what  name  it  is  proclaimed  in,  and  what  letters  of  the 
alphabet  we  know  it  by? — What  matter  is  it,  so  that  they  spell  the  name  that  is 
good  for  all,  and  good  for  each  ?  —  for  that  is  the  real  name  here  ? 

Speaking  on  the  author's  behalf,  however,  I  am  not  entitled  to  imitate  her 
magnanimity;  and,  therefore,  hope  that  the  writer  of  the  pamphlet  will  disclaim 
any  purpose  of  assuming  to  himself,  on  the  ground  of  a  slight  and  superficial  per- 
formance, the  results  which  she  has  attained  at  the  cost  of  many  toils  and  sacrifices. 

IV.     Mr.   Smith  Exonerated  by  Mr.   Hawthorne. 

In  1857  Mr.  Smith  published  his  book:  Bacon  and  Shake- 
speare: An  Inquiry  touching  Players,  Play-houses  and  Play-writers  in 
the  days  of  Elizabeth.  By  William  Henry  Smith.  London:  John 
Russell  Smith,  36  Soho  Square;  and  he  prefaced  it  with  copies  of 
a  correspondence  between  Mr.  Hawthorne  and  himself.  In  this 
correspondence  Mr.  Smith  assured  Mr.  Hawthorne: 

I  had  never  heard  the  name  of  Miss  Bacon  until  it  was  mentioned  in  the  re- 
view of  my  pamphlet  in  the  Literary  Gazette,  September,  1856.  .  .  .  If  it  were 
necessary  I  could  show  that  for  upwards  of  twenty  years  I  have  had  the  opinion 
that  Bacon  was  the  author  of  the  Shakespeare  Plays. 

To  which  Mr.  Hawthorne  replies,  June  5,  i887/  as  follows: 

I  beg  leave  to  say  that  I  entirely  accept  your  statement  as  to  the  originality  and 
early  date  of  your  own  convictions  regarding  the  authorship  of  the  Shakespeare 


WILLI  A  M  HENR  Y  SMITH.  9 1 9 

Plays,  and  likewise  as  to  your  ignorance  of  Miss  Bacon's  prior  publication  on  the 
subject.  Of  course  my  imputation  of  unfairness  or  discourtesy  on  your  part  falls 
at  once  to  the  ground,  and  I  regret  that  it  was  ever  made. 

My  mistake  was  perhaps  a  natural  one,  although,  unquestionably,  the  treat- 
ment of  the  subject  in  your  "Letter  to  the  Earl  of  Ellesmere"  differs  widely  from  that 
adopted  by  Miss  Bacon.  ...  I  now  see  that  my  remarks  did  you  great  in- 
justice, and  I  trust  that  you  will  receive  this  acknowledgment  as  the  only  repara- 
tion in  my  power. 

V.     The  Conversion  of  Lord  Palmerston. 

One  of  the  first  and  greatest  converts  to  the  Baconian  theory 
was  made  by  Mr.  Smith's  book,  namely,  the  famous  Premier  of 
England,  Lord  Palmerston.  Mr.  Wyman  quotes  the  following 
from  an  article  in  Frasers  Magazine  for  November,  1865: 

Literature  was  the  fashion  of  Lord  Palmerston's  early  days,  when,  (as  Syd- 
ney Smith  remarked),  a  false  quantity  in  a  man  was  pretty  nearly  the  same  as  a 
faux  pas  in  a  woman.  He  was  tolerably  well  up  in  the  chief  Latin  and  English 
classics;  but  he  entertained  one  of  the  most  extraordinary  paradoxes,  touching  the 
greatest  of  them,  that  was  ever  broached  by  a  man  of  his  intellectual  caliber.  He 
maintained  that  the  Plays  of  Shakespeare  were  really  written  by  Bacon,  who  passed 
them  off  under  the  name  of  an  actor,  for  fear  of  compromising  his  professional 
prospects  and  philosophic  gravity.  Only  last  year,  when  this  subject  was  dis- 
cussed at  Broadlands,  Lord  Palmerston  suddenly  left  the  room,  and  speedily 
returned  with  a  small  volume  of  dramatic  criticisms,  in  which  the  same  theory 
(originally  started  by  an  American  lady)  was  supported  by  supposed  analogies  of 
thought  and  expression.  "There,"  he  said,  "read  that,  and  you  will  come  to  my 
opinion."  When  the  positive  testimony  of  Ben  Jonson,  in  the  verses  prefixed  to 
the  edition  of  1623,  was  adduced,  he  remarked,  "  Oh,  these  fellows  always  stand  up 
for  one  another,  or  he  may  have  been  deceived  like  the  rest."  The  argument  had 
struck  Lord  Palmerston  by  its  originality,  and  he  wanted  leisure  for  a  searching 
exposure  of  its  groundlessness. 

The  volume  alluded  to  was  Smith's  Bacon  and  Shakespeare.^ 

The  truth  was  that  the  comprehensive  mind  of  the  great  states- 
man, who  had  ruled  the  British  Empire  for  so  many  years,  needed 
but  a  statement  of  the  outlines  of  the  argument  to  leap  at  once  to 
the  conclusion  that  there  was  no  coherence  between  the  life  of  the 
man  of  Stratford  and  the  mighty  works  which  go  by  his  name. 

In  America  we   have  a  gentleman  who,  for  breadth  of  mind, 
knowledge  of  affairs,  keenness  of  observation  and  depth  of  penetra- 
tion, deserves  to  be  named  in  the  same  breath  with    Lord   Palmer-^ 
ston.     I  refer  to  the  celebrated  Benjamin  F.  Butler,  whose  genius 
has  adorned  alike  the  walks  of  peace  and  the  fields  of  war.     General 

1  Bacon-Shakespeare  Bibliog.,  p.  26. 


920 


CONCL  USIONS. 


Butler,  like  Lord  Palmerston,  needed  but  the  presentation  of 
the  argument  to  reach  the  conclusion  that  Francis  Bacon  wrote  the 
Plays;  and  that  opinion  he  has  maintained  inflexibly  during  a 
period  of  thirty  years. 

When  such  large  and  trained  intelligences  accept  the  theory  of 
the  Baconian  authorship,  as  not  only  reasonable,  but  conclusive,  it 
is  amusing  to  see  small  creatures,  who  have  never  been  known  out- 
side of  their  own  bailiwicks,  protesting,  with  their  noses  high  in 
the  air,  that  the  theory  is  utterly  absurd  and  ridiculous;  and  that  it 
is  an  insult  to  their  brain-pans  to  be  even  asked  to  consider  it. 

VI.     A  Wonderful  Fact  Brought  Out. 

Mr.  Smith's  book,  already  referred  to,  is  a  very  able  and 
original  performance.  It  contained,  for  the  first  time,  many  of  the 
arguments  that  have  since  been  used  by  all  the  writers  on  the  sub- 
ject. It  is  evident  that  his  observation  is  very  keen.  I  find,  for 
instance,  this  paragraph,  which  has  a  curious  bearing  on  the  Cipher 
in  the  Plays: 

We  may  here  mention  a  fact  which  we  have  remarked,  and  have  not  seen 
noted  by  any  commentator  —  that  every  page  in  each  of  the  three  first  folio  edi- 
tions contains  exactly  the  sa?ne  amount  of  matter: — the  same  word  xvhich  begins  or 
ends  the  page  in  the  1623  edition,  begins  and  ends  the  page  in  the  1632  and  1664  edi- 
tions; proving  that  they  were  printed  from  one  another,  if  not  from  the  same 
types.     The  1685  edition  is  altogether  different. 

This  is  a  very  remarkable  fact.  The  curious  paging  of  the  1623 
edition  must  have  been  precisely  followed  in  the  edition  printed 
nine  years  later,  and  again  in  the  edition  printed  forty-one  years 
later.  Now,  there  were  no  stereotype  or  electrotype  plates  in  those 
days;  and  the  type  could  not  have  been  kept  standing  for  forty-one 
years.  There  are  but  two  explanations:  The  first  is,  that  some  per- 
son of  means,  we  will  say  the  author  of  the  Plays,  solicitous  to 
secure  the  perpetuation  of  the  Folio  from  the  waste  and  ravages 
of  "devouring  time,"  had  had  printed  in  1623  other  editions,  dated, 
on  the  title-pages,  1632  and  1664,  and  left  them  to  be  brought  out 
by  friends  at  those  dates.  The  second  explanation  is  that  some 
man  or  men  had  been  left  behind, —  some  friends  of  Bacon, —  or 
some  secret  society,  if  you  please,  like  the  Rosicrncians, —  who, 
knowing  that  there  was  a  cipher  in  the  Plays,  and  that  it  depended 


Miu 


OtoAA^ 


y<A^y 


/W; 


96s.?4. 


VW/VER8/Ty 


or 


$&!FQ 


RN\L 


v>: 


WILLIAM  HENRY  SMITH.  92* 

•on  the  arrangement  of  the  matter  on  the  pages  of  that  first  Folio  of 
1623,  took  pains  to  see  that  the  printers,  in  reprinting  the  Plays, 
copied  the  exact  arrangement  of  the  text  found  in  that  Folio  of  1623. 

It  is  not  within  the  human  possibilities  that  any  printer,  unless  p 
peremptorily  instructed  so  to  do,  would  or  could  repeat  the 
arrangement  of  the  matter  found  in  the  first  Folio:  —  with  three 
hundred  words  in  one  column  and  six  hundred  in  another;  with 
the  stage  directions,  as  I  have  shown,  in  one  case  taking  up  two  or 
three  inches  of  space,  and  in  another  crowded  into  the  corner  of  a 
speech  of  one  of  the  characters. 

And  on  either  supposition  —  that  all  the  editions  were  really 
printed  in  1623,  from  the  same  type;  or  that  the  printing  of  the  edi- 
tions of  1632  and  1664  was  supervised  and  directed  by  some  intel- 
ligent person  with  a  purpose;  —  on  either  supposition,  I  say,  it  shows 
there  was  some  mystery  about  that  first  Folio.  Surely  Heminge 
and  Condell  would  not  print  copies  of  the  Folio  in  1623  to  be  put 
forth  forty-one  years  thereafter;  and  surely  no  person  in  1632  or 
1664  would  insist  on  repeating  the  exact  arrangement  of  type  in 
the  edition  of  1623,  if  he  did  not  know  that  there  was  something 
of  importance  attached  to  and  depending  on  that  arrangement. 

But,  after  the  edition  of  1664,  that  directing  intelligence  had 
passed  away,  and  the  Plays  were  left  to  take  their  natural  course; 
and  hence  the  folio  edition  of  1685  departed  altogether  from  the 
standard  set  by  the  1623  Folio;  and  ever  after,  until  we  reach  the 
modern  era  of  facsimiles,  the  arrangement  of  every  edition  as  to 
paging,  etc.,  has  been  utterly  unlike  that  of  the  first  Folio. 

Francis  Bacon  was  determined  that  his  name  and  writings  should 
not  perish  from  the  face  of  the  earth;  hence  in  his  will  he  left  espe- 
cial directions  that  copies  of  his  philosophical  works  should  be  pre- 
sented to  all  the  great  libraries  then  in  existence;  and  with  the  same 
profound  prevision  he  may  have  arranged  with  Sir  Thomas  Meutis, 
Harry  Percy,  Sir  Tobie  Matthew  and  other  friends,  who  were  doubt- 
less in  the  secret  of  the  Cipher,  that  editions  should  be  put  forth 
after  his  death,  with  the  same  arrangement  of  the  text,  on  which 
the  Cipher  depended,  so  as  to  increase  the  chances  of  the  work  con- 
tinuing to  exist  and  of  the  Cipher  being  found  out. 


9  2  2  CONCL  USIONS. 

VII.     In  Conclusion. 

But  it  must  be  a  source  of  gratification  to  the  countrymen  of 
Francis  Bacon,  if  the  wreath  of  immortal  glory  is  to  be  taken  front 
the  head  of  Shakspere  and  placed  on  the  brow  of  another,  that 
there  was  one  Englishman  with  sagacity  enough  to  look  through 
the  illusions  so  cunningly  constructed  around  the  subject,  and  per- 
ceive the  hidden  truth,  as  early  as  any  other;  and  that  for  the 
first  steps  of  this  great  revelation  they  are  not  altogether  indebted 
to  foreigners.  It  must  be  the  hope  of  all  men  that  this  patriarch 
may  long  live,  in  hale  old  age,  to  enjoy  the  honors  justly  belong- 
ing to  him. 

It  was  my  intention  to  have  given,  in  this  work,  Miss  Bacon's 
famous  Putnam's  Magazine  article  in  full  and  also  Mr.  Smith's  orig- 
inal letter  to  the  Earl  of  Ellesmere,  but  I  find  my  book  already  too 
large,  and  I  am  reluctantly  constrained  to  omit  them.  I  would  say 
in  conclusion  that  I  possess  copies  of  the  original  essays,  and  I  con- 
sider them  worth  a  good  deal  more  than  their  weight  in  gold. 


CHAPTER  III. 
THE  BACONIANS. 

I  count  myself  in  nothing  else  so  happy 
As  in  a  soul  remembering  my  good  friends; 
And  as  my  fortune  ripens  with  my  love 
It  shall  be  still  my  true  love's  recompense. 

Richard  II.,  ii,  3. 

I  AM  sure  that  if  the  spirit  of  Francis  Bacon  could  stand  at  ray- 
side  and  speak,  it  would  say: 

11  In  the  day  of  my  rehabilitation  let  not  those  who  have  main- 
tained my  cause  be  forgotten;  do  you  justice  to  the  clear  heads  and 
kind  hearts  that  have  labored  to  bring  me  to  the  possession  of  my 
own.  They  have  endured  abuse  and  mockery  for  my  sake:  let 
them  be  set  right  in  the  eyes  of  mankind." 

In  this  spirit  I  have  given  the  two  preceding  chapters;  in  this 
spirit  I  shall  briefly  refer  to  a  few  of  the  leading  advocates  of  the 
theory  that  Francis  Bacon  wrote  the  Plays. 

I.     William  D.  O'Connor. 

The  first  book  ever  published,  subsequent  to  the  utterances  of 
Delia  Bacon  and  William  Henry  Smith,  in  which  the  Baconian  the- 
ory was-  advocated,  was  a  work  published  in  i860,  entitled  Har- 
rington: A  Story  of  True  Love.  By  William  D.  O'Connor.  Boston: 
Thayer  and  Eldridge.      i2mo,  pp.  558. 

I  quote  from  Mr.  Wyman's  Bibliography'1  the  following  extracts, 
descriptive  of  this  book: 

Hawthorne,   in  his   Recollections  of  a   Gifted  Woman  (title   27),   says  of  Miss 

Bacon's  book: 

I  believe  it  has  been  the  fate  of  this  remarkable  book  never  to  have  had  more 
than  a  single  reader.     But  since  my  return  to  America,  a  young  man  of  genius  and 

1 Bacon-Shakespeare  Bibliog.,  p.  23. 

923 


924  CONCL  USIONS. 

•enthusiasm  has  assured  me  that  he  has  positively  read  the  book  from  beginning  to 
end,  and  is  completely  a  convert  to  its  doctrines. 

It  belongs  to  him,  therefore,  and  not  to  me — whom,  in  almost  the  last  letter 
that  I  received  from  her,  she  declared  unworthy  to  meddle  with  her  work  —  it  be- 
longs surely  to  this  one  individual,  who  has  done  her  so  much  justice  as  to  know 
what  she  wrote,  to  place  Miss  Bacon  in  her  due  position  before  the  public  and  pos- 
terity. 

The  "  young  man  "  referred  to  (in  1863)  is  the  author  of  this  novel.  The  story 
itself  is  of  the  times  of  the  Fugitive  Slave  Law.  Mr.  O'Connor  introduces  his  own 
Baconian  theories  through  the  dialogue  of  his  title-hero,  Harrington. 

He  also  renders  an  acknowledgment  to  Miss  Bacon  as  their  source,  in  a  note 
at  the  end  of  the  book: 

The  reader  of  the  twelfth  chapter  of  this  book  may  already  have  observed 
that  Harrington,  if  he  had  lived,  would  have  been  a  believer  in  the  theory  regard- 
ing the  origin  and  purpose  of  the  Shakespearean  drama,  as  developed  in  the  admir- 
able work  by  Miss  Delia  Bacon,  entitled,  The  Philosophy  of  Shakespeare 's  Plays  Un- 
folded, in  which  belief  I  should  certainly  agree  with  Harrington. 

I  wish  it  were  in  my  power  to  do  even  the  smallest  justice  to  that  mighty  and 
eloquent  volume,  whose  masterly  comprehension  and  insight,  though  they  could 
not  save  it  from  being  trampled  upon  by  the  brutal  bison  of  the  English  press,  yet. 
lift  it  to  the  dignity,  whatever  may  be  its  faults,  of  being  the  best  work  ever  com- 
posed upon  the  Baconian  or  Shakespearean  writings.  It  has  been  scouted  by  the 
critics  as  the  product  of  a  distempered  ideal.      Perhaps  it  is. 

"  But  there  is  a  prudent  wisdom,"  says  Goethe,  "  and  there  is  a  wisdom  that 
does  not  remind  us  of  prudence;"  and,  in  like  manner,  I  may  say  that  there  is  a 
sane  sense,  and  there  is  a  sense  that  does  not  remind  us  of  sanity.  At  all  events, 
I  am  assured  that  the  candid  and  ingenuous  reader  Miss  Bacon  wishes  for,  will 
find  it  more  to  his  profit  to  be  insane  with  her,  on  the  subject  of  Shakespeare,  than 
sane  with  Dr.  Johnson. 

A  personal  friend  of  Mr.  O'Connor  has,  at  my  request,  written 

for  me  the  following  interesting  account  of  his  life: 

William  Douglas  O'Connor  has  long  been  known  as  one  of  the  most  ear- 
nest and  determined  of  the  Baconians.  He  was  born  in  Boston,  Massachusetts, 
in  1833.  His  earliest  aspiration  was  to  be  an  artist,  and  several  years  of  his  youth 
were  devoted  to  the  life  of  the  studio.  Finding,  at  length,  his  projected  art  career 
impracticable,  he  applied  himself  to  business  occupations  for  a  living,  keeping  an 
eye  meanwhile  on  literature  as  a  possible  profession,  and  maintaining  the  habit  of 
an  omnivorous  reader.  His  early  days  witnessed  the  memorable  deepening  of  the 
anti-slavery  struggle,  and  he  was  one  of  many  who  threw  themselves  into  the  gal- 
lant movement  of  resistance  to  the  Slave  Power,  which  then  shook  th£  Northern 
centers,  and  had  a  notable  arena  in  his  native  city.  In  1851  he  became  associate 
editor  of  the  Free  Soil  newspaper  in  Boston,  71ie  Commonwealth,  and  took  an 
active  personal  part  in  the  stirring  scenes  of  the  place  and  period,  such  as  the  ren- 
dition of  Burns.  The  eventual  suspension  of  The  Commonwealth  caused  his  mi- 
gration to  Philadelphia,  where  from  1854  to  i860  he  was  connected  editorially  with 
a  weekly  journal  of  large  circulation,  The  Saturday  Evening  Post.  In  1861  he 
became  Corresponding  Clerk  of  the  Lighthouse  Board  at  Washington,  of  which  in 
1873  he  became  Chief  Clerk.  He  resigned  in  1874  and  became  Librarian  of  the 
Treasury.  A  year  later  he  entered  the  Life-Saving  Service,  then  extremely  con- 
tracted in  its  functions,  and  an  appendage  of  the  Bureau  of  Revenue  Marine. 
Under  the  able  management  of  Mr.  Sumner  J.  Kimball,  it  gradually  expanded, 
until  in  1878  it  was  formally  organized  by  law  as  a  separate  establishment,  thus 
entering  upon  the  career  of  splendid  usefulness  which  is  known  to  the  whole 
country;  and  Mr.  O'Connor  was  promoted  to  the  responsible  position  of  its  Assist- 


THE  BACONIANS.  925 

•ant  Chief,  which  he  has  since  continued  to  occupy  with  distinction.  The  elaborate 
historical  and  descriptive  articles  on  the  Service  in  Appleton's  and  Johnson's 
■Cyclopedias  are  from  his  hand. 

It  is  known  to  his  friends  that  the  extent  and  arduousness  of  his  official  occu- 
pations have  prevented  him  from  doing  the  work  in  the  field  of  literature  of  which 
he  is  widely  thought  capable,  although  it  is  understood  that  his  preparations  toward 
this  end  have  been  considerable.  For  several  years  following  1856  he  published  a 
number  of  tales,  which  were  popular  at  the  time,  such  as  The  Sword  of  Manley, 
What  Cheer,  The  Carpenter,  etc.,  and  also  several  poems,  among  which  To  Athos, 
Resiirge'nnis,  To  Fanny,  etc.,  are  still  sometimes  remembered.  In  i860  he  pub- 
lished Harrington,  an  anti-slavery  romance,  characterized  by  great  picturesqueness 
and  fervor,  the  scene  of  which  was  laid  in  Boston,  in  the  Fugitive  Slave  Law  kid- 
napping days.  In  1866  the  illustrious  poet  Walt  WhitrrTan,  having  been  ignomini- 
ously  ejected  by  the  then  Secretary,  the  Hon.  James  Harlan,  from  a  position  in 
the  Interior  Department,  on  account  of  his  book,  published  ten  years  before,  Mr. 
O'Connor  came  out  in  an  impassioned  pamphlet  entitled  The  Good  Gray  Poet,  not- 
able for  its  range  of  literary  learning  and  its  eloquence,  and  chastised  the  outrage 
with  a  cogency  and  vigor  which  turned  the  tide  in  the  venerable  poet's  favor,  and 
started  the  strong  movement  in  his  behalf  which  has  continued  to  this  day  both  in 
Europe  and  this  country.  It  was  this  pamphlet  that  the  Hon.  Henry  J.  Raymond 
termed  editorially,  in  the  New  York  Times,  "  the  most  brilliant  monograph  in  Ameri- 
can literature."  In  1867  one  of  Mr.  O'Connor's  early  magazine  tales,  The  Ghost, 
was  published  in  book  form  in  New  York,  with  illustrations  by  Nast;  and  the  story 
was  afterwards  reproduced  in  the  Little  Classic  series.  In  1883  Dr.  R.  M.  Bucke, 
of  Ontario,  Canada,  put  forth  an  admirable  memoir  of  Walt  Whitman,  in  which 
he  published  The  Good  Gray  Poet,  and  to  preface  this  Mr.  O'Connor  contributed  a 
long  introduction,  mainly  tributary  to  the  old  bard,  and  armed,  like  a  scythed 
chariot,  with  a  flashing  plenitude  of  excoriation  for  his  detractors  and  defamers. 
In  1882-3  tne  Massachusetts  District  Attorney  for  Suffolk  County,  Oliver  Stevens, 
aided  by  the  Massachusetts  Attorney-General,  John  Marston,  the  notorious  An- 
thony Comstock  being  also  darkly  apparent  in  the  transaction,  made  an  attempt  to 
legally  crush  by  prosecution  Walt  Whitman's  Leaves  of  Grass,  a  new  edition  of 
which  had  just  been  published  by  Osgood  &  Co.  of  Boston  ;  and  on  this  occasion 
Mr.  O'Connor  won  signal  distinction  by  several  rousing  letters  in  the  New  York 
Tribune,  so  effective  in  their  fulminations  that  they  alarmed  the  assailants,  and 
broke  the  hostile  movement  down.  In  1886,  he  published  Hamlet's  Note-Book,  a 
work  which  completely  vindicated  from  the  aspersions  of  Richard  Grant  White 
the  powerful  and  valid  presentment  of  the  Baconian  case  made  by  Mrs.  Constance 
M.  Pott  in  her  edition  of  Lord  Bacon's  Promas.  Besides  the  special  vindication, 
the  work  has  many  points  of  value  to  the  student  of  the  Bacon-Shakspere  con- 
troversy, chief  among  which  is  the  striking  contrast  instituted  between  the  respec- 
tive characters  and  lives  of  the  two  men  —  a  contrast  which  tells  heavily  against 
Shakspere.  It  is  a  tribute  to  the  force  of  the  book,  that,  despite  the  prevalent 
Shakspere  bias,  it  was  received  with  general  commendation.  % 

Mr.  O'Connor  is  entitled  to  rank  with  the  original  Baconians.  He  gave  his 
ardent  adhesion  to  Miss  Delia  Bacon's  general  theory  immediately  after  the  publi- 
cation of  her  first  paper  in  Putnam's  Magazine  in  1856,  and  in  several  journals  of 
that  period  he  repeatedly  championed  her  cause  in  uncompromising  letters  and 
•editorials. 

...  In  the  printed  letter  prefacing  The  Good  Gray  Poet,  in  Dr.  Bucke's  mem- 
oir of  Walt  Whitman,  he  has  several  weighty  pages  on  Lord  Bacon,  as  the  author 


926  CONCLUSIONS. 

of  the  Shakespeare  drama.  His  special  plea  in  Hamlet 's  Note-Book  has  already 
been  referred  to.  He  has  considerable  celebrity  in  certain  private  circles  for  his 
powers  in  conversation  and  as  a  letter-writer,  and  it  is  said  that  on  many  occa- 
sions, when  the  Bacon-Shakspere  subject  was  the  theme,  he  has  made  impres- 
sions in  various  quarters  which  have  become  wide-spread  and  ineffaceable,  and 
brought  many  converts  into  the  fold. 

I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  knowing  Mr.  O'Connor  personally, 
and  I  have  found  him,  as  his  friend  says,  a  person  of  rare  conversa- 
tional powers,  and   possessed  of  a  world  of  curious   information. 

The  Celtic  blood,  implied  in  his  name,  gives  him  a  combative, 
chivalric  spirit,  which,  however,  is  only  aroused  in  defense  of  some 
person  to  whom  he  thinks  injustice  has  been  done.  Hence,  when 
Miss  Bacon  was  universally  denounced,  he  sprang  to  her  defense; 
when  "the  good  gray  poet,"  Walt  Whitman,  was  persecuted  by 
shallow  hypocrites,  he  entered  the  lists  as  his  champion;  and  when 
Richard  Grant  White  assailed  Mrs.  Pott's  Promus,  in  most  virulent 
and  unmanly  fashion,  he  wrote  a  book  which  is  one  of  the  brightest, 
keenest  and  most  vitriolic  in  our  literature.  Mr.  O'Connor  is  of  an 
unselfish  nature,  unfitted  to  do  much  for  himself,  but  very  potent  as 
the  defender  of  the  oppressed.  His  heart  permeates  his  intellect, 
and  his  sympathy  is  greater  than  his  ambition.  A  kindly,  gener- 
ous, admirable  nature. 

II.     Hon.  Nathaniel  Holmes. 

Among  the  pioneers  of  this  grcc  t  argument  —  and  one   who  1  as- 

done    perhaps  more  complete  and  comprehensive  work  than  any 

other — is   Hon.    Nathaniel   Holmes.     Mr.  Wyman  calls  him  "the 

apostle  of  Baconianism, "  and  gives  the  following  as  the  theorem 

of  his  book: 

This  work  [T/ie  Authorship  of  Shakespeare,  by  Nathaniel  Holmes]  undertakes 
to  demonstrate,  not  only  that  William  Shakspere  did  not,  but  that  Francis 
Bacon  did  write  the  Plays  and  poems.  It  presents  a  critical  view  of  the  personal 
history  of  the  two  men,  their  education,  learning,  attainments,  surroundings  and 
associates,  the  contemporaneousness  of  the  writings  in  question,  in  prose  and 
verse,  an  account  of  the  earlier  plays  and  editions,  the  spurious  plays,  and  "the 
true  original  copies."  It  gives  some  evidence  that  Bacon  was  known  to  be  the 
author  by  some  of  his  contemporaries.  It  shows  in  what  manner  William  Shak- 
spere came  to  have  the  reputation  of  being  the  writer.  It  exhibits  a  variety  of  facts 
and  circumstances  which  are  strongly  suggestive  of  Bacon  as  the  real  author.  A 
comparison  of  the  writings  of  contemporary  authors  in  prose  and  verse  proves- 
that  no  other  writer  of  that  age,  but  Bacon,  can  come  into  any  competition  for  the 
authorship.     It  sifts  out  a  chronological  order  of  the  production  of  the  Plays,  and 


THE  BACONIANS.  927 

of  the  several  writings  of  Bacon,  ascertaining  the  exact  dates,  whenever  possible, 
and  shows  that  the  more  significant  parallelisms  run  in  the  same  order,  and  are  of 
such  a  nature,  both  by  their  dates  and  their  own  character,  as  absolutely  to  pre- 
clude all  possibility  of  borrowing,  otherwise  than  as  Bacon  borrowed  of  himself. 
It  is  amply  demonstrated  that  mere  common  usage,  or  the  ordinary  practice  of 
writers,  can  furnish  no  satisfactory  explanation  of  these  parallelisms  and  identi- 
ties. There  is  a  continuous  presentation  of  parallel  or  identical  passages  through- 
out the  work,  with  such  commentary  as  was  deemed  necessary  or  advisable,  in 
order  to  bring  out  their  full  force  and  significance;  and  twenty  pages  of  minor 
parallelisms  are  given  in  one  body,  without  commentary. 

It  gives  some  extensive  proofs  that  Bacon  was  a  poet,  and  suggests  some 
reasons  for  his  concealment  of  his  poetical  authorship.  There  is  some  indication 
of  the  object  and  purpose  the  author  had  in  view  in  writing  these  Plays.  It  is 
shown  that  the  tenor  of  their  teaching  is  in  keeping  with  Bacon's  ideas  upon  the 
subjects  treated  in  them.  The  latter  half  of  the  book  presents  more  especially  the 
parallelisms  in  scientific  and  philosophical  thought,  with  a  view  to  show  the  identity 
of  the  Plays  and  the  writings  of  Bacon,  in  respect  to  their  philosophy  and  standard 
of  criticism;  and  in  this  there  is  an  endeavor  to  show  that  the  character  and  drift 
of  the  philosophy  of  Bacon  (as  well  as  that  of  the  Plays)  was  substantially  identical 
Avith  the  realistic  idealism  of  the  more  modern  as  of  the  more  ancient  writers  on 
the  subject. 

It  is  recognized  that  the  evidences  drawn  from  historical  facts  and  biographical 
circumstances  are  not  in  themselves  alone  entirely  conclusive  of  the  matter,  how- 
ever suggestive  and  significant,  as  clearing  the  way  for  more  decisive  proofs,  or  as 
raising  a  high  degree  of  probability;  and  it  is  conceded  that,  in  the  absence  of 
more  direct  evidence,  the  most  decisive  proof  attainable  is  to  be  found  in  a  critical 
and  thorough  comparison  of  the  writings  themselves,  and  that  such  a  comparison 
will  clearly  establish  the  identity  of  the  author  as  no  other  than  Francis  Bacon. 

Judge  Holmes  was  born  July  2,  1814,  at  Peterborough,  New 
Hampshire;  he  graduated  from  Harvard  University  in  1837;  was  in 
the  Harvard  Law  School  during  1838-39,  and  was  admitted  to  the 
bar,  in  Boston,  in  1839.  He  practiced  law  at  St.  Louis  from  1839  to 
1865;  was  one  of  the  Judges  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  Missouri 
from  1865  to  1868,  and  Professor  of  Law  in  Harvard  University 
from  1868  to  1872;  he  resumed  the  practice  of  the  law  in  St.  Louis  in 
1872,  and  continued  it  until  1883,  when  he  retired  from  business  and 
returned  to  Cambridge,  Massachusetts,  where  he  now  resides.  At  St. 
Louis,  Judge  Holmes  was  Corresponding  Secretary  of  the  Academy 
of  Science  from  1857  to  1883,  except  when  absent  at  Cambridge; 
and  he  has  been  a  Fellow  of  the  Academy  of  Arts  and  Sciences  at 
Boston  since  1870. 

His  great  work,  The.  Authorship  of  Shakespeare,  was  first  pub- 
lished in  1866  by  Hurd  &  Houghton,  of  New  York  (now  Houghton, 
Mifflin  &  Co.,  of  Boston  and  New  York);  the  third  edition  of  the 
book  appeared  in   1875,  with  an  Appendix,  containing  ninety-two 


928  CONCL  USIONS. 

pages  of  additional  matters;  and  the  last  edition,  published  in  1886,, 

has  grown  into  two  volumes,   and  contains  a  supplement  of  one 

hundred  and  twenty  pages  of  new  matter. 

When  in  college  Judge  Holmes'  studies  had  more  tendency   to 

metaphysics    than    to    literature,    merely    as    such.      He    read   the 

Shakespeare  Plays,  as  he  says,  "to  find  out  what  great  poetry  was."" 

He   read,   in    1856,    Delia    Bacon's    celebrated    Putnam  s   Magazine 

article,   and   thereupon,  he   says,  "  I  set  to   work   to  make  a  more 

thorough  study  and  comparison  of  the  two  sets  of  writings,   and 

soon  found  matter  for  surprise.     Within  a  year   I   had   convinced 

myself  of  the  identity  of  the  author."     He  says: 

My  method  was  to  read  Bacon,  and  when  I  came  across  anything  that  was. 
particularly  Shakespearean  to  set  the  passage  down  in  one  column,  and  when  I 
found  anything  in  the  Plays  that  was  particularly  Baconian,  I  set  it  down  in  the 
opposite  column.  Thus  the  context,  thought  and  word  were  brought  into  com- 
parison. 

Another  and  very  important  part  of  the  method  was,  to  ascertain,  as  exactly 
as  possible,  the  date  of  the  first  known  appearance  of  each  play,  or  of  such  as  had 
appeared  before  the  Folio  of  1623  was  published,  and  of  each  one  of  Bacon's 
acknowledged  writings;  and  the  result  was  that  the  stronger  resemblances  in  thought, 
matter  and  word  were  pretty  sure  to  appear  in  both  writings  if  they  were  of  nearly 
the  same  date  of  composition.  With  these  dates  fixed  in  my  memory,  I  was  very 
sure  to  go,  at  once,  to  the  right  work  in  which  to  find  some  exhibition  of  the  same 
matter,  thought  and  expression. 

I  need  scarcely  add  that  Judge  Holmes'  work  is  exceedingly 
able;  it  is  and  has  been,  since  it  was  published,  the  standard  author- 
ity of  the  Baconians;  and  it  is  markedly  fair  and  judicial  in  its  tone. 
One  has  but  to  look  at  the  portrait  of  Judge  Holmes,  which  we  pre- 
sent herewith,  to  read  the  character  of  the  man  —  plain,  straight- 
forward, honest  and  capable.  In  fact,  I  might  here  observe  that  it 
seems  to  me  that  all  the  portraits  of  the  original  Baconians  presented 
in  this  volume  are  remarkable  for  the  intellectual  power  manifested 
in  them.  A  finer  collection  of  faces  never  adorned  the  advocacy  of 
any  theory.  Instead  of  being,  as  the  light-headed  have  charged,  a 
set  of  visionaries,  their  portraits  show  them  to  be  people  of  pene- 
trating, original,  practical  minds,  who  differ  from  their  fellows  sim- 
ply in  their  power  to  think  more  deeply,  and  in  their  greater  cour- 
age to  express  their  convictions. 

III.     Dr.  William  Thomson. 

The  next  important  contribution  to  the  Baconian  argument,  in 


'cam  or. 


THE  BACOXIAXS. 


929 


order  of  time,  was  made  by  Dr.  William    Thomson,  of  Melbourne, 

Australia,    in     his    work.      The   Political    Purpose   of  the   Renascence 

Drama:    The   Key  of  the  Argument,    an  Svo  pamphlet  of  57    pages, 

published  at  Melbourne,  Sydney  and  Adelaide,  in   1878,  by  George 

Robertson. 

I  have  not  been  able  to  procure  copies  of  any  of  Dr.  Thomson's 

publications.     I    learn    from    Mr.    Wyman's    Bibliography   that    Dr. 

Thomson  was  a  practicing  physician  at  Melbourne,  Australia.     Mr. 

Wyman  says: 

He  was  evidently  a  fine  scholar  and  an  intense  Baconian.  He  died  during  the 
past  year  (1884),  at  the  age  of  sixty-three. 

Mr.  Wyman  sends  me  the  following  extract  from  a  private  letter 
received  by  him  from  Melbourne: 

The  Baconian  theory  of  Shakespeare's  writings  was  an  intense  hobby  with  Dr. 
Thomson;  and  even  the  day  before  he  died  he  sent  for  some  books  on  the  subject: 
the  ruling  passion  strong  in  death.  .  .  .  His  usefulnesses  a  member  of  society 
was  somewhat  marred  by  his  quarrelsome  disposition.  He  was  ever  ready  to  put 
on  the  literary  war-paint,  and  raised  up  numerous  enemies  thereby. 

From  my  knowledge  of  this  end  of  the  nineteenth  century  I 
should  interpret  this  last  sentence  to  signify  that  Dr.  Thomson  was 
persecuted  and  hounded  by  the  advocates  of  "the  divine  Williams," 
as  the  Frenchman  called  him;  and  that  because  he  maintained  his 
convictions, —  his  intelligent  convictions, — and  would  not  agree 
to  think  as  the  unreasoning  multitude  around  him,  he  was  re- 
garded as  a  belligerent  savage,  ready  at  all  times  to  don  the  war- 
paint. The  man  who  in  this  world  undertakes  to  think  his  own 
thoughts,  and  express  them,  will  find  the  angles  of  ten  thousand 
elbows  grinding  his  ribs  continually.  The  fool  who  has  no  opinions,, 
and  the  coward  who  conceals  what  he  has,  are  always  in  rapport 
with  the  streaming,  shouting,  happy-go-lucky  multitude;  but  woe 
unto  the  strong  man  who  does  his  own  thinking,  and  will  not  be 
bullied  into  silence  ! 

Mrs.  Pott  writes  me,  recently: 

I  have  had  a  long  and  pleasant  correspondence  with  Dr.  Thomson,  and  I  felt  , 
his  death  very  much.  He  was  a  very  clever  man.  His  friends,  (some  of  whom 
have  been  to  see  me),  and  his  relations,  claim  for  him  that  he  was  the  originator  of 
the  germ  theories  attributed  to  Koch.  He  illustrated  the  fact  that  phthisis  is  infec- 
tious and  communicable  by  germs  in  the  air,  and  proved  that  it  was  unknown  in 
Australia  until  introduced  in  a  definite  manner  by  consumptive  people  from  Eng- 
land.    He  was  a  man  to  be  remembered. 


93©  CONCLUSIONS. 

I  regret  that  I  cannot  speak  more  fully  concerning  this  able  and 
resolute  gentleman,  who  held  up  the  torch  of  the  new  doctrine  in 
the  midst  of  an  unbelieving  generation,  in  the  far-away  antipodes. 

In  1880  he  published  at  Melbourne,  Australia,  a  book  entitled: 
Our  Renascence  Drama;  or.  History  made  Visible.  Sands  and  McDou- 
gal.     8vo.,  pp.  359. 

In  1881  he  put  forth  a  continuation  of  this  work:  William  Shake- 
speare in  Romance  and  Reality.  By  William  Thomson.  Melbourne: 
Sands  and  McDougall.     8vo,  pp.  95. 

In  the  same  year  he  published  at  Melbourne  a  pamphlet  of 
sixteen  pages  entitled,  Bacon  and  Shakespeare;  also  another  pamphlet 
of  thirty-nine  pages,  entitled,  Bacon,  not  Shakespeare,  on  Vivisection. 
In  1882  he  published  another  pamphlet  of  forty-six  pages,  entitled, 
The  Political  Allegories  in  the  Renascence  Drama  of  Francis  Bacon.  In 
1883  he  put  forth  a  pamphlet  of  twenty-four  pages,  entitled,  A 
Minute  among  the  Amenities,  in  which  he  replies  to  certain  pro-Shak- 
spere  critics  in  leading  Australian  periodicals;  claiming  that  he  was 
denied  a  hearing  by  the  papers  that  had  attacked  him,  and  was 
forced  to  defend  himself  and  his  doctrines  in  a  pamphlet.  This 
was  the  last  of  his  utterances. 

IV.     Mrs.  Henry  Pott. 

In  1883  appeared  one  of  the  most  important  contributions  yet 
made  to  the  discussion  of  the  Baconian  question:  The  Fromus  of 
Formularies  and  Elegancies,  (being  Private  Notes,  circ.  1594,  hitherto 
unpublished),  by  Francis  Bacon.  Illustrated  and  elucidated  by  pass- 
ages from  Shakespeare.  By  Mrs.  Henry  Pott.  With  Preface  by 
E.  A.  Abbott,  D.D.,  Head  Master  of  the  City  of  London  School. 
1883.     London:  Longmans,  Green  &  Co.     8vo,  pp.  628. 

Mr.  Wyman  says: 

The  MSS.  known  as  the  Promus  form  a  part  of  the  Harleian  collection  in  the 
British  Museum.  .  .  .  They  consist  of  fifty  sheets  or  folios,  nearly  all  in  the  hand- 
writing of  Bacon,  containing  1655  different  entries  or  memoranda.  The  whole 
seems  to  have  been  kept  by  Bacon  as  a  sort  of  commonplace-book,  in  which  he 
entered  at  different  times  brief  forms  of  expression,  phrases,  proverbs,  verses  from 
the  Bible,  and  quotations  from  Seneca,  Horace,  Virgil,  Erasmus,  and  many  other 
writers.     These  are  in  various  languages  —  English,  French,  Italian,  etc. 

Mrs.  Pott's  great  work  —  and  it  is  indeed  a  monument  of  in- 
dustry and  learning  —  has  for  its  object  to  show  that,  while  hundreds 


THE  BACONIANS.  93 T 

of  these  entries  have  borne  no  fruit  in  the  preparation  of  Bacon's 
acknowledged  works,  they  reappear  with  wonderful  distinctness  in 
the  Shakespeare  Plays.  With  phenomenal  patience  Mrs.  Pott  has 
worked  out  thousands  of  these  identities  in  her  book.  I  have  al- 
ready made  many  citations  from  it.  !f  ome  idea  may  be  formed  of 
the  marvelous  industry  of  this  remarkable  lady  when  I  state  that, 
to  prove  that  we  are  indebted  to  Bacon  for  having  enriched  the 
English  language,  through  the  Plays,  with  those  beautiful  courte- 
sies of  speech,  "  Good  morrow,"  "  Good  day,"  etc.,  she  carefully 
examined  six  thousand  works  anterior  to  or  conte?nporary  with  Bacon. 

Mrs.  Pott  resides  in  London.  She  is  nearing  the  fiftieth  mile- 
stone of  her  life.  She  comes  of  the  best  blood  of  England  and 
Scotland;  of  a  long  line  of  clergymen  and  lawyers.  Judge  Hali- 
burton,  of  Nova  Scotia,  celebrated  as  the  writer  of  the  "Sam  Slick  " 
papers,  was  a  cousin  of  her  mother.  Her  uncle,  James  Haliburton, 
was  the  first  Englishman  to  attempt  to  investigate  the  Pyramids  of 
Egypt.  He  lived  among  the  Arabs  and  mastered  their  language, 
as  well  as  the  hieroglyphics  on  the  ancient  monuments.  The  first 
collection  of  mummies  in  the  British  Museum  was  presented  by 
him,  and  bears  his  name.  It  is  claimed  that  Sir  Gardiner  Wilkin- 
son appropriated  his  papers  and  labors  without  acknowledgment. 
Sir  Walter  Scott  was  a  Haliburton.  Mrs.  Pott's  father,  John  Peter 
Fearon,  was  a  lawyer.  "  He  came,"  says  Mrs.  Pott,  in  answer  to 
my  questions,  "  of  a  long  line  of  Sussex  clergy  and  country  gentle- 
men. They  seem,  like  the  oaks,  to  have  been  indigenous  to  this  soil." 
Among  the  acquaintances  of  Mrs.  Pott's  youth  were  the  celebrated 
Stephensons  and  "  dear  old  Professor  Faraday."  Mrs.  Pott  writes 
me  a  charming  account  of  her  early  years,  from  which  I  take  the 
liberty  to  quote  a  few  sentences: 

Things  in  general  fell  to  me  to  do.  To  ride,  to  botanize  and  analyze  with 
my  father;  and  to  take  notes  for  him  at  the  Royal  Institution  lectures,  which  we 
attended  thrice  a  week  during  the  season,  from  the  time  I  was  nine  until  I  was 
nineteen.  We  had  an  immense  deal  of  company  to  entertain  and  cater  for,  and  I 
was  dubbed  "  chief  of  the  folly  and  decoration  department;  "  and  looking  back,  in 
these  days  of  high  schools  and  cram,  I  cannot  think  how  I  got  my  education  — 
certainly  not  in  the  ordinary  way.  We  had  an  extremely  clever  and  original 
governess,  who  had  lived  for  sixteen  years  at  Oxford  in  the  family  of  the  Dean  of 
Christ  Church.  She  came  to  us  overflowing  with  university  ideas,  knowledge  of 
books,  etc.;  and  she  impenetrated  my  imagination  with  a  desire  to  know  all  sorts 
of    .hings  which  were  considered  to  be  far  beyond  the  reaches  of  small  souls;  so 


93  2  CONCL  USIONS. 

that  I  remember  steolitjg  learned  volumes  from  my  father's  shelves,  hiding  them 
like  a  guilty  thing,  and  glorying  in  the  feeling  that  I  did  understand  them,  and 
that  if  I  had  known  the  authors  I  could  have  talked  to  them  to  our  mutual  pleasure. 
And  somewhat  in  this  way  I  made  Bacon's  acquaintance.  One  day,  (I  was  ten  or 
eleven  years  old),  an  aunt  took  me  to  pay  some  visits.  Whilst  she  and  her  friends 
prosed  drearily  on,  so  to  me  it  seemed,  I  improved  the  dismal  hour  by  taking  a 
tour  round  the  big  drawing-room  table,  adorned  with  books  radiating  from  the 
center.  Soon  I  found  one  with  short  pieces  in  good  print,  and  read:  "  What  is 
truth?  said  jesting  Pilate,  and  would  not  wait  for  an  answer."  I  was  delighted 
with  this  new  view  of  the  subject,  and  the  mixture  of  gravity  and  fun  made  me  feel 
at  home  with  the  author,  for  it  was  like  my  father.  I  read  on,  and  I  found  it  to  be 
a  very  nice  book;  so  I  looked  at  the  title-page,  and  afterwards  asked  at  home  if 
there  were  any  books  by  a  man  called  Francis  Bacon,  for  I  wished  to  read  them. 
It  was  not  my  father  that  I  asked,  and  I  was  told  that  if  was  a  conceited  and  ridi- 
culous thing  for  a  little  girl  to  pretend  to  understand  Bacon,  who  by  all  accounts 
was  too  wise  for  any  one  to  understand.  That  fixed  him  in  my  mind  as  a  thing  to 
be  seen  into  at  the  earliest  opportunity;  and  somehow  I  must  have  got  possessed 
of  the  Essays,  for  my  old  governess  told  me  a  few  years  ago  that  when  I  was  thir- 
teen years  of  age  we  were  speculating  on  the  joys  of  heaven,  and  I  said,  to  the 
great  surprise  of  the  audience,  that  my  idea  would  be  to  walk  about  and  talk  to 
Francis  Bacon.  Of  this  I  have  no  recollection;  but  I  do  remember  the  violent 
repulsion  which  I  felt  at  having  to  say  "  How  d'ye  do  "  to  Lord  Macaulay,  because, 
in  my  secret  heart,  I  thought  him  a  villain  for  having  written  such  an  essay  about 
Bacon.  When  I  married,  at  the  age  of  twenty,  a  friend  asked  me  to  name  some- 
thing which  I  would  like  him  to  give  me.  I  said,  "Bacon's  Essays;"  and  that 
little  well-bound  volume,  (containing  also  the  New  Atlantis,  The  Wisdom  of  the 
Ancients,  and  The  History  of  Henry  VIE),  was  the  proximate  cause  of  present 
effects.  It  used  to  be  on  the  table  by  which  I  sat  whilst  I  had  my  daily  cup  of 
five  o'clock  tea.  As  time  went  on,  and  in  my  happy  little  country  home  annual 
babies  were  added  to  the  household,  they  were  always  with  me  at  this  hour,  whilst 
the  nurse  was  having  her  more  important  meal.  Whilst  they  played  and  rolled 
about  (five  under  six  years  of  age),  I  could  not  do  much,  but  I  could  catch  a  few 
refreshing  ideas  from  my  favorite  author.  I  got  to  know  the  Essays  through  and 
through,  and  was  not  long  in  perceiving  the  resemblances  of  thought  between  pass- 
ages there  and  in  Shakespeare.  In  the  long  damp  evenings,  before  my  husband 
came  home,  I  used  to  amuse  myself  by  hunting  out  in  the  Plays  the  lines  which  I 
thought  I  remembered.  I  began  by  trying  to  find  out  how  much  Bacon  owes  to 
Plato,  and  soon  found  that  Shakespeare  owed  as  much.  This  was  before  the  days 
of  a  Shakespearean  Concordance,  at  least  I  never  heard  of  any;  but  in  the  search 
for  passages  after  my  own  fashion,  I  continually  stumbled  upon  fresh  resemblances 
of  thought  and  diction  so  surprising,  that,  at  last,  I  said  one  day  to  our  learned 
old  clergyman,  the  Rev.  John  Thomas  Austen,  that  I  felt  sure  that  Bacon  must 
have  taken  the  youthful  Shakespeare  by  the  hand  and  coached  him,  or  in  some 
definite  way  helped  him  with  his  works.  Mr.  Austen  said  that  others  had  thought 
the  same  thing,  but  that  experts,  the  Shakespearean  Society  and  others,  had  in- 
quired into  the  subject,  which  had  been  duly  weighed  and  found  wanting.  I  spoke 
to  others  on  the  same  topic,  but  found  that  it  was  held  to  be  ridiculous,  or  even 
offensive,  to  touch  upon  it.  So,  for  a  while,  I  said  no  more,  but  kept  on  scribbling 
notes  on  the  margins  of  my  books,  until  my  own  mind  grew  confirmed  and  auda- 
cious. I  said  to  Mr.  Austen  that  I  had  altered  my  ideas.  Bacon  did  not  help 
Shakespeare,  but  he  wrote  all  the  Plays  himself.     Then  Mr.  Austen  laughed  at  me 


THE   BACONIANS.  933 

kindly,  and  said  I  ought  to  have  known  Lord  Palmerston,  who  to  his  dying  day 
maintained  the  same  thing.  I  asked  what  were  Lord  Palmerston' s  views.  Mr.  Aus- 
ten said  that  he  did  not  know;  that  he  had  some  vaporous  notions  which  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  men's  lives  did  not  warrant.  I  said  that  if  the  idea  savored  of 
"  inane,"  I  should  be  happy  to  be  a  fool  in  such  good  company  as  Lord  Palmer- 
ston's;  and  privately  continued  my  researches.  In  1874  we  were  in  London,  and 
I  casually  met  with  Fraser  s  Magazine,  July  or  August,  containing  that  remarkably 
fair>  calm  article  which  has  now  become  almost  classic.  It  summed  up  all  that 
had  been  published  on  the  subject,  and  brought  forward  the  names  of  Miss  Delia 
Bacon,  and  Mr.  W.  H.  Smith,  and  Judge  Holmes,  of  not  one  of  whom  had  I  ever 
before  heard.  I  was  enchanted  to  find  that  there  was  nothing  which  upset  the 
theories  which  had  been  building  themselves  up  about  Bacon.  I  told  Archdeacon 
Pott,  my  husband's  cousin,  what  I  thought,  and  that  the  only  scientific  way  of  get- 
ting at  the  truth  was  to  take,  separately,  every  branch  of  Bacon's  learning,  every 
subject  of  his  studies  and  researches,  placing  them  under  headings  as  in  a 
cyclopaedia,  and  comparing  them  with  Shakespeare's  utterances.  I  proposed  to 
begin  with  concrete  substantives,  to  prove  (what  I  already  knew  was  a  fact)  that 
Bacon  and  Shakespeare  talked  of  the  same  things;  then  I  would  collect  all  the  pass- 
ages which  showed  their  thoughts  on  those  same  things;  and  then,  again,  the 
actual  words  which  they  used  to  express  their  thoughts.  My  cousin  thought  that 
the  task  would  be  Herculean,  and  require  an  army  of  able  workers,  but  no  aid 
was  then  to  be  had.  "  The  learned  "  did  not  like  my  notions,  and  fought  shy  of 
discussing  them.  "  The  unlearned  "  were  useless;  and  the  small  amount  of  work 
which  I  paid  for  was  done  in  a  perfunctory  or  uncomprehending  way  which  ren- 
dered it  valueless.  So  I  remembered  my  father's  dictum  that  Time  and  Force 
are  convertible  terms;  and  I  recollected  also  a  mushroom  which,  in  a  day  and  a  night, 
heaved  up  a  great  threshold  stone  at  our  garden  door;  and  I  thought  that  by  small, 
persistent  efforts  I  would  be  even  with  that  mushroom.  So  I  began  systematically 
on  the  simplest  subjects  —  Horticulture,  Agriculture,  etc.;  arranging  each  detail 
under  a  heading,  and  writing  on  the  right  half  of  the  sheet  what  Bacon  said,  and 
on  the  left  what  Shakespeare  said.  After  doing  Horticulture,  Natural  History, 
Medicine,  Metallurgy,  Chemistry,  Meteorology,  Astronomy,  Astrology,  -Light, 
Heat,  Sound,  Man,  Metaphysics,  Life,  Death,  etc.,  I  proceeded  to  Politics;  the 
State,  Kings,  Seditions,  etc.;  Law,  in  all  its  branches;  Mythology,  Religion;  the 
Bible,  Superstitions,  Witchcraft  or  Demonology,  etc.  Then  History,  Ancient  and 
Modern,  Geography,  allusions  to  Classical  Lore,  Fiction,  Arts,  the  Theater, 
Music,  Poetry,  Painting,  Cosmetics,  Dress,  Furniture,  Domestic  Affairs.  Trades, 
Professions;  in  short,  everything.  Then  for  the  Grammar,  (by  aid  of  Dr.  Abbott's 
Shakespearean  Grammar),  and  the  Philology,  by  an  exhaustive  process  of  com- 
parison, and  by  Pro?nns  notes.  Then  I  wrote  a  sketch  of  Bacon's  life,  consisting 
of  twenty-nine  or  thirty  chapters,  wherein,  as  I  believed,  I  traced  his  history, 
written  in  the  Plays.  Fortunately  I  made  no  attempt  to  publish  this.  Mean- 
while I  began  another  dictionary,  which  was  well  advanced  when  I  broke  down  in 
health.  Having  taken  out  all  the  metaphors,  similes  and  figurative  turns  of  speech 
from  the  prose  works,  I  compared  them  as  before  with  the  same  sort  of  thing  in 
the  Plays.      I  made  about  3,000  headings,  illustrated  by  about  30,000  passages. 

This  extraordinary  mental  activity  and  industry  is  quite  Bacon- 
ian; it 

O'er-informs  its  tenement  of  clay, 
And  frets  the  pigmy  body  to  decay. 


934 


CONCL  USIONS. 


It  is  the  spirit  mastering  the  flesh;  and  it  reminds  one  of  the 
expression  used  by  one  of  the  great  French  generals  of  the  eight- 
eenth century,  who  found  himself  trembling,  as  he  was  going  into 
battle:  "  Thou  tremblest,  O  body  of  mine!  Thou  wouldst  trem- 
ble still  more  if  thou  knewest  where  I  am  going  to  take  thee 
to-day  !  " 

And  this  marvelous  mental  labor  has  been  carried  on  in  the 
midst  of  the  demands  of  a  large  family  and  the  exactions  of  many 
and  high  social  duties.  I  was  amused  to  find  Mrs.  Pott  saying  in 
a  recent  letter, —  in  which  she  was  discussing  some  very  grave  ques- 
tions,— "But  I  must  stop;  for  I  have  to  give  one  of  the  children  a 
lesson  on  the  violin." 

Mrs.  Pott  is  one  of  the  most  comprehensive  and  penetrating 
minds  ever  born  on  English  soil,  and  her  nation  will  yet  recognize 
her  as  such;  and  she  is,  withal,  a  generous,  modest  and  unpretend- 
ing lady.  It  is  an  auspicious  sign  for  the  future  of  the  human  race 
when  women,  who  in  the  olden  time  were  the  slaves  or  the  play- 
things of  men,  prove  that  their  more  delicate  nervous  organization 
is  not  at  all  incompatible  with  the  greatest  mental  labors  or  the  pro- 
foundest  and  most  original  conceptions.  And  if  it  be  a  fact  —  as 
all  creeds  believe  —  that  our  intelligences  are  plastic  in  the  hands  of 
the  external  spiritual  influences,  then  we  may  naturally  expect  that 
woman  —  purer,  higher,  nobler  and  more  sensitive  than  man  — 
will  in  the  future  lead  the  race  up  many  of  the  great  sun-crowned 
heights  of  progress,  where  thicker-brained  man  can  only  follow 
in  her  footsteps. 

I  owe  Mrs.  Pott  an  apology  for  venturing  to  quote  so  exten- 
sively, as  I  have  done,  from  her  private  letters,  but  I  trust  the 
pleasure  it  will  give  the  public  will  plead  my  excuse. 

V.     Other  Advocates  of  Bacon. 

Besides  these  distinguished  laborers  in  the  field  of  this  great  dis- 
cussion, as  advocates  of  Francis  Bacon,  there  have  been  many 
humbler,  but  no  less  gallant  defenders  of  his  cause,  who,  in 
pamphlet,  magazine,  or  newspaper,  have  set  forth  the  reasons  for 
the  faith  that  was  in  them;  and  who  deserve  now  to  be  remembered 
for  their  sagacity  and  courage.     Among  these  I  would  mention. 


THE  BACONIANS.  935 

Francis  Fearon,  a  brother  of  Mrs.  Pott,  whose  able  lecture, 
recently,  upon  the  question  of  Bacon's  authorship  of  the  Plays,  has 
been  read  by  millions  of  people  in  England  and  America;  the  un- 
known writer  of  the  article  which  appeared  in  Frasers  Magazine, 
London,  November,  1855;  Richard  J.  Hinton,  of  Washington,  D.  C, 
who  published  an  able  three-column  article  in  the  Round  Table,  of 
New  York,  November  17,  1866,  and  has  subsequently  done  yeoman 
service  in  the  cause;  Rev.  A.  B.  Bradford,  of  Enon,  Pennsylvania, 
who  printed,  in  the  Golden  Age,  May  30,  1834,  and  in  the  Argus  and 
Radical,  of  Beaver,  Pennsylvania,  December  29,  1875,  a  report  of  a 
six-column  lecture  on  the  same  theme;  J.  V.  B.  Prichard,  who  wrote 
a  ten-page  article  for  Frascr's  Magazine,  London,  August,  1874 
(which  was  reproduced  in  LittelVs  Living  Age,  October,  1874,  and 
attracted  marked  attention);  the  Ven.  Archdeacon  William  T.  Leach, 
LL.D..  of  McGill  College  and  University,  Montreal,  Canada,  who 
delivered  a  lecture  before  the  College  on  Bacon  and  Shakespeare, 
November  13,  1879,  an<^  warmly  espoused  the  side  of  Francis 
Bacon  as  the  author  of  the  Plays.  In  addition  to  these  I  would 
also  mention:  George  Stronach,  M.A.,  who  advocated  the  Baconian 
theory  in  The  Hornet,  London,  August  11,  1875;  M.  J.  Villemain, 
who  published  two  articles,  in  L* Instruction  Publiqtie:  Revue  des 
Lettres,  Science  et  Arts,  Paris,  August  31  and  September  7,  1878. 
Also  my  friend  O.  Follett,  Esq.,  of  Sandusky,  Ohio,  who  printed  a 
pamphlet  of  forty-seven  pages,  May,  1879,  and  another  May,  i88i,of 
twelve  pages,  and  has  contributed  a  strong  communication  to  the 
Register,  of  Sandusky,  Ohio,  April  5,  1883,  in  answer  to  Richard 
Grant  White's  "Bacon-Shakespeare  Craze."  Mr.  Follett  has,  I  un- 
derstand, ready  for  the  press  a  larger  work  on  the  Baconian  author- 
ship, which  I  hope  will  soon  see  the  light.  I  would  also  refer  to 
Henry  G.  Atkinson,  F.G.S.,  who,  in  the  Spiritualist,  London,  July 
4,  1879,  and  m  many  other  periodicals,  has  advocated  the  Baconian 
theory;  also  to  O.  C.  Strouder,  author  of  an  article  in  the  Witten- 
berger  Magazine,  of  Springfield,  Ohio,  November,  1880;  also  to 
William  W.  Ferrier,  of  Angola,  Indiana,  who  contributed  num- 
erous able  articles  on  the  subject  to  the  Herald  of  that  town  in 
the  year  1881;  also  to  E.  W.  Tullidge,  editor  of  Tullidge  s  Quarterly 
Magazine,  Salt  Lake  City,  Utah,  who  has  written  several   strong 


936 


CONCLUSIONS. 


\ 


articles  in  advocacy  of  Bacon's  authorship  of  the  Plays;  also  to 
John  W.  Bell,  of  Toledo,  Ohio,  who  has  written  several  newspaper 
articles  of  the  same  tenor;  also  to  Robert  M.  Theobald,  of  London, 
England,  one  of  the  officers  of  the  Bacon  Society  of  London, 
and  an  able  and  earnest  advocate  of  Baconianism  in  leading 
English  journals.  I  would  also  mention  the  names  of  Edward 
Fillebrown,  of  Brookline,  Massachusetts,  and  the  late  Hon.  Geo.  B. 
Smith,  at  one  time  a  leading  lawyer  of  the  State  of  Wisconsin, 
whom  I  had  the  pleasure  of  knowing.  I  would  also  refer  to  the 
unknown  writer  of  an  able  article  in  defense  of  Bacon's  authorship 
of  the  Plays,  in  the  Allgemeine  Zeitung,  Stuttgart  and  Munich,  March 
i,  1883,  four  columns  in  length.  I  would  also  refer  to  the  labors  of 
two  of  my  friends,  William  Henry  Burr,  of  Washington,  D.  C,  a 
powerful  controversialist  upon  the  question;  and  to  Hon.  J.  H. 
Stotsenburg,  of  New  Albany,  Indiana,  the  author  of  a  very  interest- 
ing series  of  articles  in  an  Indianapolis  newspaper,  entitled  "An 
Indian  in  Indiana." 

VI.     Appleton  Morgan. 

I  regret  that  I  cannot  include  in  this  catalogue  of  Baconians 
Mr.  Appleton  Morgan,  the  author  of  The  Shakespearean  Myth,  pub- 
lished in  1881,  by  Robert  Clarke  &  Co.,  of  Cincinnati,  Ohio  (8vo, 
pp.  342);  but  Mr.  Morgan  writes  me  recently  that  he  is  not  a 
Baconian.  This  is  the  more  to  be  regretted  because  his  book  is 
a  powerful  assault  upon  Shakspere's  authorship:  and  it  seems  to 
me  that  if  Shakspere  did  not  write  the  Plays  there  is  no  one  left 
to  dispute  the  palm  with  Francis  Bacon.  Certainly  there  could 
not  have  been  half  a  dozen  Shakespeares  lying  around  loose  in 
London  just  at  that  time.  Nature  does  not  breed  her  monsters 
in  litters.  While  Mr.  Morgan  gives  us  in  his  work  few  new  facts, 
not  already  contained  in  the  writings  of  Miss  Bacon,  William  Henry 
Smith  and  Judge  Holmes,  he  arrays  the  argument  in  the  case  with 
the  skill  of  a  trained  lawyer,  and  brings  out  his  conclusions  in  a 
forcible  manner.  But  I  regret  to  see  evidences,  in  some  of  Mr. 
Morgan's  recent  utterances,  which  lead  me  to  fear  that  he  has  re- 
canted the  opinions  expressed  in  The  Myth,  and  that  he  thinks  the 
man  of  Stratford  may,  after  all,  have  written  the  Plays  ! 


THE  BACONIAN H. 


VII.     Professor  Thomas  Davidsoi 


I  take  pleasure  in  presenting  to  the  public  the  features  of  one 
of  the  most  accomplished  scholars  in  America,  who,  while  not  an 
avowed  Baconian,  has  been  largely  identified  with  the  presentation 
of  this  book  to  the  public,  and  therefore  deserves  to  be  mentioned 
in  it.  Professor  Davidson  was  sent  to  my  home  by  the  New  York 
World,  in  August,  1887,  to  examine  the  proof-sheets  of  this  work. 
He  came  believing  that  William  Shakspere  was  undoubtedly  the 
writer  of  the  Plays;  he  left  convinced  that  this  was  almost  impos- 
sible; and  since  then,  in  numerous  newspaper  articles,  he  has  pre- 
sented most  powerful  arguments  in  support  of  his  views.  Only  a 
great  man  could  thus  overcome,  in  a  few  hours,  the  prejudices  of  a 
life-time;  only  an  honest  man  would  dare  avow  the  change.  Prof. 
Davidson  is  both. 

He  comes  of  the  great  race  of  Burns  and  Scott,  and  Hume  and 
Mackintosh;  —  a  race  whose  part  in  the  world  has  been  altogether 
out  of  proportion  to  the  dimensions  of  their  stormy  little  land;  a 
land  which  sits  with  the  fair  fields  of  England  at  her  knees,  and  the 
everlasting  clouds  upon  her  mountain  brows. 

Professor  Davidson  was  born  October  25,  1840,  at  Deer,  Aber- 
deenshire. He  graduated  as  the  first  in  his  class  at  Aberdeen  in 
i860.  He  has  traveled  in  Germany,  France,  Italy,  Greece,  Canada, 
the  United  States,  etc.  From  1875  to  1877  he  was  a  member  of  the 
Harvard  University  Visiting  Committee.  He  has  written  for  all 
the  leading  magazines  and  reviews  of  England  and  America.  His 
lingual  acquirements  and  his  universal  learning  are  such  that  he 
has  been  aptly  termed  "  the  Admirable  Crichton  of  recent  times." 

But  intellect  and  learning  are  cheap  in  these  latter  ages;  they 
are  produced  in  superabundance.  Professor  Davidson  has  that, 
however,  which  is  better  than  a  thoroughly-stored  brain,  to-wit:  a 
kind,  broad  heart,  which  feels  for  the  miseries  of  his  fellow-men. 
The  acquisitions  of  the  memory  cannot  be  expected  to  be  perpetu-  , 
ated  beyond  the  disintegration  of  the  brain  which  holds  them;  but 
the  impulses  for  good  come  from  the  Divine  Essence,  and  will  live 
when  all  the  universities  are  but  little  heaps  of  dust. 

VIII.     James  T.  Cobb. 

And  here  I  would  note  the  labors  of  an  humble  and  unostentatious 


938 


CO  JVC  L  USIONS. 


gentleman,  who,  while  he  has  himself,  I  believe,  published  nothing 
touching  the  Baconian  controversy,  has  contributed  not  a  little  to 
the  elucidation  of  many  remarkable  parallelisms  of  thought  and 
expression  between  Bacon's  acknowledged  writings  and  the  Shake- 
speare Plays.  Some  of  these  have  been  used  by  Judge  Holmes  and 
others  by  myself.  Mr.  James  T.  Cobb,  of  Salt  Lake  City,  Utah, 
school-teacher,  born  in  Boston,  graduated  in  1855  from  Dartmouth 
College,  resided  in  different  Western  States,  and  finally  removed 
to  the  great  Salt  Lake  Basin.  Mr.  Cobb's  verbal  knowledge  of  the 
Baconian  and  Shakespeare  writings  is  equaled  only  by  his  pene- 
tration into  the  spirit  of  the  great  mind  which  produced  both. 

IX.     W.  H.  Wyman. 

I  cannot  close  this  chapter  without  some  reference  to  one  who, 
while  not  a  Baconian,  has  yet  materially  contributed  to  the  discus- 
sion of  the  question.  I  refer  to  Mr.  W.  H.  Wyman,  of  Cincinnati, 
Ohio,  author  of  TJie  BibliograpJiy  of  tJie  Bacon-SJiakespeare  Contro- 
versy, with  Notes  and  Extracts,  published  in  1884  by  Cox  &  Co.,  Cin- 
cinnati, Ohio — a  reasonably  fair  and  well  arranged  compilation. 

It  is  singular,  indeed,  that  one  who  believed  the  Baconian  theory 
was  a  delusion  and  a  snare  should  be  at  so  much  pains  to  collect 
every  detail  of  the  controversy,  amounting  in  all,  in  1884,  to  255 
titles  of  books,  pamphlets,  essays  and  newspaper  articles.  So  far 
back  as  1882  we  find  Mr  Wyman  publishing  in  a  Wisconsin  paper 
a  partial  bibliographical  list  (25  titles);  this  grew  in  the  same  year 
to  a  small  book  of  63  titles  and  eight  pages;  this  in  1884  to  the 
work  referred  to  of  255  titles  and  119  pages;  and  I  am  informed 
Mr.  Wyman  has  now  the  material  on  hand  for  a  large  volume,  which 
will,  I  trust,  soon  be  published. 

Mr.  Wyman  was  born  in  Canton,  New  York,  July  21st,  1831. 
In  1838  he  removed  with  the  rest  of  his  family  to  Madison,  Wiscon- 
sin, then  almost  a  wilderness.  His  father  was  publisher  of  a  news- 
paper there,  and  Mr.  Wyman  received  most  of  his  education  in  the 
printing-office.  He  has  been  in  the  service  of  the  JEtna  Insurance 
Company  for  thirty-two  years,  and  now  holds  the  responsible  place 
of  Assistant  General  Agent  for  that  corporation  in  the  State  of 
Ohio. 


CHAPTER  IV. 
OTHER  MASKS  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 

Xo  more  yet  of  this, 
For  'tis  a  chronicle  of  day  by  day, 
Not-  a  relation  for  a  breakfast,  nor 
Befitting  this  first  meeting. 

Tempest^   r,  /. 

"  I  ^HE  Cipher  establishes  that  Francis  Bacon  wrote  the  Shake- 
•*■  speare  Plays;  but  it  proves  much  more  than^this  to  the  reason- 
ing mind. 

The  first  of  the  Plays,  we  are  told  by  Halliwell-Phillipps,  (the 
highest  authority  on  the  subject),  appeared  March  3,  1592.  But 
Bacon  was  born  January  22,  1561;  so  that  he  was  thirty-one  years 
of  age  when  the  first  Shakespeare  play  was  placed  on  the  stage. 

Can  any  one  believe  that  the  vastly  active  intellect  of  Francis 
Bacon  lay  fallow  from  youth  until  he  was  thirty-one  years  of  age? 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Newman,  in  his  funeral  oration  over  the  son  of 
Senator  Stanford,  of  California,  collated  many  instances,  going  to 
show  how  early  the  greatness  of  the  mind  manifests  itself  in  men 
of  exceptional  ability.     He  says: 

In  all  this  early  intellectual  superiority  he  reminds  us  that  the  history  of  heroes 
is  the  history  of  youth.  At  eleven,  Bacon  was  speculating  on  the  Laws  of  the 
Imagination;  at  twelve,  a  student  at  Cambridge;  at  sixteen,  expressing  his  dis- 
like for  the  philosophy  of  Aristotle;  at  twenty,  the  author  of  a  paper  on  the  defects 
of  universities;  at  twenty-one,  admitted  to  the  bar;  at  twenty-eight,  appointed 
Queen's  Counsel  Extraordinary.  He  reminds  us  of  the  tender  and  eloquent  Pas- 
cal, who,  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  published  a  Treatise  on  Conic  Sections;  at  sev- 
enteen, suggested  the  hydraulic  press;  at  twenty,  anticipated  by  his  inventions 
the  works  of  Galileo  and  Descartes,  and  at  twenty-four  was  an  authority  in  higher 
mathematics.  He  reminds  us  of  Grotius,  who  entered  the  University  of  Leyden 
at  twelve;  at  fourteen,  published  an  edition  of  Martianus  Capella,  which  dis- 
closed his  acquaintance  with  Cicero,  Aristotle,  Pliny,  Euclid,  Strabo,  and  other 
great  writers;  at  fifteen,  was  an  attache  of  a  Dutch  embassy  to  Henry  IV.;  at  six- 
teen, was  admitted  to  practice;  at  twenty-four,  was  Advocate-General  of  the  Treas- 
sury  of  Holland,  and  at  twenty-five  was  an  authority  on  international   law.     He 

939 


940  CONCLUSIONS. 

recalls  to  us  Gibbon,  who  was  in  his  Latin  at  seven;  a  student  at  Oxford  at  fifteen; 
a  lover  of  Locke  and  Grotius  and  Pascal  at  seventeen,  and  at  twenty-five  had 
acquired  the  scholarship,  gathered  the  materials,  and  formed  the  plan  of  that  great 
history  which  has  given  immortality  to  his  name.  He  brings  to  mind  our  own 
Hamilton,  who  entered  college  at  fifteen;  was  an  orator  at  seventeen;  a  political 
writer  at  eighteen;  at  twenty,  was  on  Washington's  staff;  at  twenty-four,  was  a 
legislator,  and  at  thirty-two  was  Secretary  of  the  Treasury  of  the  United  States. 
Nay,  more;  his  mental  promise  was  like  that  of  Washington,  of  Pitt,  of  Whitfield, 
of  Raphael,  of  Agassiz,  in  their  early  manhood. 

And  yet,  up  to  1592,  when  Bacon  was  thirty-one  years  of  age, 
he  had  published  nothing  but  a  pamphlet  on  a  religious  topic,  and 
a  brief  letter  on  governmental  questions.  What  was  he  doing  be- 
fore he  assumed  the  mask  of  Shakespeare  ? 

I.     Early  Plays. 

He  had,  before  "  William  Shagsper  of  thone  part  "  appeared  on 

the  scene,  created  a  whole  literature.     That  mighty  renaissance  of 

English  genius  and  reconstruction  of  the  drama,  which  marks  the 

years   between    1580   and    161 1,  had  begun  while   the  beadles  were 

still  amusing  themselves  and  exercising  their  muscles  over  the  raw 

back  of  Shagsper;  and  when  Shake-speare  appeared  in  1592,  as  an 

author,  he  simply  inherited  a  style  of  workmanship  and  a  form  of 

expression  already  created.     Swinburne  says: 

In  his  early  plays  the  style  of  Shakespeare  was  not  for  the  most  part  distinctively 
his  own.  It  was  that  of  a  crew,  a  knot  of  young  writers,  among  whom  he  found  at 
once  both  leaders  and  followers,  to  be  guided  and  to  guide.1 

The  young  lawyer,  Francis  Bacon,  being  possessed  of  the  crea- 
tive, poetical  instinct,  and  having  discovered  that  there  was  in  the 
theaters  a  veritable  mine  of  money,  and  that  "  a  philosopher  may 
be  rich,  if  he  will,"  and  still  be  a  philosopher,  poured  forth,  between 
the  year  158T,  when  he  was  twenty  years  of  age,  and  1592,  when 
he  assumed  the  Shake-speare  mask,  a  whole  body  of  plays.  They 
were  not  perfected  or  elaborated;  they  were  youthful  and  immature 
experiments;  many  of  them,  most  of  them,  have  perished;  they 
were  dashed  off  to  meet  some  temporary  money  necessity;  just  as 
we  are  told  the  original  play  of  The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor 
was  written  in  fourteen  days;  and  Bacon's  chaplain,  Rawley,  notes 
the  rapidity  with  which  he  composed  his  writings.  The  very  names 
of  many  of  these  plays  are   lost;  some  we  have   in  glimpses;  three 

1  Swinburne,  A  Study  of  Shak.,  p.  243. 


OTHER  MASKS  OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 


941 


years  before  Shakespeare  began  to  write,  in  1589,  Peele  addressed  a 

farewell  to  the  Earl  of  Essex,  Norris  and  Drake  on  their  expedition 

to  Cadiz,  in  which  he  says: 

Bid  theater  and  proud  tragedians, 
Bid  Mahomet,  Scipio  and  mighty  Tumburlain, 
King  Charlemagne,   Tom  Stucley  and  the  rest 
Adieu.     To  arms,  etc.1 

Now,  we  know  that  there  is  a  play  of  Tamburlaine^  attributed  to 
Marlowe,  and  a  play  of  Tom  Stuckley,  the  author  of  which  is  un- 
known; hence  we  may  reasonably  infer  that  Mahomet,  Scipio  and 
King  Charlemagne  were  also  plays,  then  being  acted  on  the  stage. 
And  the  names  imply  that  they  were  kindred  in  substance  to  Tam- 
burlaine  and  Doctor  Faustus;  that  is  to  say,  they  dealt  with  vast 
characters  and  huge  events,  which  naturally  would  fascinate  the  wild 
imagination  of  a  young  man  of  genius;  and  they  touched  upon 
subjects  which  might  be  reasonably  expected  to  catch  the  attention 
of  one  fresh  from  his  academical  studies.  Tamburlaine  ruled  a 
great  part  of  the  world;  so  did  Mahomet;  so  did  Charlemagne;  while 
the  career  of  Scipio  Africanus  and  his  mighty  victories  was  as 
extraordinary  as  the  powers  which  Doctor  Faustus,  through  his 
compact  with  the  evil  one,  gained  over  the  forces  of  nature,  over 
life  and  the  tenants  of  the  grave. 

And  in  addition  to  these  lost  plays  there  are  fifteen  other 
dramas  that  have  survived  the  chances  of  time,  and  have  been 
attributed  by  many  commentators  to  the  pen  which  wrote  the 
Shakespeare  Plays,  to-wit:  The  Arraignment  of  Paris,  Arden  of 
Ferersham,  George-a- Greene,  Locrine,  King  Edward  III.,  Mucedorus, 
Sir  John  Oldcastle,  Thomas  Lord  Cromwell,  The  Merry  Devil  of  Ed- 
monton, The  London  Prodigal,  The  Puritan  (or  the  Widow  of  Watling 
Street),  A  Yorkshire  Tragedy,  Fair  £m,  The  Two  Noble  Kinsmen,  and 
The  Birth  of  Merlin.  Many  of  these  are  now  printed  in  all  com- 
plete editions  of  Shakespeare's  works.  In  addition  to  these, 
Pericles,  Prince  of  Tyre,  which  was  not  inserted  by  Heminge  and « 
Condell  in  the  great  Folio,  was  published  in  quarto  in  1609,  with 
the  name  of  William  Shakespeare  on  the  title-page,  and  was  played 
at  Shakespeare's  play-house.  It  is  now  generally  conceded  to  be 
the  work    of    Shakespeare.      There  was   also  a  play  called  Love's 

1  School  of  Shak.,  vol.  i,  p.  153. 


942  CONCL  US/ON  S. 

Labors  Won,  named  by  Meres  in  1598  as  the  work  of  Shakespeare, 
which  is  either  lost,  or  has  survived  under  some  other  name.  There 
was  also  another  play  entitled  Duke  Humphrey,  attributed  to 
Shakespeare  during  his  lifetime,  which  was  destroyed  by  the  care- 
lessness of  a  servant  of  Warburton,  in  the  early  part  of  the  last 
century. 

Now,  it  must  be  remembered  that  all  of  the  list  of  fifteen  plays 
given  above,  except  The  Merry  Devil  of  Edmonton  and  The  Two  Noble 
Kinsmen,  were  published  during  Shakspere' s  life-time,  in  nearly  every 
instance  with  the  ?iame  of  William  Shakespeare,  or  his  initials,  on  the 
titlepage,  and  The  Merry  Devil  of  Edmonton  was  announced  as  the 
joint  work  of  Shakespeare  and  Rowley,  and  The  Two  Noble  Kins- 
men as  having  been  written  by  Shakespeare  and  Fletcher.1  So  that 
we  have  just  as  good  authority  for  assigning  most  of  these  plays  to 
Shakespeare  as  we  have  for  attributing  to  him  those  that  go  by  his 
name.  Besides,  the  critical  acumen  of  learned  commentators  has 
discovered  abundant  evidence  that  they  all  emanated  from  the 
same  mind  which  produced  Hamlet  and  Lear. 

I  regret  that  the  limitations  of  space  in  this  book,  already  too 
bulky,  prevent  me  from  going  fully  into  all  these  matters;  but 
they  are  "  not  a  relation  for  a  breakfast,"  but  a  subject  that  may 
be  recurred  to  hereafter. 

The  great  German  critics  have,  it  seems  to  me,  taken  juster 
views  upon  these  "  doubtful  plays,"  as  they  are  called,  than  the 
English.  Tieck  refers  to  them  in  his  Alt-Englisches  Theater,  oder  Sup- 
ple mente  zum  Shakspere,  as  follows: 

Those  dramas  which  Shakspere  produced  in  his  youth,  and  which  Englishmen, 
through  a  misjudging  criticism,  and  a  tenderness  for  his  fame  (as  they  thought)  have 
refused  to  recognize. 

Tieck  is  speaking  of  George-a-Greene.  He  also,  from  internal 
evidences,  attributes  Fair  Em,  The  Birth  of  Merlin,  The  Merry 
Devil  of  Edmonton,  Edward  III.,  and  Arden  of  Eeversham,  to  Shake- 
speare; while  Schlegel  says  that  Sir  John  Oldcastle,  Thomas  Lord 
Cromwell,  and  The  Yorkshire  Tragedy,  are  "  unquestionably  Shake- 
speare's." 

The  Yorkshire  Tragedy  appeared  in  1608  with  Shakespeare's  name 
on  the  title  page;    The  Puritan,  or  the  Widow  of  Wailing  Street,  was 

1  Morgan,  Shakespearean  Myth,  p.  286. 


OTHER  MASKS  OF  FRANCIS  BACON.  943 

published  in  1607,  as  "written  by  W.  S.;"  The  London  Prodigal  was 
published  in  1605,  as  "  by  William  Shakespeare;"  the  play  of  Thomas 
Lord  Cro?nweIl  was  published  in  1613,  "written  by  W.  S.;"  Locrine 
was  published  in  1595  as  "newly  set  forth,  overseene  and  corrected 
by  W.  S.;"  The  Life  of  Sir  John  Oldcastle  was  published  1600  with 
the  initials  "W.  S."  on  the  title-leaf.  Speaking  of  Arden  of  Fever- 
sham,  Swinburne  says: 

Either  this  play  is  the  young  Shakespeare's  first  tragic  masterpiece,  or  there 
was  a  writer  unknown  to  us  then  alive,  and  at  work  for  the  stage,  who  excelled  him 
as  a  tragic  dramatist  not  less,  to  say  the  very  least,  than  he  was  excelled  by  Marlowe 
as  a  tragic  poet. 

He  adds  that  Goethe  is  said  to  have  believed  that  Shakespeare 
wrote  this  play.1 

Here,  then,  is  a  whole  body  of  literature,  Shakespearean  in  its 
characteristics,  and  yet  discarded  by  Heminge  and  Condell  from  the 
first  complete  edition  of  Shakespeare's  works,  printed  from  the  "true 
original  copies."  And,  if  I  had  the  space  for  the  inquiry,  I  could 
show  that  these  plays  are  full  of  Baconianisms,  if  I  may  coin  a  word. 
For  instance,  Bacon  had  returned  from  the  higher  civilization  of 
France,  (nearer  geographically  to  the  surviving  Roman  culture), 
full  of  all  the  arts  —  music,  poetry  and  painting.  We  see  many  refer- 
ences to  the  art  of  painting  in  the  Shakespeare  Plays;  it  was  still  a 
foreign  art;  and  Swinburne  says,  speaking  of  Arden  of  Fever  sham: 

I  cannot  remember,  in  the  whole  radiant  range  of  the  Elizabethan  drama,  more 
than  one  parallel  tribute  paid  in  this  play  by  an  English  poet  to  the  yet  foreign  art 
of  painting.2 

And  it  is  a  curious  fact  that  the  words, — 

Come,  make  him  stand  upon  this  mole-hill  here 
That  raught  at  mountains  with  outstretched  arms, 
Yet  parted  but  the  shadow  with  his  hand, — 

which  we  find  in  The  Third  Part  of  King  Henry  VI.,  are  taken 
bodily  from  The  True  Tragedy  of  Richard,  Duke  of  York,  a  play  not 
published  as  Shakespeare's. 

And   Swinburne  finds  still   another   play,    The  Spanish  Tragedy,  • 
which  he  believes  to  be  the  work  of  Shakespeare.     He  says: 

I  still  adhere  to  Coleridge's  verdict,  .  .  .  that  those  magnificent  passages, 
well-nigh   overcharged   at   every    point   with   passion  and  subtlety,  sincerity  and 

lA  Study  0/  Shakespeare,  p.  135.  2-^   Study  of  Shakespeare,  p.  141. 


944  CONCL  USIONS. 

instinct  of  pathetic  truth,  are  no  less  like  Shakespeare's   work  than  unlike  John- 
son's.1 

In  short,  the  genius  we  call  Shakespeare's  is  found  dissociated 
from  the  man  Shakspere,  and  covering  a  vast  array  of  matter  which 
the  play-actor  had  nothing  to  do  with:  for  Fair  Em  appeared 
in  1587,  while  Shakspere  was  holding  horses  at  the  door  f  the  play- 
house; and  some  others  of  the  plays,  above  named,  now  believed 
to  have  been  written  by  the  Shakespeare  pen,  were  never  associated 
with  Shakspere's  name  during  his  lifetime,  nor  long  afterwards. 
And  all  this  is  compatible  with  the  theory  that  a  scholar  of  vast 
intellectual  precocity,  like  Bacon,  and  of  immense  fecundity,  flooded 
the  stages  of  London  with  plays  —  to  make  money  —  for  years  before 
Shakspere  left  Stratford;  but  it  is  utterly  incompatible  with  the 
belief  that  the  man  who  left  nothing  behind  him  to  show  any 
mental  activity  (except,  of  course,  his  alleged  plays),  and  who  dwelt 
during  the  last  years  of  his  life  at  Stratford  in  utter  torpidity  of 
mind,  could  have  produced  this  array  of  unclaimed  dramas.  And 
the  reader  will  note  that  most  of  these  plays  were  printed,  for  the  first 
time,  between  1607  and  1613,  just  at  the  time  Bacon  was  drawing  to 
the  close  of  his  poetical  productiveness.  It  was  as  if  he  was  trying 
to  preserve  to  posterity  the  history  of  the  growth  of  his  own  mind 
from  its  first  crude,  youthful  beginnings  to  its  perfect  culmination; 
from  Stuckley  and  Fair  E?n  to  Othello  and  Lear. 

Besides  these  earlier  plays  there  were  a  number  which,  it  is 
claimed,  Shakespeare  used  and  enlarged,  and  which  are  supposed 
by  the  critics  to  have  been  written  by  other  men,  but  which  were  in 
reality  Bacon's  first  essays  upon  those  subjects.  For  it  is  not  proba- 
<'  ble  that  any  dramatic  writer  would  re-cast  and  improve  and  glorify 
another  man's  work.  We  can  conceive  of  Charles  Dickens,  for  in- 
stance, taking  up  an  immature  sketch  of  his  youth,  and  enlarging  it 
into  David  Copperfield  or  Bleak  House;  but  we  cannot  imagine  him 
taking  a  story  written  by  Thackeray  and  re-writing  it  and  publish- 
ing it  under  his  own  name.  There,  for  instance,  is  the  Contention 
between  the  Houses  of  York  and  Lancaster,  the  early  King  Jolm,  the 
Famous  Victories,  and  that  Hamlet  which  it  is  claimed  was  first 
played  in  1585.  And  here  is  another  instance  of  the  same  kind. 
Swinburne  says: 

JA  Study  0/ Shakespeare,  p.  144. 


ftf^UHL.     U~t-      f/?     2>-(Ay     S-HvCo>~<Uy 


OTHER  MASKS  OF  FRANCIS  BACON 


945 


The  refined  instinct,  artistic  judgment  and  consummate  taste  of  Shakespeare 
were  never  perhaps  so  wonderfully  shown  as  in  his  recast  of  another  man's  work 
—  a  man  of  real  if  rough  genius  for  comedy  —  which  we  get  in  The  Taming  of  the 
Shrew.  Only  the  collation  of  scene  with  scene,  then  of  speech  with  speech,  then 
of  line  with  line,  will  show  how  much  may  be  borrowed  from  a  stranger's  material, 
and  how  much  may  be  added  to  it  by  the  same  stroke  of  a  single  hand.  All  the 
force  and  humor  alike  of  character  and  situation  belong  to  Shakespeare 's  eclipsed 
and  forhrn precursor;  he  has  added  nothing,  he  has  tempered  and  enriched  every- 
thing. The  luckless  author  of  the  first  sketch  is  like  to  remain  a  man  as  name- 
less as  the  deed  of  the  witches  in  Macbeth,  unless  some  chance  or  caprice  of 
accident  should  suddenly  flash  favoring  light  on  his  now  impersonal  and  indiscov- 
erable  individuality.  ...  On  the  other  hand,  he  is,  of  all  the  Pre-Shakespeareans 
known  to  us,  incomparably  the  truest,  the  richest,  the  most  powerful  and  original 
humorist;  one,  indeed,  without  a  second  on  that  ground,  for  the  rest  are  nowhere.1 

And  how  comes  it  that  the  world  was,  just  at  that  time,  so  full 
of  mighty  but  unknown  geniuses?  It  seems  to  have  rained  Shake- 
speares. 

Then  there  is  The  Warning  for  Fair  Women,  arising  out  of  a 
murder  in  1573,  supposed  to  have  been  written  before  1590,  and 
published  in  1599.  Mr.  Collier2  gives  excellent  reasons  for  believing 
that  it  was  written  by  the  man  who  wrote  Shakespeare;  and  says 
the  identities  of  language  and  thought  are  so  great  that  it  is  aut 
Shakespeare  aut  diabolus.  And  Collier3  cites  the  names  of  a  number 
of  other  plays,  "domestic  tragedies"  he  calls  them,  which,  like  The 
Yorkshire  Tragedy  and  Arden  of  Feversham,  were  founded  upon  events 
of  the  day;  there  is,  for  instance,  Two  Tragedies  in  One,  based  upon 
the  assassination  of  a  merchant  of  London,  The  Fair  Maid  of  Bris- 
tol, The  Stepmother  s  Tragedy,  The  Tragedy  of  John  Cox  of  Collumpto?i, 
The  Tragedy  of  Page  of  Plymouth,  Black  Bateman  of  the  North,  etc., 
all  founded  on  actual  occurrences  which  attracted  public  attention, 
and  which  were  seized  upon  by  some  fertile  mind  as  subjects  on 
which  to  dash  off  short  plays  that  would  draw  the  multitude,  and 
fill  the  pockets  of  actors  and  author.  Many  of  these  "domestic 
tragedies  "  are  lost,  but  nearly  all  those  that  have  been  accidentally 
preserved  are  deemed  by  our  best  critics,  English  and  German,  to 
bear  traces  of  the  Shakespearean  mind.  And  nearly  all  these  ante- 
date the  time  when  Shakespeare  appeared  as  a  play-writer. 

II.     The  Play  of  "Edward  III." 

It  is  generally  supposed  that  Shakespeare  originated  that  form 

1  A  Study  of  Shak.,  p.  124.  3  Ibid.,  p.  437. 

1  History  of  Dram.  Poetry,  vol.  ii,  p.  440. 


946 


CONCL  US  IONS. 


of  drama  known  as  the  historical  play.  This  is  not  true.  Marlowe 
preceded  him  with  Edward  II,  and  an  unknown  writer  with 
Edward  III  Here  we  see  that  the  purpose  of  teaching  the  multi- 
tude the  history  of  their  own  country  in  plays,  descriptive  of  the 
great  events  of  different  reigns,  began  before  Shakspere  appeared 
on  the  scene,  probably  before  he  left  Stratford. 

Of  the  author  of  this  play  of  Edward  III.  Swinburne  says: 

He  could  write,  at  times,  very  much  after  the  fashion  of  the  adolescent  Shake- 
speare.1 

This  play  was  first  printed  in  1596,  and  ran  through  several 
anonymous  editions.  Collier  speaks  of  it  as  undoubtedly  Shake- 
speare's.2 Capell  published  it  in  1760,  as  "  thought  to  be  writ  by 
Shakespeare."  Knight  says  "there  was  no  known  author  capable 
of  such  a  play."3     Ulrici  is  positive  that  Shakespeare  wrote  it. 

There  is  a  curious  fact  about  this  play.   It  contains  the  following 

line: 

Lilies  that  fester  smell  far  worse  than  weeds. 

And  this  line  is  precisely  repeated  in  Shakespeare's  94th  sonnet: 
Lilies  that  fester  smell  far  worse  than  weeds. 

Either  the  unknown  author  stole  this  line  bodily  from  Shake- 
speare, or  Shakespeare  stole  it  bodily  from  him:  for  in  neither  case 
were  there  any  marks  to  show  that  it  was  a  quotation.  Public  pur- 
loining of  whole  lines  is  very  unusual  in  any  age;  but  it  would  be 
most  natural  for  an  author  to  copy  a  few  expressions  from  himself, 
with  intent  to  preserve  them. 

The  writer  of  the  play  puts  this  speech  into  the   mouth  of  the 

Countess  of  Salisbury: 

As  easy  may  my  intellectual  soul 
Be  lent  away  and  yet  my  body  live, 
As  lend  my  body,  palace  to  my  soul, 
Away  from  her,  and  yet  retain  my  soul. 
My  body  is  her  bower,  her  court,  her  abbey, 
And  she  an  angel  pure,  divine,  unspotted; 
If  I  should  lend  her  house,  my  lord,  to  thee, 
I  kill  my  poor  soul,  and  my  poor  soul  me. 

"This  last  couplet,"  says  Swinburne,  "is  very  much  in  the  style 
of  Shakespeare's  sonnets;  nor  is  it  wholly  unlike  even  the  dramatic 

1  A  Study  of  Shak.,  p.  235.  3  Knight's  Doubtful  Plays,  p.  279. 

2  History  of  Dram.  Poetry,  vol.  iii,  p.  311 


OTHER  MASKS  OF  FRANCIS  BACON.  947 

style  of  Shakespeare  in  his  youth."1  He  might  have  added  that 
the  whole  passage  is  decidedly  Shakespearean. 

The  "angel,  pure,  divine,  unspotted"  reminds  us  of  the  descrip- 
tion in  Henry  VIII.,  v,  4,  of  Queen  Katharine  as  "a  most  unspotted 
lily." 

I  quoted  on  page  534,  ante,  from  2d  Henry  VI.,  v,  1,  the  lines: 

These  brows  of  mine 
Whose  smile  and  power,  like  to  Achilles'  spear, 
Is  able  with  the  change  to  kill  and  cure. 

And  in  this  play  of  Edward  III.  I  find  these  lines: 

The  poets  write  that  great  Achilles'  spear 
Could  heal  the  wound  it  made. 

I  could  fill  many  pages  with  parallel  passages,  but  that  I  have 
not  the  space.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  Edward  III.  was  written 
by  the  same  pen  that  wrote  the  Shakespeare  Plays;  and  if  Shakspere 
was  Shake-speare,  why  was  it  published  anonymously;  why  did  the 
thrifty  player  permit  it  to  be  sold  without  the  pennies  going  into 
his  own  pocket  ? 

III.     The  Play  of  "Stuckley." 

There  was  an  English  adventurer,  Sir  Thomas  Stuckley,  who  was 
first  cousin  to  Sir  Amias  Paulet,  the  English  Minister  at  the  court 
of  France  while  Bacon  was  an  attache  of  the  legation.  He  was  a 
famous  character  during  Bacon's  youth  —  bold,  warlike,  chivalrous, 
unfortunate;  the  very  character  to  captivate  a  youthful  imagina- 
tion. He  was  killed  at  the  battle  of  Alcazar,  in  Africa,  August  4, 
1578,  about  the  time  that  Bacon  returned  to  England  from  Paris, 
and  commenced  the  study  of  the  law.  His  relationship  to  Sir 
Amias  Paulet  must  have  made  this  dashing  adventurer  the  sub- 
jecc  of  a  great  deal  of  conversation  among  the  members  of  the 
English  legation  in  Paris;  and  what  more  natural  than  that  Francis 
Bacon,  if  he  had  the  dramatic  instinct,  should  choose  this  interest- 
ing theme  as  the  subject  of  one  of  his  first  plays.  Stuckley  raises  a 
company  of  soldiers  to  fight  in  Ireland;  he  quarrels  with  the  Cecils; 
goes  to  Spain;  is  imprisoned  by  the  Governor  of  Cadiz;  enters  the 
service  of  Philip  II.;  the  Pope  makes  him  Marquis   of  Ireland,  for 

3  A   Study  of  Shak.,  p.  253. 


948  CONCLUSIONS. 

which  country  he  sets  sail;  he  lands  in  Portugal;  joins  a  Portuguese 
expedition  to  Barbary,  and  is  there  slain  —  a  wild,  romantic,  rash 
and  unreasoning  career. 

The  play  is  evidently  written  by  a  lawyer;  for  he  drags  in  law- 
studies  and  law  books,  neck  and  heels,  and  to  do  so  makes  Stuckley 
a  law-student,  when  the  fact  was  Stuckley  never  studied  law. 

Old  Stuckley.     I  had  as  lief  you'd  seen  him  in  the  Temple  walk, 
Conferring  with  some  learned  counselor, 
Or  at  the  moot  upon  a  point  of  law.1 

When  he  sees  the  array  of  swords,  daggers  and  bucklers  in  his 

son's  room  the  old  man  exclaims: 

Be  these  your  master's  books? 
For  Littleton,  Stanford  and  Brooke 
Here's  long  sword,  short  sword  and  buckler, 
But  all's  for  the  bar;  yet  I  meant  to  have  my  son 
A  Barrister,  not  a  Barrator.2 

And  Tom  is  made  to  express  the  disgust  of  a  young  law  studentr 

Nay,  hark  you,  father,  I  pray  you  be  content: 

I  have  done  my  goodwill,  but  it  will  not  do. 

John  a  Nokes  and  John  a  Style  and  I  cannot  cotton. 

Oh,  this  law-French  is  worse  than  buttered-mackerell, 

Full  o'  bones,  full  o'  bones.     It  sticks  here,  it  will  not  down. 

And  this  reminds  us  of  the  young  man  who  said,  "  The  bar  will 
be  my  bier." 

Mr.  Simpson  sees  evidence  that  this  play  was  an  early  produc- 
tion of  Shakspere;  but  what  had  the  boy  of  Stratford  to  do  with 
law-books  ?  And  how  did  he  acquire  the  intimate  knowledge  of 
Stuckley's  biography  manifested  in  this  play,  and  which  astonishes- 
the  antiquarians? 

And  why  should  Shakspere  drag  into  this  play  an  allusion  to 

Bacon's  home,  at  St.  Albans,  just  as  we  have  seen  the  same  village 

forced  twenty  odd  times  into  the  text  of  the  Shakespeare  Plays  ? 

It  appears  thus  in  the  play  of  Tom  Stuckley: 

Vernon.     Some  conference  with  these  gentlemen  my  friends 
Made  me  neglect  mine  hour;  but  when  you  please 
I  now  am  ready  to  attend  on  you. 

Harbart.     It  is  well  done,  we  will  away  forthwith. 
St.  Albans,  though  the  day  were  further  spent, 
We  may  well  reach  to  bed  to-night.3 

1  Act  i,  scene  i.  2  Ibid.  3Acti. 


OTHER  MASKS  OF  FRANCIS  BACOX.  949 

Now,  St.  Albans  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  action  of  the  piece; 
we  hear  no  more  of  it;  Harbart  does  not  go  there,  that  we  know  of. 
Why  did  the  Stratford  boy,  if  this  play  is,  as  Simpson  thinks,  one 
of  his  early  productions,  without  any  necessity  thus  introduce  the 
place  of  Bacon's  residence  into  his  play?  What  thread  of  con- 
nection, geographical,  political,  poetical  or  biographical,  was  there 
between  Stratford  and  St.  Albans  ? 

I  have  only  space  to  give  two  or  three  extracts  to  show  the  re- 
semblance between  Tom  Stuckley  and  the  Shakespeare  writings. 

In    Stuckley  we  have: 

Mix  not  my  forward  summer  with  sharp  breath; 
Nor  intercept  my  purpose,  being  good. 

Compare  this  with  Shakespeare's: 

Here  stands  the  spring  whom  you  have  stained  with  mud} 
This  goodly  summer  with  your  winter  mixed} 

In  Stuckley  we  have: 

He  soonest  loseth  that  despairs  to  win. 

This  is  the  embryo  of  the  thought: 

Our  doubts  are  traitors, 
And  make  us  lose  the  good  we  oft  might  gain„ 
By  fearing  to  attempt.2  . 

In  Stuckley  we  find: 

Nay,  if  you  look  but  on  his  mind, 
Much  more  occasion  shall  ye  find  to  love  him_ 

Compare  this  with  Shakespeare's  69th  sonnet: 

They  look  into  the  beauty  of  the  mind. 
In  Stuckley  we  have: 

You  muddy  slave. 
In  Shakespeare  we  have: 

You  muddy  rascal.3 

In  Stuckley  we  have: 

And  that  which  in  mean  men  would  seem  a  fault, 
As  leaning  to  ambition,  or  such  like, 
Is  in  a  king  but  well  beseeming  him. 


1  Titus  Andronicus,  V,  2. 


2  Measure  for  Measure,  i,  5.  %sd  Jienry  7F.,  ii,  4. 


9  5  o  CONCL  USIONS. 

In  Shakespeare  we  have: 

That  in  the  captain's  but  a  choleric  word, 
Which  in  the  soldier  is  flat  blasphemy. ' 

And  we  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  date  of  this  composition  by  the 
following  allusion: 

Will  you  so  much  annoy  your  vital  powers 
As  to  oppress  them  with  the  prison  stink  ? 

Mr.  Simpson  calls  attention  to  the  following  extract  from  Bacon's 
Natural  History: 

The  most  pernicious  infection,  next  the  plague,  is  the  smell  of  the  jail,  when 
prisoners  have  been  long  and  close  and  nastily  kept;  whereof  we  have  had  in  our 
time  experience  twice  or  thrice;  when  both  the  judges  that  sat  upon  the  jail,  and 
numbers  of  those  that  attended  the  business,  or  were  present,  sickened  upon  it  or 
died.2 

This  allusion  in  the  play  to  "  the  prison  stink"  probably  refers 
to  "  the  black  assizes  "  at  Oxford,  in  1577,  or  at  Exeter,  in  1586;  and 
the  probability  is  that  the  play  of  Stuckley  was  written  by  Francis 
Bacon,  soon  after  the  death  of  Stuckley,  and  subsequent  to  his  return 
to  England;  and  that  reference  was  therein  had  to  "  the  black  assizes  " 
at  Oxford,  in  1577. 

I  would  close  by  calling  attention  to  the  Shakespearean  ring  in 
these  lines  from  Stuckley 's  address  to  King  Philip  of  Spain: 

Right  high  and  mighty,  if  to  kings,  installed 

And  sacredly  anointed,  it  belong 

To  minister  true  justice,  and  relieve 

The  poor  oppressed  stranger,  then  from  thee, 

Renowned  Philip,  that  by  birth  of  place 

Upholds  the  scepter  of  a  royal  king. 

Stuckley,  a  soldier  and  a  gentleman, — 

But  neither  like  a  soldier  nor  a  man 

Of  some  of  thy  unworthy  subjects  handled, -»- 

Doth  challenge  justice  at  thy  sacred  hands. 

IV.     Christopher  Marlowe. 

We  see  it  intimated  in  the  Cipher  that  the  plays  of  Christopher 
Marlowe  were  written  by  Francis  Bacon;  that  he  was  Bacon's  first 
mask  or  cover.     Is  this  statement  improbable  or  unreasonable  ? 

In  the  first  place,  let  us  inquire  who  Marlowe  was.  Christopher 
Marlowe,  or  Marlin,  as   the   name  was  often  spelled,  was   born   in 

1  Measure  for  Measure,  ii,2.  2  Natural  History,  cent,  x,  No.  Q14. 


Dr.  WILLIAM  THOMSON, 

OF    MELBOURNE,   AUSTRALIA;    AUTHOR    OF    "THE   RENASCENCE    DRAMA. 


O  THER  MA  SKS  OF  FRANCIS  BA  CON.  95  1 

Canterbury  precisely  two  months  before  the  birth  of  Shakspere. 
His  father  was  "  clarke  of  St.  Marie's."  Marlowe  was  educated  at  the 
King's  School,  in  his  native  town,  and  at  Benet  College,  Cambridge, 
Soon  after  coming  of  age,  it  is  supposed,  he  followed  the  soldiers 
to  the  wars  in  the  Low  Countries.  The  next  we  hear  of  him  is  as 
an  actor  in  London,  and  the  author  of  Tamburlaine  in  1587,  when 
twenty-three  years  of  age. 

We  find  the  same  incompatibilities  between  the  work  and  the 
life  of  Marlowe  which  exist  in  the  case  of  Shakspere.  While  his 
biography  tells  us  that  he  was  a  drunken,  licentious,  depraved 
creature,  who  was  about  to  be  arrested  for  blasphemy,  and  es- 
caped the  gallows  or  the  stake  by  being  killed  in  a  drunken  brawl, 
"stabbed  to  death  by  a  bawdy  servingman  rival  of  his  in  his  lewd 
love;  M|  at  the  same  time  he  appears  by  his  writings  to  have  been 
an  exquisite  poet  who  actually  revolutionized  English  literature. 

The  Encyclopedia  Britannica*  says: 

He  is  the  greatest  discoverer,  the  most  daring  and  inspired  pioneer,  in  all  our 
poetic  literature.  Before  him  there  zvas  neither  genuine  blank  verse  nor  a  genuine 
tragedy  in  our  language.  After  his  arrival  the  way  was  prepared,  the  paths  were 
made  straight  for  Shakespeare. 

And  the  same  high  authority  says,  speaking  of  Tamburlaine: 
It  is  the  first  poem  ever  written  in  English  blank  verse,  as  distinguished  from 
mere  rhymeless  decasyllables;  and  it  contains  one  of  the  noblest  passages,  perhaps, 
indeed,  the  noblest,  in  the  literature  of  the  world,  ever  written  by  one  of  the  great- 
est masters  of  poetry. 

And  it  is  a  curious  fact  that  Shakespeare  steps  upon  the  boards, 
as  a  dramatic  writer,  just  as  Marlowe  steps  off.  Marlowe  was  slain 
June  1,  1593;  and  Halliwell-Phillipps  says  the  first  appearance  of  a 
Shakespeare  play  was  March  3,  1592  —  the  play  of  Henry  VI.  But 
there  are  high  authorities  who  claim  that  the  play  of  Henry  VI.  was 
written  by  Marlowe  ! 

Swinburne3  finds   that  the  opening  lines  of  the  second   part  of 

Henry  VI.  are  aut  Christophorus  Marlowe  aut  diabolus.     He  says: 

I 
It  is  inconceivable  that  any  imitator,  but  one,   should  have  had  the  power  to 

catch  the  very  trick  of  his  hand,  the  very  note  of  his  voice,  and  incredible  that  the 

one  who  might  would  have  set  himself  to  do  so;  for,  if  this  be  not  indeed  the  voice 

and  this  the  hand  of  Marlowe,  then  what  we  find  in  these  verses  is  not  the  fidelity 

of  a  follower  but  the  servility  of  a  copyist.   ...   He  [Shakespeare]  had  much  at 

1  Sir  William  Vaughan,  Golden  Grote,  1600.        2  Vol.  xv,  p.  558.      ?  A  Study  o/Shak.,  p.  51. 


j 


952  CONCLUSIONS. 

starting  to  learn  of  Marlowe,  and  he  did  learn  much;  in  his  earlier  plays,  and, 
above  all,  in  his  earliest  historic  plays,  the  influence  of  the  earlier  poet,  the  echo  of 
his  style,  the  iteration  of  his  manner,  may  be  perpetually  traced. 

The  Encyclopedia  Britannica1  says: 

It  is  as  nearly  certain  as  anything  can  be  which  depends  chiefly  upon  cumula- 
tive and  collateral  evidence,  that  the  better  part  of  what  is  best  in  the  serious 
scenes  of  King  Henry   VI.  is  mainly  the  work  of  Marlowe. 

There  are  a  group  of  plays  which  have  been  claimed  alternately 
for  both  M^arlowe  and  Shakespeare.  The  writings  of  the  two  men, 
at  the  beginning  of  Shakespeare's  career,  overlap  and  run  into  each 
other. 

The  same  writer  in  the  British  Encyclopaedia  thinks  The  Con- 
tention between  the  Two  Famous  Houses  of  York  and  Lancaster,  now 
usually  attributed  to  Shakespeare,  was  written  by  Marlowe. 

Halliwell-Phillipps  says: 

There  are  a  few  striking  coincidences  of  language,  especially  in  the  passage 
respecting  the  wild  O'Neil,  to  be  traced  in  Marlowe's  Edward  II.,  and  the 
Contention  plays  of  1594  and  1595;  and  also  that  a  line  from  the  Jew  of  Malta  is 
found  in  the  Third  Part  of  Henry  the  Sixth,  but  not  in  the  True  Tragedy} 

And  here  is  another  borrowed  line  : 

Marlowe  says,  in  Doctor  Faustus*  speaking  of  Helen  of  Troy: 

Was  this  the  face  that  launched  a  thousand  ships, 
And  burnt  the  topless  towers  of  Ilium  ? 

While   in   Shakespeare   we  have  Troilus   referring  to  this  same 

Helen  in  these  words  : 

She  is  a  pearl, 
Whose  price  hath  launched  above  a  thousand  ships, 
And  turned  crowned  kings  to  merchants.4 

And  the  genius  and  style  exhibited  in  the  early  plays  of  Shake- 
speare and  the  later  plays  of  Marlowe  are  almost  identical. 

Cunningham  says5  of  a  passage  in  Tamburlaine,  "  One  could 
almost  fancy  that  it  flowed  from  the  pen  of  Shakespeare  himself." 
Hallam6  says  The  Jew  of  Malta  is  "  more  rigorously  conceived, 
both  as  to  character  and  circumstances,  than  any  other  Elizabethan 
play,  except  those  of  Shakespeare."  Mr.  Collier7  thinks  that  if  Mar- 
lowe had  written   The  Jew  of  Malta  with  a  little  more  pains,  "he 

1  Vol.  xv,  p.  557.  5  Introduction  to  Works  of  Marlowe,  p.  xii. 

2  Halliwell-Phillipps'    Outlines  of  Life  6  Introduc.  to  Hist,  and  Lit.  of  Europe,  vol  ii, 

of  Skak.,  p.  220.  p.  270. 

3  Act  v,  scene  4.  ''Hist.  Drain.  Poetry ,  vol.  iii,  135. 

4  Troilus  and  Cressida.  ii,  2. 


OTHER   MASKS   OF  FRANCIS  BACON.  953 

^would  not  only  have  drawn  a  Jew  fit  to  be  matched  against  Shy- 
lock,  but  have  written  a  play  not  much  inferior  to  The  Merchant  of 
Venice."  Hazlitt  pronounces  one  scene  in  Edward  II.  "cer- 
tainly superior  "  to  a  parallel  scene,  in  Shakespeare's  Richard  II. 
Charles  Lamb  said  "  the  death  scene  of  Marlowe's  King  moves  pity 
and  terror  beyond  any  scene  ancient  or  modern."  And  of  the  play 
of  Doctor  Faustus  the  writer  in  the  Encyclopedia  Britannica1  says: 

Few  masterpieces  of  any  age,  in  any  language,  can  stand  beside  this  tragic 
poem,  for  the  qualities  of  terror  and  splendor,  for  intensity  of  purpose  and  sublim- 
ity of  note. 

And  we  have  seen  the  critics  speculating  whether  Marlowe,  if  he 
had  not  been  prematurely  cut  off,  in  his  twenty-ninth  year,  would  not 
hare  been  in  time  as  great  a  poet  as  Shakespeare  ! 

As  if  bountiful  Nature,  after  waiting  for  five  thousand  years  to 
produce  a  Shakespeare,  had  been  delivered  of  twins  in  that  year  of 
grace,  1564  !  And  we  are  asked  to  believe  that,  if  it  had  not  been  for 
Marlowe's  drunken  brawl,  the  two  intellectual  monsters  would  have 
existed  side  by  side  for  thirty  years  or  so,  corruscating  Tambur- 
laines,  Lears,  Doctor  Faustuses  and  Hamlets  to  the  end  of  the  chapter; 
to  the  infinite  delight  of  the  pyrotechnically  astounded  multitude, 
who  couldn't  have  told  the  productions  of  one  from  the  other. 
But  it  was  a  sad  fact  that  one  of  these  brilliant  suns  was  not  able  to 
rise  until  the  other  had  set;  and  unfortunate  that  both  at  last 
•declined  their  glorious  orbs  into  a  sea  of  strong  drink,  while  "the 
god  of  the  machine  "  was  behind  the  scenes  delivering  immortal 
sermons  in  behalf  of  temperance. 

V.      Still  Other  Writers. 

We  are  in  the  presence  of  an  unbounded  intellectual  activity  — 
a  Proteus  that  sought  as  many  disguises  as  nature  itself.  We  see 
the  appearance  of  the  country  changing:  the  soft  earth  of  the  forest 
begins  to  give  place  to  stretches  of  sand  and  gravel;  there  are  larger 
patches  of  light  through  the  tree-tops;  we  hear  a  mighty  voice  1 
murmuring  in  the  distance.  We  are  approaching  the  ocean.  We 
are  coming  nearer  to  a  great  revelation. 

Mrs.  Pott  expresses  the  opinion,  in  a  private  letter, — and  I  have 
great  confidence  in  her  penetration  and  judgment,  —  that  she  sees 

1  Vol.  xv,  p.  557. 


954  CONCLUSIONS. 

the  signs  of  the  Promus  notes,  and  other  Baconianisms  of  thought 
and  expression,  not  only  in  the  plays  of  Marlowe,  but  in  the  writings, 
of  Marston,  Massinger,  Middleton,  Greene,  Shirley  and  Webster. 
She  also  believes  that  Bacon  was  the  author  of  the  poems  which 
appeared  in  that  age,  signed  "Ignoto;"  and  that  he  must  have  helped 
to  edit  the  great  book  on  Ciphers  published  in  Holland  in  1623.  And 
she  adds: 

He  must  have  been  at  the  bottom  of  the  partly  fictitious  works  about  his  own 
society  of  the  Rosicrucians,  published  in  Holland  1603  et  seq. 

A  friend  calls  my  attention  to  the  fact  that  Massinger  denied  the 
divine  right  of  kings;  and  I  have  shown  that  one  of  the  purposes, 
of  the  Shakespeare  Plays  was  to  assail  this  destructive  superstition. 

It  will  be  said  that  no  man  could  find  the  time  for  such  vast 
labors;  but  it  must  be  remembered  that  apart  from  the  Shakespeare 
Plays  we  have  very  little  that  represents  the  first  forty  years  of 
Bacon's  life;  and  the  capacities  of  time  depend  on  the  man  that 
uses  them.  Napoleon  said  that  great  battles  were  won  in  the 
"  quarters  of  hours;"  and  we  have  heard  of  men,  like  the  "Learned 
Blacksmith,"  who  acquired  a  new  language  by  giving  a  half  hour 
every  day  to  it  for  a  year.  Now,  between  1581,  when  Bacon  was 
twenty,  and  161 1,  when  his  poverty  terminated,  there  are  thirty 
years  !  A  man  like  Bacon  could  do  an  immense  amount  of  work  in 
thirty  years.  If  he  dashed  off  a  short  play  every  two  weeks,  as 
he  did,  we  are  told,  The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  he  could  in  that 
time,  if  he  had  nothing  else  to  do,  produce  seven  hundred  and  eighty 
plays  !  Certainly  he  could  have  written  one-eighth  part  of  this,  say 
one  hundred  plays;  and  this  number  would  probably  cover  all  that 
Mrs.  Pott  attributes  to  his  pen;  and  he  would  still  have  had  ample 
time  left  for  philosophy  and  politics.  We  can  imagine  him,  when 
his  pockets  grew  empty,  hurriedly  scribbling  off  a  farce  or  an  after- 
piece, or  a  blood-and-thunder  tragedy,  on  any  subject  of  popular 
interest  at  the  time,  and  giving  it  to  Harry  Percy  to  sell  to  some 
of  the  roistering  playwrights,  to  produce  as  his  own.  The  man 
who  was  borrowing  five  dollars  at  a  time  from  his  brother  Anthony 
would  find  such  a  field  of  labor  very  inviting;  and  those  who 
availed  themselves  of  his  genius  would  have  every  reason  to  keep- 
his  secret. 


OTHER  MASKS  OF  FRANCIS  BACON.  955 

VI.     Montaigne's  Essays. 

The  reader  will  start.  What,  —  he  will  say,  —  is  this  man  about 
to  claim  that  the  Englishman,  Francis  Bacon,  wrote  the  greatest 
essays  ever  produced  in  France?     This  is  midsummer  madness! 

But  wait  a  moment.  Let  us  suppose  a  case.  Let  us  suppose  an 
Englishman,  of  a  skeptical  and,  in  some  sense,  irreligious  turn  of 
mind;  a  believer  in  God  and  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  to  be  sure, 
but  disgusted  with  the  fierce  and  bloody  religious  wars  of  the  period, 
and  with  the  persecutions  practiced  by  the  members  of  the  different 
Christian  sects  upon  each  other;  for,  in  the  name  of  the  gentle 
Nazarene,  they  ravaged  the  continent  of  Europe  and  burned  each 
other  by  hundreds  at  the  stake.  But  suppose  him  living  in  a  country 
where  the  slightest  irreligious  utterance  was  treated  as  blasphemy, 
and  punished  with  death.  Now  suppose  that  he  believed  that  only 
skepticism  could  mollify  the  dreadful  earnestness  of  the  contending 
sectarians;  and  he  desired  therefore  to  plant  the  seeds  of  doubt  in 
the  minds  of  men,  that  they  might  grow,  through  many  generations, 
and  produce  a  harvest  of  gentleness,  toleration  and  freedom  of 
conscience.  And  suppose  he  wrote  a  series  of  essays  with  these 
objects  in  view,  with  many  covert  utterances  that  would  "insin- 
uate," as  Bacon  said,  these  things  into  men's  thoughts;  that  would 
enter  those  houses  where  the  white  mark  on  the  door,  to  use  Bacon's 
comparison,  showed  they  were  welcome;  that  would  "select  their 
audience  "  of  those  that  could  "  pierce  through  the  veil."  Now  sup- 
pose he  —  visiting  France  —  found  a  friend  in  that  country,  of  some 
literary  taste,  who  was  willing  to  father  these  utterances,  and  trans- 
late them  into  French,  and  put  them  forth  in  his  own  name  as  his 
own  work.  Then,  you  perceive,  the  original  English  essays  might 
be  published  in  England,  with  all  their  ear-marks  upon  them,  as 
translations  of  the  French  essays;  and,  coming  in  the  guise  of  a 
distinguished  foreign  work,  they  would  not  provoke  that  scrutiny 
which  would  be  given  to  the  productions  of  an  Englishman.  For 
who  could  blame  the  translator,  or  the  publisher,  if,  in  these 
French  essays,  there  were  expressions  capable  of  a  double  mean- 
ing ?  They  did  not  make  them,  or  the  translation  might  not  be 
correct.  And  who  would  say  that  England  should  be  deprived 
of    the   opportunity   to  read   great   foreign   works   in   the   English 


. 


956  CONCLUSIONS. 

tongue,  because  certain  passages  therein  could  be  read  in  amerent 
ways  ? 

And  here  I  would  first  give  Mrs.  Pott's  reasons  for  believing  that 
Bacon  wrote  the  Essays  of  Montaigne.    I  quote  from  a  recent  letter: 

I  will  try  to  tell  you  my  grounds  of  belief: 

i.  Having  examined  "Florio's  translation"  1603,  I  find  it  contains  all  the 
metaphors,  similes,  etc.,  of  Bacon's  early  period.  No  other  metaphors,  etc.,  but 
certain  Promns  notes. 

2.  Having  examined  "Cotton's  translation,"  published  1688,  I  rind  it  to  be 
very  much  enlarged,  passages  altered,  paraphrased,  etc.,  new  passages  introduced, 
and  old  opinions  negatived. 

3.  The  metaphors  and  similes  now  include  a  number  of  Bacon's  later  period, 
whereas  in  "  Florio's"  there  is  hardly  a  metaphor  which  cannot  be  found  in  plays 
and  works  prior  to  the  date  of  The  Merry  Wives.  In  Cotton  there  are  other  forms 
introduced  after  Hamlet. 

4.  The  French  original  cannot  be  made  to  match  with  both  of  these  transla- 
tions. If  the  French  uses  a  metaphor  thus:  "A  man  should  be  careful  how  he 
repeats  a  tale  lest  he  get  out  of  the  road  and  lose  his  way  in  the  wood,"  Florio 
may  translate  it  thus,  but  in  Cotton  you  will  find  it  changed  to  this  extent,  "he 
should  be  careful,  etc.,  lest  he  lose  his  way  and  fall  into  the  l?'aps  of  his  enemies." 
{I  have  not  the  books,  but  quote  from  memory.)  Such  alterations  are  frequent. 
Who  made  them  ?  How  did  Florio,  the  Italian  master  in  the  Duke  of  Bedford's 
family,  get  employed  to  translate  a  volume  of  French  essays  into  English?  And 
how  did  he  manage  so  completely  to  master  the  peculiarities  of  Bacon's  style,  that 
he  could  make  it  his  own  throughout  the  Essays? 

5.  And  why  is  it  that  there  is,  in  Montaigne's  letters  to  friends,  etc.,  bound  up 
in  the  same  volume  with  the  Essays,  not  one  Baconism  of  thought  or  diction? 

As  to  circumstantial  evidence,  we  may  observe: 

6.  That  Montaigne  was  Mayor  of  Bourdeaux  during  the  three  years  of  Ba- 
con's sojourn  in  those  parts,  when  Bacon  was  known  to   be  writing  and  studying. 

7.  Francis  Bacon  kept  up  the  acquaintance  which  he  formed  with  Montaigne 
by  means  of  his  brother,  Anthony  Bacon,  who  is  recorded  to  have  visited  Montaigne, 
fro?7i  England,  after  Anthony's  return  home.      Montaigne  also  visited  Francis  Bacon 

in  England.  I  think  that  in  the  Cipher  the  name  Montaigne  will  be  found  ren- 
dered by  Mountain,  a  word  sometimes  apparently  hauled  in  somewhat  irrele- 
vantly.  .   .   . 

Montaigne's  Essays,  when  one  comes  to  dissect  them,  are  only  diffuse  editions 
of  Bacon's  mature  and  condensed  utterances  in  the  Essays,  The  Advancement  of 
learning,  and  other  works;  mixed  up  with  observations,  scientific,  medical,  physio- 
logical and  psychical,  which  are  noted  chiefly  in  the  Sylva. 

The  object,  as  I  take  it,  of  his  concealing  the  authorship  of  the  early  editions 
of  this  remarkable  book  was  that  he  might  utter,  under  the  mask  of  old  age  and  of 
French  license  of  speech,  opinions  which  would  have  been  condemned  as  utterly 
unbecoming  for  a  younger  man,  an  Englishman,  and  of  Puritan  family. 

But  there  are  other  reasons:  If  the  reader  will  turn  to  the  En- 
cyclopedia Britannica  '  he  will  find  that  Montaigne  never  published 
anything,  except   the   translation   into  French   of  a  Spanish  work, 

1  Vol.  xvi,  pp.  768,  etc. 


OTHER    MASKS   OF  FRANCIS  BACON.  957 

until  1580,  when  he  was  forty-seven  years  of  age;  and  that  he  never 
wrote  anything  but  these  Essays.  It  is  true  that  a  journal  was 
found  in  the  chateau  of  Montaigne,  two  hundred  years  after  his 
death,  giving  an  account  of  a  journey  he  took,  and  which  purported 
to  be  his  work;  but  it  is  a  vastly  inferior  performance  to  the  Essays, 
""superfluous  to  a  medical  reader  and  disgusting  to  any  other;  " 
and  his  "last  and  best  editors,  MM.  Courbet  and  Royar,"  do  not 
accept  it  as  "authentic." 

Like  Shakspere,  little  can  be  found  out  about  him.  The  Ency- 
clopaedia Britannica  says: 

Not  much  is  known  of  him  in  these  latter  years,  and,  indeed,  despite  the  labor- 
ious researches  of  many  biographers,  of  whom  one,  Dr.  Payen,  has  never  been 
excelled  in  persevering  devotion,  it  cannot  be  said  that  the  amount  of  available 
information  about  Montaigne  is  large  at  any  time  of  his  life. 

And  while  the  Essays  are  deistical,  Montaigne  died  a  devoted 
Catholic.  He  had  the  mass  served  in  his  bed-room  just  before  his 
-death. 

We  find,  on  page  242   of  Montaigne,  a  curious  commentary  on 

the  thought  that  the   name  is  nothing,  kindred  to  Shakespeare's 

"  what's  in  a  name  ?"     He  says: 

Let  us  .  .  .  examine  upon  what  foundation  we  erect  this  glory  and  reputation, 
for  which  the  world  is  turned  topsy-turvy:  wherein  do  we  place  this  renown  that 
we  hunt  after  with  so  great  flagrancy,  and  through  so  many  impediments,  and  so 
much  trouble  ?  //  is,  in  conclusion,  Peter  or  William  that  carries  it,  takes  it  into  his 
possession,  and  whom  it  only  concerns.  .  .  .  Nature  has  given  us  this  passion  for  a 
pretty  toy  to  play  withal.  And  this  Peter  or  William,  what  is  it  but  a  sound  when 
■all  is  done  ? 

Now,  as  the  French  for  Peter  is  Pierre,  we  have  "  this  William 
or  Pierre  that  carries  away  this  glory  and  takes  it  into  his  posses- 
sion;" and  William-Pierre  comes  singularly  close  to  William  Shakes- 
Pierre. 

And  not  many  pages  anterior  to  this  utterance,  and  in  the  same 

chapter  and  train  of  thought,  Montaigne  says,  on  page  225: 

All  other  things  are  communicable  and  fall  into  commerce;  we  lend  our  goods 
and  stake  our  lives  for  the  necessity  and  service  of  our  friend;  but  to  communicate 
a  mans  honor  and  to  robe  another  with  a  man s  07on  glory  is  rarely  seen. 

But  he  reflects,  as  above,  what  is  glory,  anyhow?  William  or 
Pierre  takes  it  and  carries  it  away,  and  it  concerns  him  only. 

And  remember  this  translation  was  published  long  after  Bacon's 
death;   just  as  we  have   seen   editions   of   the   Folio  published   in 


958  CONCLUSIONS. 

1632  and  1664  that  agreed  precisely  in  the  arrangement  of  the  type 
with  that  of  1623.  And  Mrs.  Pott  has  shown  that  the  translation 
does  not  adhere  to  the  original;  and  we  have  a  striking  illustration 
of  this  on  page  271,  where  the  translator  (an  unheard-of  thing) 
actually  interjects  into  Montaigne  quotations  from  Ben  Jonson 
not  found  in  the  original.     He  says: 

According  to  that  of  Mr.  Jonson,  which,  without  offense  to  Monsieur  Montaigne, 
/  will  here  pre 'sume  to  insert  ! 

And  is  it  not  a  little  singular  to  find  the  Italian  teacher  quoting 
the  play-writer  Ben  Jonson  ? 

And  again  on  page  259  he  interpolates  a  poem  from  Plutarch,, 
not  in  the  original  —  an  extraordinary  liberty  in  any  translator. 

And  we  see  the  author,  as  a  young  man,  asserting  himself  on 
page  281: 

For  my  part  I  believe  our  souls  are  adult  at  twenty,  such  as  they  are  ever  like 
to  be,  and  as  capable  then  as  ever.  A  soul  that  has  not  by  that  time  given  earnest 
of  its  force  and  virtue,  will  never  after  come  to  proof.  Natural  parts  and  excel- 
lences produce  that  they  have  of  vigorous  and  fine,  within  that  term,  or  never. 

Surely  no  man  who  had  written  his  first  book  at  forty-seven 
would  be  likely  to  give  birth  to  that  radical  and  unfounded  utter- 
ance; he  would  be  more  inclined  to  the  belief  of  him  of  old,  that 
"young  men  think  old  men  to  be  fools,  but  old  men  know  young 
men  to  be  such." 

And  we  find  Montaigne  expressing  the  exact  root  and  ground- 
work of  Bacon's  philosophy  in  this  extraordinary  sentence  (page 
469): 

The  senses  are  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  human  knowledge. 

This  was  the  very  point  where  the  philosophy  of  modern  times* 
diverged  from  that  of  antiquity:  the  latter  turned  for  light  to  the 
operations  of  the  human  mind;  the  former  to  the  facts  of  external 
nature,  as  revealed  by  the  senses. 

In  fact,  in  reading  these  Essays  we  see  the  Novum  Organum  in 
its  first  forms,  as  they  presented  themselves  to  the  youthful  mind 
of  Bacon.     Montaigne  says  (page  50): 

He  cannot  avoid  owning,  that  the  senses  are  the  sovereign  lords  of  his  knowledge; 
but  they  are  uncertain  and  falsifiable  in  all  circumstances.  '  Tis  there  that  he  is  to 
fight  it  out  to  the  last. 


or  thc    r 


{    VNIVER8ITY 


OTHER  MASKS   OF  FRANCIS  BACON.  )$) 

The  purpose  of  the  Baconian  philosophy  was  to  found  knowledge 
on  the  observations  of  the  senses,  after  clearing  the  mind  of  its  idols, 
or  preconceptions  and  errors;  and  it  was  on  this  line  Bacon  fought 
it  out  to  the  last. 

And  we  have  this  thought  of  the  idols  also  in  Montaigne.  He 
says  (page  89): 

To  say  the  truth,  by  reason  that  we  suck  it  in  with  our  milk,  and  that  the  face 
of  the  world  presents  itself  in  this  position  to  our  first  sight,  it  seems  as  if  we  were 
born  upon  condition  to  pursue  this  practice;  and  the  common  fancies  that  we  find 
in  repute  everywhere  about  us,  and  infused  into  our  minds  with  the  seed  of  our 
fathers,  appear  to  be  most  universal  and  genuine. 

And  here  follows  a  thought  that  is  as  true  to-day  as  it  was  in 
1592: 

From  whence  it  comes  to  pass,  that  whatever  is  off  the  hinges  of  custom,  is 
believed  to  be  also  off  the  hinges  of  reason. 

Bacon  writes  a  speculative  work,  entitled  The  New  Atlantis >  and 
in  another  place  he  discusses  the  probability  of  the  truth  of  Plato's 
story;  and  Montaigne  (page  166)  refers  to  the  destruction  of  At- 
lantis/  and  speculates  at  length  whether  or  not  the  West  Indies 
could  be  part  of  the  ancient  island. 

And  we  see  the  spirit  of  Bacon's  subtle  and  paradoxical  Charac- 
ters of  a  Believing  Christian  in  the  following  utterance  of  Montaigne 
(page  417): 

To  meet  with  an  incredible  thing  is  an  occasion  to  a  Christian  to  believe, 
and  it  is  so  much  the  more  according  to  reason,  by  how  much  it  is  against  human 
reason. 

And  Bacon  says: 

A  Christian  is  one  that  believes  things  his  reason  cannot  comprehend.1 

And  when  we  remember  that  Bacon  did  not  dare  to  publish  these 
Taradoxes  during  his  life-time,  we  can  see  why  the  same  thoughts, 
more  fully  elaborated,  were  put  forth  in  the  name  of  a  foreigner, 
for  I  have  no  doubt  the  Paradoxes  as  well  as  the  Montaigne  Essays 
were  the  work  of  Bacon's  unbelieving  youth. 

And  here  we  have  a  thought  worthy  of  Bacon's  finest  and  highest 
inspiration.     Speaking  of  life,  Montaigne  says  (p.  442): 

For  why  do  we  from  this  instant  derive  the  title  of  being,  which  is  but  a  flash 
i?i  the  infinite  course  of  an  eternal  night? 

1  Characters  of  a  Believing  Christian. 


960 


CONCL  USIONS. 


I  regret  that  I  have  not  space  to  quote  the  thousands  of  magnifi- 
cent and  profound  and  Baconian  thoughts  that  throng  the  pages 
of  these  Essays.     It  is  a  veritable  mine  of  gems. 

And  the  very  thought  of  Bacon  that  the  senses  were  the  holes 
which  communicated  with  the  locked-up  spirit,  and  that  if  we  had 
more  holes  through  matter,  more  senses,  we  would  apprehend 
things  in  nature  now  hidden  from  us,  appears  in  Montaigne.  He 
says  (pages  479-499): 

Who  knows  whether  to  us  also  one,  two  or  three,  or  many  other  senses  may  not 
be  wanting?  .  .  .  Let  an  understanding  man  imagine  human  nature  originally  pro- 
duced without  the  sense  of  hearing,  and  consider  what  ignorance  and  trouble  such 
a  defect  would  bring  upon  him,  what  a  darkness  and  blindness  in  the  soul;  he  will 
then  see  by  that,  of  how  great  importance  to  the  knowledge  of  truth  the  privation 
of  another  such  sense,  or  of  two  or  three,  should  we  be  so  deprived,  would  be. 
....  Who  knows  whether  all  human  kind  commit  not  the  like  absurdity,  for  want 
of  some  sense,  and  that  through  this  default  the  greater  part  of  the  face  of  things  is 
concealed  from  us  ? 

And  in  the  above  quotation  we  see  the  embryo  of  the  thought 
expressed  by  Shakespeare: 

There  is  no  darkness  but  ignorance. 

In  short,  we  are  brought  face  to  face  with  this  dilemma:  either 
Francis  Bacon  wrote  the  Essays  of  Montaigne,  or  Francis  Bacon 
stole  a  great  many  of  his  noblest  thoughts,  and  the  whole  scheme 
of  his  philosophy,  from  Montaigne.  But  Bacon  was  a  complete 
man;  he  expanded  into  a  hundred  fields  of  mental  labor.  Montaigne 
did  nothing  of  any  consequence  to  the  world  but  publish  these 
Essays;  ergo:  the  great  thoughts  came  not  from  Montaigne  to 
Bacon,  but  from  Bacon  to  Montaigne. 

And  the  writer  of  Montaigne  was  a  poet.     He  says  (page  78): 

I  am  one  of  those  who  are  most  sensible  to  the  power  of  the  imagination; 
every  one  is  justled,  and  some  are  overthrown  by  it.  It  has  a  very  great  impress- 
ion upon  me;  and  I  make  it  my  business  to  avoid  wanting  force  to  resist  it. 

And  again  he  says  (page  100): 

The  poetic  raptures  and  those  prodigious  flights  of  fancy  that  ravish  and  trans- 
port the  author  out  of  himself,  why  should  we  not  attribute  them  to  his  good  for- 
tune, since  the  poet  himself  confesses  they  exceed  his  sufficiency  and  force,  and 
acknowledges  them  to  proceed  from  something  else  than  himself? 

Here  we  have  the  same  thought  expressed  by  Bacon,  as  to 
divine   influences  in   his  work,  and  are   reminded   of  his  chaplain's- 


OTHER   MASKS   OF  FRANCIS  BACOX. 


96  r 


statement  that  he  got  his  thoughts  from  something  within  him, 
apart  from  himself. 

And  he  says  (page  536),  speaking  of  "poesy":  "I  love  it  in- 
finitely." 

And  on  page  142  he  says: 

I  would  have  things  so  exceed  and  wholly  possess  the  imagination  of  him  that 
hears  that  he  should  have  something  else  to  do  than  to  think  of  words. 

Here  we  are  reminded  of  Hamlet's  contempt  for  "words,  words, 
words." 

And  Montaigne  had  also  the  dramatic  instinct.  He  says  (page 
597): 

How  oft  have  I,  as  I  passed  along  the  streets,  had  a  good  mind  to  write  a  farce y 
to  revenge  the  poor  boys  whom  I  have  seen  flayed,  knocked  down,  and  miserably 
abused  by  some  father  or  mother. 

And  the  profound  admiration  of  Julius  Caesar,  which  we  have 
seen  in  Bacon  and  Shakespeare,  reappears  in  Montaigne.  He  says 
(page  612): 

This  sole  vice  (ambition)  spoiled  in  him  the  most  rich  and  beautiful  nature  that 
ever  was. 

This  is. precisely  the  thought  of    Bacon,  who  calls  Julius  Caesar 

The  most  excellent  spirit  (his  ambition  reserved)  of  the  world.' 

Montaigne  continues  (page  610): 

In  earnest  it  troubles  me  when  I  consider  the  greatness  of  the  man. 

Here  we  see  Bacon's  intellect  striving  to  match  itself  with  that 
of  "the  foremost  man  of  all  this  world."  And  we  see  in  Mon- 
taigne the  original  of  another  thought  which  is  found  in  Shake- 
speare.    Cassius  says  in  reference  to  Caesar: 

And  that  tongue  of  his,  that  bade  the  Romans 
Mark  him,  and  write  his  speeches  in  their  books. 

Montaigne  says  (page  615): 

His  [Cesar's]  military  eloquence  was  in  his  own  time  so  highly  reputed,  that 
many  of  his  army  writ  down  his  harangues  as  he  spoke  them,  by  which  means 
there  were  volumes  of  them  collected,  that  continued  a  long  time  after  him. 

And  we  see  in  Montaigne  another  curious  conception  which 
appears  in  Shakespeare.  Mark  Antony  moves  the  mob  of  Rome 
with  the  exhibition  of  the  dead  Caesar's  robe: 

1  Advancement  of  Learning,  book  ii. 


1 


962 


CONCLUSIONS. 

You  all  do  know  this  mantle;  I  remember 
The  first  time  ever  Caesar  put  it  on.   .   .   . 
Look  in  this  place  ran  Cassius'  dagger  through; 
See  what  a  rent  the  envious  Casca  made; 
Through  this,  etc. 

And  Montaigne  says. 

The  sight  of  Caesar's  robe  troubled  all  Rome,  which  was  more  than  his  death 
had  done. 

And  in  the  Montaigne  Essays  we  seem  to  see  sundry  references 
to  William  Shakspere.     He  says  (page  655): 

How  should  I  hate  the  reputation  of  being  a  pretty  fellow  at  writing,  and  an 
ass  and  a  sot  in  everything  else.  ...  Or  do  learned  writings  proceed  from  a  man  of 
so  weak  conversation  ?  Who  talks  at  a  very  ordinary  rate  and  writes  rarely:  is  to 
say  that  his  capacity  is  borrowed  and  not  his  own.  A  learned  man  is  not  learned 
in  all  things;  but  a  sufficient  man  is  sufficient  throughout ',  even  to  ignorance 
itself. 

And  we  might  even  infer  that  there  was  a  suspicion  in  Mon- 
taigne's own  neighborhood  that  he  could  not  have  written  the 
Essays.     He  says  (page  672): 

In  my  country  of  Gascony  they  look  upon  it  as  a  drollery  to  see  me  in  print. 
The  farther  off  I  am  read  from  my  own  home  the  better  I  am  esteemed.  I  am 
fain  to  purchase  printers  in  Guienne;  elsewhere  they  purchase  me. 

And  when  we  come  to  identities  of  thought  and  expression  I 
could  fill  a  book  as  large  as  this  with  extracts  that  are  perfectly 
paralleled  in  Bacon's  acknowledged  writings  and  in  the  Shakespeare 
Plays.  Let  me  give  a  few  instances,  not  perhaps  the  strongest,  but 
those  that  first  occur  to  me. 

Montaigne  says,  speaking  of  death: 

Give  place  to  others,  as  others  have  given  place  to  you} 

Bacon  says: 

And  as  others  have  given  place  to  us,  so  must  we  in  the  end  give  place  to  others} 

This  is  not  parallelism;  it  is  identity. 

That  strange  word  eternizing,  found  both  in  Bacon  and  Shake- 
speare, and  applied  to  making  a  man's  memory  perpetual  on  earth, 
(a  very  significant  thought  in  connection  with  the  man  who  com- 
posed the  Cipher),  is  found  in  Montaigne  (page  129),  used  with  the 
same  meaning,  "  the  eternizing  of  our  names." 

1    Montaigne's  Essays,  Ward,  Locke  &  Tyler's  ed.,  p.  75.  2  Essay  Of  Death. 


OTHER  MASKS  OF  FRANCIS  BACON.  06  , 

And  here  is  a  striking  parallelism:     Hamlet  tells  his  mother: 

Leave  wringing  of  your  hands,  peace,  sit  you  down. 
And  let  me  wring  your  /cart. 

Montaigne  says  (page  635): 

And  provided  the  courage  be  undaunted,  and  the  expressions  not  sounding  of 
despair,  let  her  be  satisfied  What  makes  matter  for  the  wringing  of  our  hands,  if 
we  do  not  wring  our  thoughts. 

Montaigne  says: 

For  pedants  plunder  knowledge  from  books,  and  carry  it  on  the  tip  of  their 
lips,  just  as  birds  carry  seeds  wherewith  to  feed  their  young. 

And  in  Shakespeare  we  have,  applied  to  a  pedant: 

He  has  been  at  a  feast  of  learning  and  stoleti  the  scraps. 

Montaigne  says  (page  296): 

Death  comes  all  to  one,  whether  a  man  gives  himself  his  end  or  stays  to  receive 
it  of  some  other  means;  whether  he  pays  before  his  day \  or  stays  till  his  day  of pay- 
ment comes. 

And  in  Shakespeare  we  have  the  following,  just  before  the  battle 

of  Shrewsbury: 

Falstaff.     I  would  it  were  bed-time,  Hal,  and  all  well. 
Prince.     Why,  thou  owest  Heaven  a  death. 

Falstaff.  'Tis  not  due  yet;  I  would  be  loth  to  pay  him  defore  his  day.  What 
need  I  be  so  forward  with  him  that  calls  not  on  me? ' 

Speaking  of  the  grave,.  Montaigne  says  of  the  dead: 

But  they  are  none  of  them  come  back  to  tell  us  the  news. 

This  is  the  embryo  of  Hamlet's  reference  to  the  grave  as 

That  undiscovered  country  from  whose  bourn 
No  traveler  returns. 

Montaigne  speaks   of  the  stars  as  "  the  eternal  light  of  those 

tapers  that  roll  over  his  head;"  while  Shakespeare  has: 

Night's  candles  are  burned  out. 
Montaigne  says  (page  884): 

I,  who  but  crawl  upon  the  earth. 
Shakespeare  says: 

Crawling  between  earth  and  heaven.9 
Montaigne  says: 

The  heart  and  life  of  a  great  and  triumphant  emperor  is  the  breakfast  of  a  little, 
contemptible  worm. 

1 1st  Henry  IV. ,  v,  i.  2  Hamlet,  iii.  1. 


964  CONCL  U  SIGNS. 

In  Hamlet  we  have: 

King.     At  supper?     Where  ? 

"Hamlet.     Not  where  he  eats,  but  where  he  is  eaten; 
A  certain  convocation  of  worms  are  e'en  at  him. 
Your  worm  is  your  only  emperor  for  diet. 

4     Montaigne  says: 

To  what  a  degree,  then,  does  this  ridiculous  diversion  molest  the  soul,  when  all 
her  faculties  shall  be  summoned  together  upon  this  trivial  account. 

And  Shakspeare  says  in  the  sonnets: 

When  to  the  sessions  of  sweet  silent  thought 
I  summon  up  remembrance  of  things  past. 

We  are  all  familiar  with   that  curious  expression  in  Hamlet's 

soliloquy: 

When  he  himself  may  his  quietus  make 
With  a  bare  bodkin; 

and  some  have  wondered  why  a  man  should  discard  daggers  and 
swords  and  assassinate  himself  with  a  bodkin.  We  turn  to  Mon- 
taigne and  find,  I  think,  the  original  of  the  thought.  He  says 
(page  217): 

A  maid  in  Picardy,  to  manifest  the  ardor  of  her  constancy,  gave  herself,  with 
a  bodkin  she  wore  in  her  hair,  four  or  five  good  lusty  stabs  into  the  arm,  till  the 
blood  gushed  out  to  some  purpose. 

Shakespeare  speaks  in  Richard  III.  of  "the  bowels  of  the  land;" 
Montaigne  (page  94)  speaks  of  "the  bowels  of  a  man's  own  country." 
Both  used  those  strange  words  graveled  and  quintessence.  .  Mon- 
taigne despised  the  mob.  He  speaks  like  Bacon  and  Shakespeare 
of  "the  brutality  and  facility  natural  to  the  common  people." 

We  find  Shakespeare  speaking  of  God  thus: 

O  thou  eternal  mover  of  the  heavens. 

And  we  find  in  Montaigne  these  lines  (page  47): 

Th'  eternal  mover  has,  in  shades  of  night, 
Future  events  concealed  from  human  sight. 

Montaigne  says  (page  227): 

We  commend  a  horse  for  his  strength  and  sureness  of  foot,  .  .  .  and  not  for 
his  rich  caparisons;  a  greyhound  for  his  share  of  heels,  not  for  his  fine  collar;  a  hawk 
for  her  wings,  not  for  her  gesses  and  bells.  Why  in  like  manner  do  we  not  value  a 
man  for  what  is  properly  his  own?  He  has  a  great  train,  a  beautiful  place,  so 
much  credit,  so  many  thousand  pounds  a  year,  and  all  these  are  about  him,  but  not 
in  him. 


OTHER  MASKS  OF  FRANCIS  BACON.  965 

In  Shakespeare  we  have  the  same  thought  thus  expressed- 

And  not  a  man  for  being  simply  man 
Hath  any  honor;  but  honor  for  those  honors 
That  are  without  him,  as  place,  riches  and  favor, 
Prizes  of  accident  as  oft  as  merit.1 

I  assure  the  reader  that  I  have  to  stay  my  hand,  —  out  of  respect 

for  my  publishers, — or  I  should  fill  pages  with  similar  proofs  and 

parallelisms. 

VII.     "The  Anatomy  of  Melancholy." 

I  cannot  do  more  than  touch  upon  a  few  of  the  reasons  that  lead 
me  to  believe  that  Francis  Bacon  was  the  real  author  of  The  Anatomy 
of  Melancholy,  which  was  published  in  162 1,  in  the  name  of  "  Robert 
Burton,  of  Leicestershire."  Mr.  Wharton  says:  "  It  was  written,  as 
I  conjecture,  about  the  year  1600."  It  first  appeared  under  a  nom 
de plume,  that  of  "Democritus  Junior."  When  it  was  first  attributed 
to  Burton  I  do  not  know.  Burton,  like  Montaigne,  never  wrote 
anything  but  this  one  production;  and,  like  Montaigne  and  Shak- 
spere,  very  little  is  known  of  his  life.  His  will,  written  by  himself, 
is  a  crude  performance,  and  has  no  resemblance  to  the  style  of  the 
Anatomy.  His  elder  brother,  William  Burton,  was  a  student  at  the 
Inner  Temple  in  1593,  and  afterwards  a  barrister  and  reporter 
at  the  Court  of  Common  Pleas,  London.  It  is  very  probable 
he  was  an  acquaintance  of  Francis  Bacon,  being  in  the  same 
pursuit,  in  the  same  town,  at  the  very  time  the  Plays  were  being 
written. 

The  Anatomy  of  Melancholy  is  a  wonderful  work:  —  wonderful  for 
its  learning,  its  vast  array  of  quotations  from  the  classical  writings, 
in  which  it  resembles  the  Montaigne  Essays,  the  profundity  of  its 
thoughts,  its  originality,  and  its  Baconianisms.  Dr.  Johnson  said 
it  was  the  only  book  that  ever  took  him  out  of  bed  two  hours 
sooner  than  he  wished  to  rise.  We  might  infer  that  the  Montaigne 
Essays  were  the  production  of  a  sensitive,  buoyant,  jubilant,  happy, 
vivacious,  youthful  genius;  the  Anatomy,  the  work  of  the  same 
mind,  older,  overwhelmed  with  misfortunes,  and  steeped  to  the 
lips  in  misery  and  gloom.  The  one  represents  the  man  who  wrote 
The  Two   Gentlemen  of  Verona  and  Love's  Labor  Lost;  the  other,  the 

1  Troilus  and  Cress/da,  iii,  3. 


966  CONCLUSIONS. 

author  of  Timon  of  Athens  and  Hamlet.  In  fact,  in  many  things  it 
is  a  prose  Timon  of  Athens. 

We  have  seen  that  about  1600  Bacon's  fortunes  were  at  their 
blackest;  his  disgust  with  the  world  was  absolute;  he  was  sick, 
poor,  without  hope,  and  plunged  into  excessive  melancholy.  He 
himself  refers,  subsequently,  to  this  dreadful  period  in  his  life,  and 
to  the  consequent  failure  of  his  health.  We  are  told  that  the 
author  of  the  Anatomy  wrote  that  work  to  overcome  his  despair  and 
divert  his  mind  from  its  sorrows.  We  can  imagine  the  laborious 
Francis  Bacon,  with  the  same  purpose,  with  the  help  of  his  "good 
pens,"  collating  a  vast  commonplace-book  on  the  subject  of  "Mel- 
ancholy," and  the  best  modes  of  medical  treatment  to  relieve  it; 
and  this  is  just  what  the  Anatomy  is:  it  is  a  commonplace-book 
with  the  citations  strung  together  by  a  thread  of  original  re- 
flection; and  it  is  full  of  identities  with  the  writings  of  Bacon. 
Let  me  give  one  instance,  which  is  most  striking. 

Coffee,  at  the  time  the  Anatomy  was  published,  had  not  yet  been 
introduced  into  England;  the  first  coffee-house  was  opened  in  Eng- 
land, in  Oxford,  in  1651,  by  a  Jew;  and  the  second  in  London,  by  a 
Greek  servant  of  a  Turkey  merchant,  in  1652.  Bacon,  we  know, 
was  collecting  the  facts  for  his  Natural  History  for  years;  Montagu 
says  some  of  them  were  drawn  from  observations  made  when  he 
was  sixteen  years  of  age;  and  as  one  of  the  curious  facts,  in  that 
compendium  of  facts,  we  find  this  entry: 

They  have  in  Turkey  a  drink  called  coffa,  made  of  a  berry  of  the  same  name, 
as  black  as  soot,  and  of  a  strong  scent,  but  not  aromatical;  which  they  take, 
beaten  into  powder,  in  water,  as  hot  as  they  can  drink  it,  and  sit  at  it,  in  their 
coffa-houses,  which  are  like  our  taverns.  This  drink  comforteth  the  heart  and 
brain,  and  helpeth  digestion.1 

We  turn  to  Burton,  and  we  find  him  saying: 

The  Turks  have  a  drink  called  coffee  (for  they  use  no  wine),  so  named  of  a  berry 
as  black  as  soot,  and  as  bitter,  (like  that  black  drink  which  was  in  use  among  the 
Lacedamonians,  and  perhaps  the  same),  which  they  sip  still  of  and  sup  as  warm  as 
they  can  suffer;  they  spend  much  time  in  those  coffee-hotises,  which  are  somewhat 
like  our  ale-houses  or  taverns,  and  there  they  sit  chatting  and  drinking  to  drive 
away  the  time,  and  to  be  merry  together,  because  they  find  by  experience  that 
that  kind  of  drink,  so  used,  helpeth  digestion  and  procureth  alacrity.2 

I  italicise  the  words  used  by  Bacon  which  are  also  used  by  Bur- 
ton.    Bacon's  Natural  History  was  not  published  until  1627,  so  that 

1  Sylva  Sylvarum,  cent,  viii,  §  738.  2  Anatomy  9/ Melancholy \  v.  1.  ii,  p.  398. 


OTHER   MASKS   OF  FRANCIS  BACOX.  967 

Burton  could  not  have  borrowed  from  it,  and  it  is  not  probable 
that  Bacon  would  have  borrowed  from  Burton  without  giving  him 
due  credit  therefor.  And  yet  we  find  both  writers  treating  of  the 
same  subject,  in  the  same  language,  with  the  same  ideas,  and  even 
falling  into  the  same  error,  that  is,  to  say  that  the  coffee  berry  is 
"as  black  as  soot." 

On  page  129  of  Volume  I.,  Burton  refers  to  details  which  show 
the  writer  to  have  been  intimately  acquainted  wTith  old  Verulam, 
in  which  St.  Albans  was  situated,  and  with  its  antiquities. 

B.  Atwater  of  old,  or,  as  some  will,  Henry  I.,  made  a  channel  from  Trent  to 
Lincoln,  navigable;  which  now,  saith  Mr.  Camden,  is  decayed,  and  much  mention 
is  made  of  anchors,  and  such  like  monuments,  found  about  old  Verulamium. 

And  at  the  bottom  of  the  page,  as  a  foot-note  to  this  passage, 
we  have  this  curious  and  inexplicable  remark: 

Near  S.  Albans,  which  must  not  now  be  whispered  in  the  ear. 

One  would  almost  suspect  that  the  name  of  St.  Albans  was 
dragged  in,  in  this  singular  fashion,  to  meet  the  requirements  of  a 
cipher  narrative;  and  there  are  many  other  things  in  the  Anatomy 
which  point  in  the  same  direction.  Certain  it  is  that  the  finding  of 
ancient  anchors,  in  the  meadows  of  Old  Verulam,  would  be  much 
more  likely  to  be  known  to  Bacon,  who  was  raised  there  and  had, 
as  a  boy,  rambled  all  over  those  fields,  than  to  Burton,  born  at 
Lindley,  in  Leicestershire,  and  whose  residence,  nearly  all  his  life, 
seems  to  have  been  at  Oxford.  But,  in  any  event,  why  was  not 
the  name  of    St.  Albans  to  be  "  whispered  in  the  ear  "  ? 

Burton  avows  the  singular  belief  that  England  was  formerly 
more  densely  populated  than  it  was  in  his  time  in  the  seventeenth 
century;  and  in  the  year  1607  Bacon,  in  a  speech  in  Parliament,  ex- 
pressed the  same  unusual  conviction.1 

We  turn  to  another  remarkable  evidence  of  identity. 

It  is  well  known  that  Bacon  wrote  a  work  called  The  New  At- 
lantis. It  was  an  attempt  to  represent  an  Utopia.  It  was  published  ^ 
in  1627.  The  name  was  a  singular  one  for  such  a  purpose.  The 
island  of  Atlantis,  Plato  tells  us,  was  sunk  in  the  ocean  because  of 
the  iniquities  of  its  people.  Why,  then,  employ  a  new  Atlantis  to 
show  the   human   race   regenerated  ?     But  this  was  Bacon's  fancy. 

1  Works,  vol.  V,  p.  352. 


968  CONCLUSIONS. 

And,  strange  to  say,  we  find  Robert  Burton  in  The  Anatomy  of  Mel 
ancholy  falling  into  the  same  fancy,  and  declaring  in  1600,  or  1621 : 

I  will  yet,  to  satisfy  and  please  myself,  make  an  Utopia  of  mine  own,  a  new 
Atlantis,  a  poetical  commonwealth  of  mine  own,  in  which  I  will  freely  domineer, 
build  cities,  make  laws,  statutes,  as  I  list  myself.     And  why  may  I  not?5 

And  then  he  proceeds  through  some  dozen  pages  to  work  out 
his  fable,  very  much  as  Bacon  did  in  The  New  Atlantis,  but  not,  of 
course,  as  completely  or  philosophically;  and  evidently  the  New  At- 
lantis of  Burton  is  but  the  rude  sketch  of  The  New  Atlantis  of  Bacon. 
Says  Burton: 

I  will  have  certain  ships  sent  out  for  new  discoveries  every  yea.  ...  to  ob- 
serve what  artificial  inventions  and  good  laws  are  in  other  countries.2 

While  Bacon3  details  how,  under  the  orders  of  the  ancient  King 
Solomono,  two  ships  were  sent  out  every  twelve  years,  from  his  New 
Atlantis,  to  visit  all  parts  of  the  earth,  and  acquire  new  knowledge 
as  to  science,  arts,  manufactures  and  inventions. 

Burton  has  his  officers  all  paid  out  of  the  public  treasury,  "  no 
fees  to  be  given  or  taken  on  pain  of  losing  their  places;  "  while 
Bacon  represents  the  officials  of  his  New  Atlantis  as  refusing  any 
fees,  with  the  exclamation,  "  What,  twice-paid  !" 

Burton  says  that  in  his  Utopia 

He  that  invents  anything  for  public  good,  in  any  art  or  science,  writes  a  treat- 
ise, or  performs  any  noble  exploit,  shall  be  accordingly  enriched,  honored  and  pre- 
ferred. 

While  Bacon  describes4  the  great  galleries  of  his  Utopia  filled 
with  "  the  statues  of  all  principal  inventors"  including  Columbus, 
the  monk  that  made  gunpowder,  the  inventors  of  music,  of  letters, 
of  silk,  etc.     He  adds: 

For  upon  every  invention  of  value,  we  erect  a  statue  to  the  inventor,  and  give 
him  a  liberal  and  honorable  reward. 

In  short,  we  see  the  seeds  of  Bacon's  New  Atlantis  in  Burton's 
New  Atlantis;  and  no  one  can  doubt  that  they  came  out  of  the  same 
mind. 

And  I  could  fill  pages,  did  space  permit,  with  the  startling  iden- 
tities of  speech  and  thought  which   I   have  found  to  exist  between 

1  Anatcmy  of  Melancholy,  vol.  i,  p.  131.  3  The  New  Atlantis,  vol.  i,  p.  262,  Montagu's  ed. 

'2  Page  137.  4  Ibid.,  vol.  i,  p.  209. 


OTHER   MASKS   OF  FRANCIS  BACON. 


969 


the  Anatomy  and  Bacon's  acknowledged  writings  and  the  Shake- 
speare Plays. 

And  in  the  Anatomy  we  see  the  vastness  of  those  medical  studies 
which  crop  out  in  the  Shakespeare  Plays. 

Indeed,  the  world  will  hereafter  have  to  study  the  great  Plays 
by  the  wondrous  light  of  the  Essays  of  Montaigne  and  The  Anatomy 
of  Melancholy  of  Burton.  Here  is  the  man  himself  revealed,  in 
youth  and  maturity.  We  see  here  the  profound  learning,  the  in- 
exhaustible industry,  the  scope  and  grasp  of  mind,  which  have 
glinted  through  the  interstices  of  the  Plays  like  the  red  light  of  the 
dawning  sun  through  the  tangled  leaves  of  a  forest.  We  see,  in 
short,  the  tremendous  preparations  of  that  wondrously  stored  mind, 
whose  very  drippings  have  astounded  mankind  in  the  disguise  of 
the  untaught  player  of  Stratford. 

VIII.     The  Cipher. 

And,  incredible  as  it  may   seem,  I  think  it  will  be  found  that 

Bacon   put  the   stamp   of  his  Cipher  upon    nearly  all   his  works, 

with  intent  some  day  to  have  them  all  reclaimed.     And  why  do  I 

say  this  ?     Because  nearly  everywhere  I  find   not   only  the   words 

Bacon,  and  St.  Albans,  and  Francis,  and  Nicholas,  and   Shake,  and 

spur  and  speere,  scattered  over  these  unacknowledged  works,  but 

because    I     can     see    those    curious    twistings    of    the    sentences 

which   so   puzzled   commentators   in   the   Plays,  and   which    mark 

the   strain   to   bring   in   the   Cipher   narrative.     The  discussion   of 

this  matter  would  fill  a  book;   I  can  now  but  touch  upon  a  few 

proofs. 

Take  the  Marlowe  plays.     Some  of  them  exist,  like  some  of  the 

Shakespeare  Plays,  in  two  forms:  a  brief  form,  and  a  larger  form. 

I  found  in  the  Doctor  Faustus*  that,  when  the  Doctor  is  demanding 

some  exhibition  of  demoniacal  power,  Cornelius  says: 

Then  haste  thee  to  some  solitary  grove 

And  bear  wise  Bacon's  and  Albanus'  works,  1 

The  Hebrew  Psalter  and  New  Testament, 

And  whatsoever  else  is  requisite. 

Here  we  have  not  only  the  name  of  Bacon,  but  Albanus.  The  latter 
word  the  commentators  changed  to  Albertus,  and  says  one  critic: 

*  Act   i,  scene  2. 


97o 


CONCL  USIONS. 


Cornelius  saddled  Faustus  with  a  heavy  burden;  the  works  of  Albertus  Magnus 
fill  twenty-one  thick  folios,  and  those  of  Roger  Bacon  are  asserted  to  have  been 
one  hundred  and  one  in  number. 

It  is  evident  that  the  order  of  Cornelius  to  bring  along  this 
vast  library  was  merely  an  excuse  to  drag  in  the  significant 
cipher  words. 

And  again  the  name  of  Bacon  appears  in  the  same  play: 

I  am  Gluttony;  my  parents  are  all  dead,  and  the  devil  a  penny  they  have  left 
me  but  a  small  pension;  and  that  buys  me  thirty  meals  a  day  and  ten  bevers;  a 
small  trifle  to  suffice  nature.  I  come  of  a  royal  pedigree;  my  father  was  a  Gammon 
of  Bacon,  and  my  mother  was  a  hogshead  of  claret  wine.1 

This  is  the  same  old  "Gammon  of  Bacon"  which  the  carrier 
had  in  his  panniers,  and  which  did  such  good  service,  in  ist 
Henry  IV." 

And  in  The  Jew  of  Malta  Barabas  and  Ithamore  are  about  to 
strangle  a  friar.     Ithamore  says: 

Oh,  how  I  long  to  see  him  shake  his  heels.3 

And  when  they  have  strangled  the  friar  Ithamore  says: 

'  Tis  neatly  done,  here's  no  print  at  all.  .  .  .  Nay,  master,  be  ruled  by  me  a 
little  {stands  up  the  body);  so  let  him  lean  upon  his  staff;  excellent,  he  stands  as  if 
he  were  begging  of  Bacon. 

The  great  artist  had  not  yet  acquired  the  cunning  in  handling 
his  suspicious  words  which  is  shown  in  the  Plays.  All  this  is  very 
forced:  "shake  his  heels,"  "  here's  no  print  at  all,"  "as  if  begging  of 
Bacon." 

It  seems  to  me  these  two  plays  go  together  in  the  cipher 
work,  and  we  have  spheres  in  Doctor  Faustus  matching  this  shake  in 
The  Jew  of  Malta.  In  Dido,  Queen  of  Carthage,  I  find  allusions  to 
Elizabeth,  Burleigh,  etc.  And  in  all  these  plays  there  is  a  great  deal 
about  Aristotle,  and  the  Organon,  and  books,  and  libraries,  and  printing 
and  poets;  and  the  singular  word  eternized  appears  in  almost  every 
one  of  the  Marlowe  plays,  just  as  we  have  found  it  in  the  Shake- 
speare Plays,  Montaigne's  Essays,  and  The  Anatomy  of  Melancholy ; 
as  if,  in  every  one  of  them,  Bacon,  in  the  internal  cipher  story, 
was  repeating  his  purpose  to  do  that  which,  in  one  of  his  acknowl- 
edged masks,  he  advised  the  King  to  do,  to-wit:  to  eternize  his 
name  on  earth. 

1  Doctor  Faustus,  ii,  2.  a  Act  ii,  scene  1.  3  Act  iv,  scene  2. 


O  THER  MA  SKS  OF  FRANCIS  BA  COX.  9  7 1 

And  in  Montaigne's  Essays  we  have  (page  878): 

Whoever  shall  cure  a  child  of  an  obstinate  aversion  to  brown  bread,  bacon  or 
garlic,  will  cure  him  of  all  kind  of  delicacy 

The  substance  bacon  was  considered  in  that  age  a  diet  fit  for 
nobles;  —  the  peasants  could  not  get  enough  of  it.  Why  should  a 
child  have  an  aversion  for  it?     It  is  all  forced. 

And  the  text  of  Montaigne  is  in  some  places  fairly  peppered 
with  the  words  Francis  and  Francisco.  On  page  42  we  have  "  King 
Francis  the  First,"  on  the  next  line,  "Fra ncisco Taverna,  the  ambas- 
sador of  Francisco  Sforza;"  in  the  next  sentence,  "  King  Francis" 
again;  on  the  same  page  "  Signor  Francisco;"  on  the  next  page 
"  King  Francis"  and  on  the  next  line  "King  Francis"  again.  On 
page  46  we  have:  "Which  makes  the  example  of  Francis,  Marquis 
of  Saluzzo,  who,  being  lieutenant  to  King  Francis  the  First,"  etc. 
On  page  44  we  have  "  King  Francis"  again.  And  we  have  Nicholas, 
William,  Williams,  shake,  and  spur  and  speare  many  times  repeated; 
together  with  a  great  many  allusions  to  England  and  Scotland,  Mary 
Queen  of  Scots  (page  61),  the  Duke  of  Suffolk,  the  English,  the  White 
Rose,  King  Henry  the  Seventh  of  England  (page  36),  Bullen;  all  of 
which  seem  rather  out  of  place  in  a  French  work  not  a  history  of 
or  dealing  with  English  affairs.  And  there  is  a  great  deal  also  in 
the  text  about  plays,  players,  actors,  tragedies,  comedies,  etc.  And 
we  find  the  most  absurd  sentences  dragged  into  the  text  to  meet, 
as  I  suppose,  the  requirements  of  a  cipher  story.  Take  for  in- 
stance this  sentence  (page  31): 

What  causes  the  misadventures  that  befall  us  do  we  not  invent  ?  .  .  .  Those 
beautiful  tresses,  young  lady,  you  may  so  liberally  tear  off,  are  in  no  way  guilty, 
nor  is  it  the  whiteness  of  those  delicate  breasts  you  so  unmercifully  beat,  that  with 
an  unlucky  bullet  has  slain  your  beloved  brother. 

Who  is  the  young  lady  ?  There  is  nothing  more  about  her  in 
the  text.  And  is  it  the  white  breasts  that  have  slain  her  brother? 
Or  did  the  young  lady  slay  him?  And  where  did  the  bullet  come, 
from?  Was  it  from  the  white  breasts?  It  is  all  nonsense  and  has 
no  connection  with  the  text.  And  there  are  hundreds  of  such 
passages. 

And  Montaigne  ends  one  of  his  chapters  with  this  singular  dec- 
laration (page  37): 


y72  CONCLUSIONS. 

For  my  part  I  shall  take  care,  if  I  can,  that  my  death  discover  nothing  that  my 
life  has  not  first  openly  manifested  and  publicly  declared. 

I  think  Mrs.  Pott  is  right  in  supposing  that  Montaigne  is  often 
referred  to  in  the  Cipher  story  in  the  Shakespeare  Plays  in  the 
name  of  Mountaine;  for  instance,  we  find  Pistol  in  The  Merry  Wives 
calling  Evans  "  thou  Mountain*  forreyner;"  and  in  the  same  play 
Falstaff  alludes  to  himself  as  "a  mountaine  of  mummy."  And 
both  of  these  Mountaine s  or  Montaignes  are  cunningly  accompanied 
by  the  de  and  la,  making  the  de  la  Montaigne.  It  would  puzzle  a 
simple-minded  man  to  know  how  Bacon,  in  an  English  play,  could 
work  in  twice  the  French  words  de  la.  But  this  is  how  he  does  it: 
He  has  a  French  doctor  in  the  play,  Dr.  Cuius,  and  his  broken 
English  furnishes  the  de.  In  act  i,  scene  4,  we  have  the  Doctor  ex- 
claiming: 

What  shall  de  honest  man  do  in  my  closet  ? 

And  a  few  lines  above  this  we  have: 

0  Diable,  Diable,  vat  is  in  my  closet  ? 
Villanie  Za-roone:    Rugby  my  rapier. 

These  adroit  subtleties  provide  for  the  first  Mountaine.  The 
other  is  as  follows.     In  the  same  scene,  a   few   lines   further  along, 

we  have: 

1  wii!  cut  his  throat  in  de  park. 

And  in  the  first  scene  of  the  first  act  we  have  Shallow  indulging 
in  the  old-woman  phrase: 

I  thank  you  always  with  my  heart,  la. 
And  in  the  next  column  we  have  "  thou  Mountaine  forreyner." 
And  when  we  turn  to  the  play  of  2d  Henry  IV.  we  again 
have  De  la  Mountaine  still  more  cunningly  concealed,  for  there  is 
no  Frenchman  in  that  play  to  change  the  into  de.  In  act  ii,  scene  4, 
we  have:  "The  weight  of  an  hair  will  not  turn  the  scales  be- 
tween the  Haber-dfc-pois."  Here  we  have  the  de;  and  in  the  same 
act,  scene  1,  we  find  Dame  Quickly  saying: 

Prithee,  Sir  John,  let  it  be  but  twenty  nobles,  I  loath  to  pawne  my  plate,  in 
good  earnest,  la. 

And  we  turn  to  the  next  act,  scene    1,  and  on  the  next  page 

after  that  on  which  the  de  is  found  we  have: 

And  see  the  revolution  of  the  times 
Make  Mountaines  level. 


OTHER  MASKS  OF  FRANCIS  BACON.  973 

De  and  la  are  very  unusual  in  English  plays,  in  fact  they  are 
not  English  words;  yet  here  we  find  them  accompanying,  in  three 
instances,  the  word  Mountain;  and  the  probabilities  are  that  inves- 
tigation will  show  this  singular  concordance  to  exist  in  some  of  the 
other  plays. 

And,  it  seems  to  me,  we  have  repeated  references  to  The  Anat- 
omy of  Melancholy  in  the  Cipher  story  of  the  Shakespeare  Plays. 
In  Romeo  and  Juliet  we  have: 

What  vile  part  of  this  anatomy.1 
And  again: 

Melancholy  bells.2 
In  the  Comedy  of  Errors  we  have: 

A  mere  anatomy,  a  mountebank.3 
And  again: 

But  moody  and  dull  melancholy.* 
Here  both  words  are  in  the  same  act  and  scene. 
In  King  John  the  words  occur  in  the  same  act,  separated  in  the 
Folio  by  only  about  one  column  of  matter: 
From  sleep  that  fell  anatomy. h 
Or  if  that  surly  spirit  Melancholy} 
In  Twelfth  Night  we  have,  separated  by  a  page  only: 
I'll  eat  the  rest  of  the  anatomy.' 
Being  addicted  to  melancholy* 
In  1st  and  2d  Henry  IV.  we  seem  to  have  the  name  of  the  book 
and  the  ostensible  author,  Robert  Burton: 
Master  Robert  Shallow.9 
North  from  Burton  here.10 
And  in  2d  Henry  IV.,  v,  4,  we  have: 

Thou  atomy  thou. 
This  needs  but  an  an  to  make  it  anatomy. 
And  we  also  have: 

Musing  and  cursed  melancholy. n 

1  Romeo  and  Juliet,  iii,  3.  5  King  John.  iii,  3.  9  2d  Henry  IV.,  V,  5. 

2  Ibid.,  iv,  5.  6  Ibid.,  iii,  2.  10  1st  Henry  IV.,  iii,  1. 

3  Comedy  0/  Errors,  v,  1.  7  Twelfth  Night,  iii,  2.  "  It*  Henry  IV..  ii.  3. 
«  Ibid.,  v.i.  8  ibid.,  ii.  5. 


9  7  4  CONCL  USIONS. 

And  in  the  Itiduction  to  the  Taming  of  the  Shrewwe  have: 
Old  Sly's  son  of  Burton-heath. 

In  conclusion,  I  would  say,  we  find  Bacon  once  in  The  Merry 
Wives  of  Windsor;  we  find  Bacon  twice  in  the  first  part  of  King 
Henry  IV.;  we  find  Bacons  once  in  the  same  play;  we  find  Bacon  in 
The  Jew  of  Malta;  and  we  find  Bacon  twice  in  the  play  of  Doctor 
Faustus.     In  Thomas  Lord  Cromwell  we  have: 

Well,  Joan,  he'll  come  this  way;  and  by  God's  dickers  I'll  tell  him  roundly  of 
it,  an  if  he  were  ten  lords;  a  shall  know  that  I  had  not  my  cheese  and  my  Bacon 
for  nothing."  ' 

We  find  Bacon  in  Montaigne's  Essays;  and  we  find  Bacon  many 
times  repeated  in  The  Anatomy  of  Mela?icholy. 

We  find  St.  Albans  twenty  odd  times  in  the  Shakespeare  Plays; 
we  find  St.  Albans  two  or  three  times  in  the  Contention  between  York 
and  Lancaster;  we  find  St.  Albans  in  the  play  of  Tom  Stuckley;  we 
find  Albanus  in  Doctor  Faustus  and  Albanum  in  Locrine;  and  we  find 
St.  Albans  in  The  Anatomy  of  Melancholy. 

Can  any  one  believe  that  all  this  is  the  result  of  accident  ?  Re- 
member that  bacon,  in  its  common  acceptation,  is  a  word  having  no 
relation  to  poetry  or  elevated  literature;  and  St.  Albans  is  a  little 
village,  illustrious  only  through  having  been  at  one  time  the  place 
of  residence  of  Francis  Bacon.  I  do  not  think  a  study  of  the 
dramas  or  poems  of  the  next  century,  or  of  the  present  age,  will 
reveal  any  such  liberal  use  of  these  words;  in  fact,  I  doubt  if  they 
can  be  found  therein  at  all,  except  where  Francis  Bacon  and  his 
residence  are  distinctly  referred  to. 

1  Act  iv,  scene  2. 


CHAPTER  V. 

FRANCIS  BACON. 

He  was  not  born  to  shame  ! 
Upon  h's  brow  shame  is  ashamed  to  sit; 
For  'tis  a  throne  where  honor  may  be  crowned, 
Sole  monarch  of  the  universal  earth. 

Rom  jo  and  Juliet,  Hi,  2 

LET  us  consider,  as  briefly  as  the  importance  of  the  subject  will 
permit,  some  of  the  assaults  which  have  been  made  upon  the 
good  name  of  Francis  Bacon. 

I.     His  Life  as  a  Courtier. 

First,  it  has  been  charged,  with  much  bitterness,  that  he  was  a 
courtier,  truckling  to  power  —  an  obsequious  sycoohant  to  the 
crown. 

It  is  sufficient  answer  to  this  to  refer  to  the  fact  that,  as  a 
member  of  Parliament,  he  stood  forth,  in  the  face  of  Queen  Eliza- 
beth and  all  her  power,  and  spoke  in  defense  of  the  rights  of  the 
House  of  Commons  and  the  people;  and  that,  although  this  act 
injured  seriously  his  chances  of  promotion,  he  resolutely  refused  to 
recant  a  single  sentiment  of  the  views  he  had  enunciated.  It  is 
something  in  this  age,  when  power  is  divided  among  many  hands, 
for  the  ambitious  man  to  defy  the  frown  of  authority;  but  in  that 
era,  when  all  power  rested  in  the  crown,  opposition  to  the  govern- 
ment was  political  suicide.  There  was  no  public  opinion  outside 
of  the  court;  there  were  no  newspapers;  and  Parliament  itself  was, 
as  a  rule,  the  creature  of  the  royal  will.  Surely  no  man  who  was 
a  mere  truckler  for  place  would  thus  have  arrayed  himself  against 
the  powers  of  the  state;  or,  if  he  had  unwittingly  stumbled  into  such 
a  position  of  antagonism,  he  would  have  hastened  to  repair  the 
damage  by  proper  and  profuse  apologies  and  recantations. 

It  is  true  Bacon  was  ambitious,  and  he  was  a  courtier  because 

9/5 


976  CONCL  USIONS. 

he  was  ambitious.     There  was  no  other  avenue  to  preferment.     He 

had  to  seek  the  favor  of  the  court  or  sink  into  absolute  nothingness, 

so  far  as  position  in  the  state  was  concerned. 

He  says: 

Believing  that  I  was  born  for  the  service  of  mankind,  and  regarding  the  care 
of  the  commonwealth  as  a  kind  of  common  property,  which,  like  the  air  and 
water,  belongs  to  everybody,  I  set  myself  to  consider  in  what  way  mankind  might 
be  best  served,  and  what  service  I  was  myself  best  fitted  by  nature  to  perform.1 

And  again  he  says: 

But  power  to  do  good  is  the  true  and  lawful  end  of  aspiring;  for  good  thoughts, 
(though  God  accept  them),  yet  towards  man  are  little  better  than  good  dreams, 
except  they  be  put  in  act;  and  that  cannot  be  ivithout  power  and  place,  as  the  vantage 
and  commanding  ground.  8 

These  two  utterances  constitute,  I  think,  the  very  key-note  to 
Bacon's  whole  public  career.  He  sought  place  as  the  vantage- 
ground  from  which  to  benefit  mankind.  He  knew  how  little  respect 
there  is  for  genius  in  rags.     He  says: 

The  learned  pate 
Ducks  to  the  golden  fool.     All  is  oblique; 
There's  nothing  level  in  our  cursed  natures 
But  direct  villainy.3 

He  had  noted  that 

A  dog's  obeyed  in  office.4 

And  who  shall  say  he  was  wrong  ?  Who  shall  say  how  far  the 
title  of  Lord  Verulam,  or  Viscount  St.  Albans,  has  cast  a  halo  of 
dignity  and  acceptability  over  his  philosophy?  It  is  too  often  the 
position  that  commends  the  utterance.  The  h  ;rn  of  the  hunter, 
ringing  far  and  wide  from  the  mountain  top,  reaches  an  audience 
which  the  same  note,  muffled  in  the  thick  depths  of  the  valley,  could 
not  obtain.  And  if  this  be  true  in  the  enlarged,  capacious  and 
cultivated  age  of  to-day,  how  much  more  must  it  have  been  the 
case  in  that  wretched  era,  when,  as  Bacon  said: 

Courts  are  but  only  superficial  schools 

To  dandle  fools; 
The  rural  parts  are  turned  into  a  den 
Of  savage  men. 

And  remember  mankind  had   not  receded  to  these  conditions; 

1  Proem  Int.  Nat.  3  Titus  Andronicus,  iv,  3. 

2  Essay  Of  Great  Place.  *  Lear,  iv,  6. 


FRA NCIS  BA  CON.  977 

it  had  advanced  to  them.  The  people  of  Western  Europe  were  just 
emerging  from' the  most  profound  brutality  and  barbarism.  The 
courts  were  the  only  centers  of  light  and  culture.  Was  it  a  crime 
for  the  greatest  intellect  of  the  age  to  adapt  itself  to  its  pitiful 
environment  ? 

So  our  virtues 
Lie  in  the  interpretation  of  the  times.1 

Was  it  an  offense  for  the  ablest  man  of  the  age  to  seek  place  as 
a  stepping-stone  to  the  opportunity  for  good  ?  "The  times  were 
out  of  joint,"  and  he  believed  he  was  born  to  "set  them  right;"  and 
he  craved  power  as  the  Archimedes  fulcrum  from  which  he  was  to 
move  the  world. 

Moreover,  he  was  poor — poor  with  many  wants  —  a  gentleman 
with  the  income  of  a  yeoman.  The  path  to  fortune  as  well  as 
power  lay  through  the  portals  of  the  court.  Can  he  be  blamed  for 
treading  it? 

II.     His  Alleged  Ingratitude  to  Essex. 

But  it  is  urged  that  Bacon  was  ungrateful  to  Essex.  Wherein  ? 
Why,  —  it  is  said,  —  Essex  gave  him  a  piece  of  land  worth  about 
^£i,8oo,  and  Bacon  afterwards  took  part  in  his  prosecution  for 
treason. 

Why  did  Essex  give  this  land  ?  Because  he  was  under  many 
obligations  to  Bacon  and  his  brother  Anthony,  for  years  of  faithful, 
patient  and  valuable  services,  not  only  as  political  allies,  but  as 
secretaries,  laboring  to  advance  his  fortunes.  Bacon  had  written 
masks  for  his  entertainments;  he  had  written  sonnets  in  his  name, 
to  advance  his  interests  with  the  Queen;  he  had  popularized  him  in 
the  Plays;  he  had  penned  letters  as  if  from  himself  to  aid  his  for- 
tunes; he  had  carried  on  his  correspondence  with  all  parts  of  Europe; 
he  had  translated  his  ciphers;  he  had  been  his  guide  in  politics;  he 
had  used  all  his  vast  genius  and  industry  for  his  advancement. 
Bacon  said  in  a  letter,  in  1600,  to  Lord  Henry  Howard, — Esse* 
being  still  alive: 

For  my  Lord  cf  Essex,  I  am  not  servile  to  him,  having  regard  to  my  superior 
duty.  I  have  been  much  bound  unto  him;  on  the  other  side,  /  have  spent  more  time 
and  jtiore  thoughts  about  his  well-doing  than  ever  I  did  about  mine  own. 

'     '  Coriolamts,  iv,  7. 


978  CONCL  USIONS. 

Essex  had  tried,  in  return  for  these  services,  to  secure  Bacon  the 
place  of  Solicitor,  and  had  failed.     Then  he  came  to  him  and  said: 

You  have  spent  your  time  and  thoughts  in  my  matters;  I  die  if  I  do  not  some- 
what towards  your  fortune. 

That  is  to  say,  he  could  not  live  under  the  sense  of  this  unre- 
quited obligation.  The  Twickenham  property  was  not  a  gift;  it  was 
the  payment  of  a  debt. 

But  Bacon  knew  the  rash  and  uncontrolable  nature  of  his 
patron,  and  he  accepted  the  property  with  a  distinct  intimation, 
at  the  time,  that  he  should  not  follow  him  into  any  reckless  enter- 
prises.    He  said  to  him,  as  he  himself  records,  in  his  "Apology  ": 

My  Lord,  I  see  I  must  be  your  homager,  and  hold  land  of  your  gift;  but  do  you 
know  the  manner  of  doing  homage  in  law  ?  Always  it  is  with  a  saving  of  his  faith 
to  the  King  and  his  other  lords. 

That  is  to  say,  his  devotion  as  a  friend  must  be  limited  by  his 
obligations  and  duties  as  a  citizen. 

Was  this  wrong  ?  Should  he,  because  of  a  gift  of  a  piece  of  land, 
have  followed  the  Earl  into  the  foolish  and  treasonable  practices 
which  culminated  on  the  scaffold  ?  It  is  true  that  "  a  friend  should 
bear  a  friend's  infirmities;"  but  should  he  therefore  participate  in 
his  crimes  ? 

And  though  it  be  admitted  that  Bacon  had  been  engaged  in  a 
conspiracy  with  Essex,  in  1597,  to  create  public  opinion  against 
the  Cecils,  and  even,  perhaps,  to  bring  about  the  deposition  of  the 
Queen,  by  profound  and  far-reaching  means, —  does  it  therefore  fol- 
low that  he  should  have  gone  with  the  Earl  in  his  wild  and  unrea- 
sonable attempt  to  raise  the  city  and  seize  the  person  of  the  Queen? 
There  are  few  things  more  utterly  abominable  than  the  man  who, 
with  talents  hardly  up  to  the  requirements  of  private  life,  insists 
on  rushing  into  the  management  of  great  public  affairs,  and  is 
caught  at  last,  like  Essex,  molten  with  terror,  "  betwixt  the  dread 
extremes  of  mighty  opposites."  And  one  has  but  to  look  at  the 
picture  of  the  unpleasant  face  of  Essex,  given  herewith,  to  see  that 
he  was  a  commonplace,  vulgar  soul,  made  great  by  the  accident  of 
birth.  Surely,  that  portrait  does  not  represent  the  man  for  whom 
the  greatest  intellect  of  the  human  race  should  have  died  on  the 
scaffold. 


FRANCIS  BACON 


979 


And  the  course  of  Essex,  after  he  was  convicted  of  treason,  and 
just  before  his  execution,  shows  the  real  character  of  this  ignoble 
man.  His  whole  moral  nature  seemed  to  have  given  way,  and  he 
proceeded  to  reveal  to  the  government  the  names  of  some  of  his  best 
friends, —  especially  Sir  Henry  Neville, —  whose  connection  with  his 
crime  was  not,  until  that  time,  known,  and  who  had,  no  doubt,  been 
drawn  into  the  conspiracy  by  their  devotion  to  himself  and  his 
fortunes  !     Hepworth  Dixon  says: 

He  closes  a  turbulent  and  licentious  life  by  confessing  against  his  companions, 
still  untried,  more  than  the  officers  of  the  Crown  could  have  proved  against  them; 
and,  despicable  to  relate,  most  of  all  against  the  two  men  who  have  been  his  closest 
associates —  Blount  and  Cuffe.  His  confessions  in  the  face  of  death  deprive  these 
prisoners  of  the  last  faint  hope  of  grace.  They  go  with  Meyrick  and  Danvers  to 
the  gallows  or  the  block.1 

But  it  may  be  said  it  was  in  bad  taste  for  Bacon  to  participate 
in  the  trial  of  Essex,  because  he  had  once  been  his  friend.  This 
would  be  true  if  Bacon  had  volunteered  for  the  task,  but  he  did 
not;  he  tried  to  be  relieved  from  it.  But  he  was  the  sworn  officer 
of  the  Crown,  the  official  servant  of  the  Queen;  and  the  govern- 
ment of  Elizabeth  was  an  absolute  despotism.  He  was  ordered  to 
appear  and  take  part  in  the  prosecution.  He  begged  earnestly  — 
he  pleaded  —  to  be  relieved.  The  Queen  insisted;  and  not  only  in- 
sisted, but  assigned  to  him  in  the  first  trial — despite  his  protests  — 
that  part  of  the  arraignment  which  referred  to  Essex'  followers 
hiring  the  players  to  play  the  Shakespeare  play  of  Richard  II.  !  Bacon 
protested  that  he  had  "  been  wronged  by  bruits  before,  and  this 
would  expose  me  to  them  more,  and  it  would  be  said  I  gave  in 
evidence  mine  own  tales."  But  the  Queen  was  inexorable;  and,  says 
Bacon,  "  I  could  not  avoid  that  part  that  was  laid  upon  me." 

But  it  may  be  said  that,  notwithstanding  all  this,  Bacon  should 
have  refused  to  appear  against  one  who  had  formerly  been  his 
friend,  and  who  was  publicly  regarded  as  his  benefactor.  He 
should  have  resigned  his  place  first.  But  there  are  no  resignations 
in  despotisms;  and,  moreover,  the  Cipher  narrative  shows  us  that 
Bacon  may  have  held  his  own  life  at  the  tenure  of  the  Queen's 
mercy.  He  may  have  been  compelled,  but  a  short  time  before,  to 
confess   the   authorship  of  the    Plays   and    his   connection   with   a 

1  Personal  History  of  Lord  Bacon,  p.  145. 


980  CONCLUSIONS. 

former  treasonable  conspiracy.  The  sword  of  Damocles  may  have 
hung  suspended  over  his  head  by  a  single  hair — the  forbearance  of 
Cecil.  Should  he,  in  such  case,  by  refusing  to  perform  an  official 
duty,  have  gone  to  the  block  with  Essex,  the  victim  of  a  desperate 
and  extravagant  venture,  in  which  he  had  taken  no  part  ?  For 
Hepworth  Dixon  notes  that  in  1597  —  the  very  year  I  have  supposed 
the  Cipher  narrative  to  refer  to — a  separation  had  taken  place 
between  Bacon  and  Essex.     He  says: 

Essex  cools  to  a  man  whose  talk  is  very  much  wiser  than  he  wants  to  hear. 
They  have  no  scene;  no  qilarrel;  no  parting;  for  there  are  no  sympathies  to  wrench, 
no  friendships  to  dissolve.  Essex  ceases  to  seek  advice  at  Gray's  Inn.  They  now 
rarely  see  each  other.1 

And  the  same  high  authority  thus  speaks  of  Bacon's  course  in 
the  last  trial  of  Essex: 

Called  by  the  Privy  Council  to  bear  his  part  in  the  great  drama,  Bacon  no  more 
shirks  his  duty  at  the  bar  than  Levison  shirked  his  duty  at  Ludgate  Hill,  or  Raleigh 
his  duty  at  Charing  Cross.  As  her  counsel  learned  in  the  law,  he  had  no  more 
choice  or  hesitation  about  his  duty  of  defense  than  her  captain  of  the  guard. 
Raleigh  and  Bacon  have  each  tried  to  save  the  Earl,  as  long  as  he  remained  an 
honest  man;  but  England  is  their  first  love,  and  by  her  faith,  her  freedom  and  her 
Queen  they  must  stand  or  fall.  Never  is  stern  and  holy  duty  done  more  gently  on  a 
criminal  than  by  Bacon  on  this  trial.  He  aggravates  nothing.  If  he  condemns 
the  action,  he  refrains  from  needless  condemnation  of  the  man.2 

And  to  the  very  last  he  pleads  for  Essex'  life;  he  intercedes  with 
the  Queen;  he  does  all  he  can  to  save  him.  And  we  are  told  that 
it  was  not  the  Queen's  intention  to  send  Essex  to  the  block,  and 
that  his  life  would  have  been  saved,  at  the  very  last,  but  for  the 
miscarriage  of  a  ring  which  he  sent  to  the  Queen  as  his  final  appeal 
for  mercy.  Whether  this  tradition  be  true  or  not,  it  is  certain  that 
if  Bacon  had  any  hope  of  saving  the  man  who  had  levied  war  against 
the  person  of  the  Queen,  and  whose  life  was  forfeit,  he  could  better 
attain  that  end  by  obeying  the  orders  of  the  government  than  by 
resisting  them. 

But  we  can  only  judge  fully  of  his  course  in  all  this  matter  when 
the  entire  Cipher  narrative  is  laid  bare.  I  feel  assured  that  when 
all  the  facts  are  known  the  character  of  the  great  man  will  come 
forth  relieved  of  the  last  spot  and  blemish. 

We  know  enough  to  convince  us  that  Bacon  passed  through  some 

1  Personal  History  of  Lord  Bacon,  pp.  94,  95.  2  Ibid.,  p.  id2. 


FRANCIS  BACON.  98i 

dreadful  and  stormy  experiences  in  the  few  years  subsequent  to 
1597;  and  it  was  during  or  soon  after  this  period  that  the  mightiest 
of  the  dramas  made  their  appearance.  Misfortune  is  a  tonic  to 
strong  natures  and  a  poison  to  weak.  There  is  a  plant  in  South 
America,  a  plain-looking,  knobbed  stalk,  apparently  flowerless;  but 
when  the  wind  blows  fiercely  and  agitates  it,  the  rough  lumps  open 
and  the  odorous  blossoms  protrude.  So  there  are  men  the  splendor 
of  whose  faculties  is  never  revealed  until  they  are  assailed  by  the 
<:ruel  winds  of  adversity. 

To  satisfy  ourselves  that  Bacon  was  one  of  these,  we  have  only 
to  compare  Lear  and  Macbeth  with  Love's  Labor  Lost  and  The  Two 
Gentlemen  of  Verona. 

III.     The  Question  of  Bribery. 

The  eagle  carries  the  turtle  high  up  into  the  air  and  then  lets 
him  fall,  and  descends  to  feast  upon  the  crushed  remains.  Let  us 
learn  a  lesson  from  this  incident.  If  we  would  utterly  destroy  a 
man,  we  must  first  lift  him  far  up  on  the  wings  of  praise,  into  the 
very  heaven  of  exaltation,  and  then  let  him  fall.  When  Pope, — 
a  crabbed,  little,  imperfect  character,  himself, —  described  Bacon  as 
the  "  greatest,  wisest,  meanest  of  mankind,"  the  world  took  it  for 
granted  that  one  who  could  so  transcendently  praise  his  victim  must 
certainly  tell  the  truth  about  him.  And  an  epigram  is  something 
to  be  regarded  with  the  utmost  terror.  Its  power  is  deadly.  Pack 
even  an  error  into  a  compact,  antithetical  combination  of  words,  and 
the  whole  world  will  be  ready,  ever  after,  to  carry  it  around  in  their 
mouths.  Its  very  portability  is  a  temptation  to  take  possession  of 
it.  Its  acceptability  is  much  greater  than  ordinary  uncondensed 
truth,  even  as  a  government  coin  will  pass  current  where  a  lump 
of  ore  of  greater  value  would  be  refused. 

But  could   the  greatest  and   wisest  of  mankind    be   the   meanest? 

Can  greatness  be  mean  ?     Is  there  not  here,  on  the  very  face  of  the 

epigram,  a  contradiction  of  terms  ? 

But  why  "the  meanest   of  mankind"?     Because,  it   is   said,  he 

was  convicted  of  bribery  as  a  judge  —  nay  more,  he  confessed  to  it; 

he  sold  the  rights  of  suitors;  he  bartered  away  justice  for  a  price. 

If  it  were  true,  it  were  a  grievous  fault, 
And  grievously  hath  Caesar  answered  it. 


982  CONCLUSIONS. 

If  it  were  true,  then  indeed  would  Bacon  be  the  paradox  of 
mankind  —  the  highest  powers  linked  to  the  basest  instincts.  Let 
us  look  into  the  matter. 

There  are  two  issues  presented: 

1.  Did  Francis  Bacon,  while  Lord  Chancellor,  receive  gifts  from 
suitors  in  his  court  ? 

2.  Did  he  for  these  gifts  pervert  justice  ? 

The  two  issues  are  widely  distinct.  The  first  proposition  in- 
volved a  custom  of  the  age;  —  the  second  has  been  regarded  as  an 
abhorrent  crime  in  all  ages. 

IV.     The  System  of  Gifts. 

Mr.  Spedding  —  very  high  authority  —  says: 

But  it  was  the  practice  in  England  up  to  James  the  First's  time  at  least;  and 
the  traces  of  it  are  still  legible  in  the  present  state  of  the  law  (1S74)  with 
regard  to  fees;  for  I  believe  it  is  still  true  that  the  law  tuill  not  help  either  the  bar- 
rister or  the  physician  to  recover  an  unpaid  fee;  the  professions  being  too  liberal 
to  make  charges,  send  in  bills,  or  give  receipts,  or  do  anything  but  take  the 
money.   .   .   . 

And  it  is  surely  possible  to  conceive  gifts  both  given  and  taken  —  even  between 
suitor  and  judge  while  the  cause  is  proceeding  —  without  any  thought  of  perverting 
justice  either  in  the  giver  or  taker.  In  every  suit  both  sides  are  entitled  to  favor- 
able consideration  —  that  is,  to  the  attention  of  a  mind  open  to  see  all  that  makes 
in  their  favor  —  and  favorable  consideration  is  all  that  the  giver  need  be  suspected 
of  endeavoring  to  bespeak,  or  the  receiver  of  engaging  to  bestow.  The  suitor  almost 
always  believes  his  cause  to  be  just,  though  he  is  not  always  so  sure,  and  in  those 
days  he  had  not  always  reason  to  be  so  sure,  that  its  merits  would  be  duly  con- 
sidered, if  the  favorable  attention  of  the  judge  were  not  specially  attracted  to  them; 
and  though  the  judge  was  rightly  forbidden  to  lay  himself  under  an  obligation  to 
either  party,  it  must  be  remembered  that  in  all  other  offices,  and  in  all  gentlemanly 
professions,  gifts  of  exactly  the  same  kind — fees,  not  fixed  by  law  or  defined  as  to 
amount  by  custom,  or  recoverable  as  debts,  but  left  to  the  discretion  of  the  suitor, 
client  or  patient  —  were  in  those  days  the  ordinary  remuneration  for  official  or  pro- 
fessional services  of  all  kinds. ' 

And  Mr.  Spedding  further  says: 

The  law  officers  of  the  Crown  derived,  I  fancy,  a  considerable  part  of  their 
income  from  New  Year's  gifts  and  other  gratuities,  presented  to  them  both  by 
individuals  and  corporations  whom  their  office  gave  them  opportunities  of  obliging.2 

And  he  gives  instances  where  Lord  Burleigh,  and  his  son,  Sir 
Robert  Cecil,  and  Lord  Treasurer  Suffolk  took  large  gifts  from 
suitors  having  business  before  them,  and  saw  no  impropriety  in 
doing  so. 

1  Spedding,  Life  and  Works,  vol.  vii,  p.  560.  2  Ibid.,  p.  561. 


FRANCIS  BACON. 


983 


Hepworth  Dixon  says,  describing  that  era: 

Few  men  in  the  court  or  in  the  church  receive  salaries  from  the  Crown;  and 
each  has  to  keep  his  state  and  make  his  fortune  out  of  fees  and  gifts.  The  King 
takes  fees.  The  Archbishop,  the  Bishop,  the  rural  dean  take  fees.  The  Lord 
Chancellor,  the  Lord  Chief  Justice,  the  Baron  of  the  Exchequer,  the  Master  of  the 
Rolls,  the  Attorney-General,  the  Solicitor-General,  the  King's  Sergeant,  the  utter 
barrister,  all  the  functionaries  of  law  and  justice,  take  fees. 

So  in  the  great  offices  of  state.  The  Lord  Treasurer  takes  fees.  The  Lord 
Admiral  takes  fees.  The  Secretary  of  State,  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer, 
the  Master  of  the  Wards,  the  Warden  of  the  Cinque  Ports,  the  Gentlemen  of  the 
Bedchamber,  all  take  fees.     Everybody  takes  fees;  everybody  pays  fees} 

Again  Mr.  Dixon  says: 

In  some  cases,  particularly  in  the  courts  of  justice,  it  is  open.  Bassanio  may 
present  his  ducats,  three  thousand  in  a  bag.  The  Judge  may  only  take  a  ring.  A 
fee  is  due  whenever  an  act  is  done.  The  occasions  on  which,  by  ancient  usage  of 
the  realm,  the  King  claims  help  or  fine  are  many;  the  sealing  of  an  office  or  a 
grant,  the  knighting  of  his  son,  the  marriage  of  his  daughter,  the  alienation  of 
lands  in  capite,  his  birthday,  a  New  Year's  day,  the  anniversary  of  his  accession  or 
his  coronation  —  indeed,  at  all  times  when  he  wants  money  and  finds  men  rich 
enough  and  loyal  enough  to  pay.  In  like  manner  the  clergy  levy  tithe  and  toll; 
fees  on  christenings,  fees  on  churchings,  fees  on  marriages,  fees  on  interments, 
Easter  offerings,  free  offerings,  charities,  church  extensions,  pews  and  rents. 

In  the  government  offices  it  is  the  same  as  in  the  palace  and  the  church.  If 
the  Attorney-General,  the  Secretary  of  State,  the  Lord  Admiral  or  the  Privy  Seal 
puts  his  signature  to  a  sheet  of  paper,  he  takes  his  fee.  Often  it  is  his  means  of 
life.  The  retaining  fee  paid  by  the  King  to  Cecil,  as  Premier  of  State,  is  a  hundred 
pounds  a  year.  But  the  fees  from  other  sources  are  enormous.  These  fee  are  not 
bribes.'2 

And  again  I  quote  from  Mr.  Dixon: 

A  barrister  may  not  ask  wages  for  his  toil,  like  an  attorney  or  a  clerk,  nor  can 
he  reclaim  by  any  process  of  law,  as  the  clerk  and  attorney  can,  the  value  of  his 
time  and  speech.  If  he  lives  on  the  gifts  of  grateful  clients,  these  gifts  must  be 
perfectly  free.3 

in  fact,  it  was  clearly  understood  that  the  great  officers  of  the 
law,  including  the  Lord  Chancellor,  were  to  be  paid  by  these  vol- 
untary gifts. 

Mr.  Dixon  says: 

Thus  the  Seals,  though  the  Lord  Chancellor  had  no  proper  salary,  were  in 
Egerton's  time  worth  from  ten  to  fifteen  thousand  pounds  a  year,  of  which  princely 
sum  (twenty-five  thousand  a  year  in  coin  of  Victoria)  the  King  only  paid  him 
eighty-one  pounds  six  shillings  and  eight  pence.  Yelverton's  place  of  Solicitor, 
three  or  four  thousand  a  year,  of  which  he  got  seventy  pounds  from  James.  The 
Judges  had  enough  to  buy  their  gloves  and   robes,   not  more.     Coke,    when    Lord 

1  Dixon,  Personal  History  of  Lord  Bacon,  p.  290.  2  Ibid.,  p.  291.  3  Ibid.,  p.  292. 


9  84  CONCL  USIONS. 

Chief  Justice  of  England,  drew  from  the  state  twelve  farthings  less  than  two 
hundred  and  twenty-five  pounds  a  year.  When  traveling  circuit  he  was  allowed 
thirty-three  pounds  six  shillings  and  eight  pence  for  his  expenses.  Hobart,  Chief 
Justice  of  the  Common  Pleas,  had  twelve  farthings  less  than  one  hundred  and 
ninety-five  pounds  a  year.  Tanfield,  Lord  Chief  Baron  of  His  Majesty's  Ex- 
chequer, one  hundred  and  eighty-eight  pounds  six  shillings  a  year.  Yet  each  of  these 
great  lawyers  had  given  up  a  lucrative  practice  at  the  bar.  After  their  promotion 
to  the  bench  they  lived  in  good  houses,  kept  a  princely,  state,  gave  dinners  and 
masks,  made  presents  to  the  King,  accumulated  goods  and  lands.  These  wages 
were  paid  in  fees  by  those  who  resorted  for  justice  to  their  courts. 

These  fees  were  not  bribes.  The  courts  of  law  are  full  of  abuses.  The  highest 
officer  of  the  realm  has  no  salary  from  the  state.  Custom  imposes  on  him  a  host 
of  servants;  officers  of  his  court  and  his  household;  masters,  secretaries,  ushers, 
clerks,  receivers,  porters;  none  of  whom  receive  a  mark  a  year  from  the  crown; 
men  who  have  bought  their  places,  and  who  are  paid,  as  he  himself  is  paid,  in  fees 
and  fines.  The  amount  of  half  these  fees  is  left  to  chance,  to  the  hope  or  gratitude  of 
the  suitor,  often  to  the  cupidity  of  the  servant,  or  the  length  of  the  suitor's  purse. 
The  certain  fines  of  chancery,  as  subsequent  inquiries  show,  are  only  thirteen  hun 
dred  pounds  a  year,  the  fluctuating  fines  still  less;  beyond  which  beggarly  sum  tho 
great  establishment  of  the  Lord  Chancellor,  his  court,  his  household,  and  his  fol- 
lowers, gentlemen  of  quality,  sons  of  peers  and  prelates,  magistrates,  deputy-lieu- 
tenants of  counties,  knights  of  the  shire,  have  all  to  live  on  fees  and  presents. 

But  if  Bacon's  salary  for  the  great  office  of  Lord  Chancellor,  with 
all  its  vast  retinue  of  servants  and  followers,  was  but  four  hundred 
dollars  a  year,  and  if  in  taking  gifts  he  did  no  more  than  all  his  prede- 
cessors had  done,  and  all  the  other  judges  of  England  in  that  day 
were  doing,  surely  there  is  nothing  here  to  entitle  him  to  be  called 
"  the  meanest  of  mankind." 

V.     Did  he  Sell  Justice? 

But  it  will  be  said  he  confessed  that  he  sold  justice  for  a  price 
and  decided  the  cases  brought  before  him  according  to  the  amount 
paid  him. 

He  did  nothing  of  the  kind.  He  distinctly  denies  the  charge. 
He  said  in  a  letter  to  the  King,  in  the  very  agonies  of  his  trial: 

And  for  the  briberies  and  gifts  wherewith  I  am  charged,  when  the  books  of 
hearts  shall  be  opened,  I  hope  I  shall  not  be  found  to  have  the  troubled  fountain 
of  a  corrupt  heart,  in  a  depraved  habit  of  taking  rewards  to  pervert  justice;  how- 
soever I  may  be  frail,  and  partake  of  the  abuses  of  the  time. 

And  again  he  said,  in  a  letter  to  Buckingham,  May  31,  1621: 

However  I  have  acknowledged  that  the  sentence  is  just,  and  for  reformation 
sake  fit,  I  have  been  a  trusty  and  honest  and  Christ-loving  friend  to  your  Lordship, 
and  the  juste st  Chancellor  that  hath  been  in  the  five  changes  since  my  father's  time. 


FRANCIS  BACON. 


985 


And  he  also  says: 


I  praise  God  for  it,  I  never  took  penny  for  any  benefice  or  ecclesiastical  living. 
I  never  took  penny  for  releasing  anything  I  stopped  at  the  Seal.     I  never  took 
penny  for  any  commission,  or  things  of  that  nature. 

I  never  shared  with  any  reward  for  any  second  or  inferior  profit. 

Dixon  says: 

As  he  lies  sick  at  York  House,  or  at  Gorhambury,  hearing  through  his  friend 
Meautys  of  the  moil  and  worry  about  him  at  the  House  of  Commons,  he  jots, 
on  loose  scraps  of  paper  at  his  side,  his  answers  and  remarks.  These  scraps  of 
paper  are  at  Lambeth  Palace. 

On  one  of  these  sheets  he  writes: 

There  be  three  degrees  of  cases,  as  I  conceive,  of  gifts  or  rewards  given  to  a 
judge. 

The  first  is, —  of  bargain,  of  contract,  or  promise  of  reward,  pendente  lite,  and 
this  is  properly  called  venalis  sententia:,  or  baratria,  or  corruptelce  munemm.  And 
of  this  my  heart  tells  me  I  am  innocent;  that  I  had  no  bribe  or  reward  in  my  eye 
or  thought  when  I  pronounced  any  sentence  or  order. 

The  second  is, —  a  neglect  in  the  judge  to  inform  himself  whether  the  cause 
be  fully  at  an  end  or  no,  what  time  he  receives  the  gift,  but  takes  it  upon  the 
credit  of  the  party  that  all  is  done,  or  otherwise  omits  to  inquire. 

And  the  third  is, —  when  it  is  received,  sine  fraude,  after  the  cause  is  ended; 
which,  it  seems,  by  the  opinions  of  the  civilians,  is  no  offense.   .   .   . 

For  the  first,  I  take  myself  to  be  as  innocent  as  any  babe  born  on  St.  Inno- 
cents' day  in  my  heart. 

For  the  second,  I  doubt,  in  some  particulars  I  may  be  faulty. 

And  for  the  last,  I  conceive  it  to  be  no  fault.1 

But  here  is  another  point  to  be  considered:  If  Bacon  had  sold 
justice  for  money,  and  had  rendered  unjust  decisions,  it  would  have 
been  most  natural  that  those  suitors  who  had  been  wronged  by  him 
would  have  applied  to  Parliament,  after  his  downfall,  to  have  his 
corrupt  judgments  overturned.     Spedding  says: 

Upon  this  point,  therefore,  the  records  of  Parliament  tell  distinctly  and  almost 
decisively  in  Bacon's  favor.  They  show  that  the  circumstances  of  his  conviction 
did  encourage  suitors  to  attempt  to  get  his  decrees  set  aside;  that  several  such  at- 
tempts were  made,  but  that  they  all  failed;  thereby  strongly  confirming  the  popu- 
lar tradition  reported  by  Aubrey:  "His  favorites  took  bribes,  but  his  Lordship 
always  gave  judgment  secundum  cequum  et  bonurn.  His  decrees  in  Chancery  stand 
firm.      There  are  fewer  of  his  decrees  reversed  than  of  any  other  Chancellor"  2 

Says  Hepworth  Dixon: 

An  attempt  to  overthrow  some  of  his  judgments  fails.  Of  the  thousands  of 
decisions  pronounced  by  him  in  the  Court  of  Chancery  not  one  is  reversed* 

1  Dixon's  Personal  History  0/  Lord  Bacon,  pp.  335,  336. 

2  Spedding,  Life  and  Works,  vol.  vii,  p.  558. 

3  Dixon's  Personal  History  of  Lord  Bacon,  p.  347. 


986  CONCLUSIONS. 

Surely  this  does  not  look  like  the  record  of  an  unjust  judge  — 
"the  meanest  of  mankind."  After  his  downfall  he  was  poor  and 
powerless,  and  his  enemies  had  control  of  Parliament.  If  he  had 
perverted  justice,  in  a  single  instance,  would  not  the  ferret  eye  of 
Coke  have  detected  it;  and  would  he  not,  from  his  hatred  of  Bacon, 
have  triumphantly  dragged  it  before  the  attention  of  England  and 
the  whole  world  ?  What  kind  of  bribery  was  that  in  which  the 
decision  was  always  given  on  the  side  of  justice? 

VI.     The  Real  Cause  of  his  Downfall. 

But  it  will  be  asked, —  Why,  if  this  was  indeed  a  just  judge, 
whose  judgment  even  his  enemies  could  not  question;  and  if  the 
salary  of  the  Lord  Chancellor's  place  was  but  $400  per  annum; 
and  if,  in  accepting  gifts  from  suitors,  Bacon  simply  followed  an 
ancient  and  universal  custom:  why  was  the  greatest  genius  that 
England  has  ever  produced  cast  down  in  dishonor  from  his  high 
place,  and  committed  to  the  Tower,  a  disgraced  and  ruined  man? 

It  is  a  terrible  story  of  a  degraded  era  and  a  corrupt  court. 
There  is  not  space  to  present  it  here  in  full.  Let  the  reader  who 
desires  to  investigate  the  subject  further  turn  to  Hepworth  Dixon's 
Personal  History  of  Lord  Bacon,  and  read  from  page  300  to  page  342. 
He  will  there  see  that  the  foul  and  greedy  Villiers'  clan  drove  great 
officials  out  of  place  for  the  purpose  of  selling  their  positions  to 
wealthy  adventurers.  Suffolk,  the  Lord  Treasurer,  was  deprived  of 
the  White  Staff,  imprisoned  in  the  Tower,  and  fined  ^30,000;  Yel- 
verton,  the  Attorney-General,  was  thrown  out  of  office  and  fined 
^4,000.  A  public  auction  is  made  of  these  places.  Sir  Henry 
Montague  purchases  the  Treasurership  for  ^20,000;  Coventry  buys 
the  Attorney's  place.  The  Villiers  gang  divide  the  spoils.  "  These 
profits  and  promotions  edge  the  tooth  for  more."  Bacon  is  fixed 
upon  as  the  next  victim.  Conjoined  with  these  maneuvers  of 
infamous  men  and  still  more  infamous  women,  there  is  a  tempest 
brewing  in  the  House  of  Commons,  and  Coke  is  there  to  direct  the 
violence  of  the  storm  against  his  old  enemy,  Bacon.  A  creature 
named  Churchill,  who  had  been  turned  out  of  office  by  Bacon,  for 
selling  an  estate  twice  over, —  a  crime  for  which  he  should  have 
been  sent  to  the  penitentiary, —  is  employed  to  collect  evidence 
against  the  great  Chancellor.     Hepworth  Dixon  says: 


FRANCIS  BACON 


987 


The  causes  heard  are  many  —  five  or  six  hundred  in  every  term;  the  servants 
of  the  court  are  not  all  honest;  some,  indeed,  are  flagitious  rogues.  The  Chan- 
cellor has  not  taken  them  voluntarily  into  his  service,  nor  can  he  always  turn  them 
adrift:  their  places  are  their  freeholds.  Among  thousands  of  suitors,  all  of  whom 
must  have  paid  fees  into  the  court,  half  of  whom  must  be  smarting  under  the  pangs 
of  a  lost  cause,  it  will  be  strange,  indeed,  if  cunning,  malice  and  unscrupulous 
power  combined  cannot  find  some  charge  that  may  be  tortured   into  a  wrong.   .   .   . 

VII.     Not  a  Single  Corrupt  Act  Proved. 

Hepworth  Dixon  continues: 

The  evidence  produced  against  him,  as  Heneage  Finch  has  told  the  House  of 
Commons,  proves  his  case  and  frees  him  from  blame.  Of  the  twenty-two  charges 
of  corruption,  three  are  debts  —  Compton's,  Peacock's  and  Vanlore's:  two  of 
these,  Compton's  and  Vanlore's,  debts  on  bond  and  interest.  Any  man  who 
borrows  money  may  be  as  justly  charged  with  taking  bribes.  One  case, 
that  of  the  London  Companies,  is  an  arbitration,  not  a  suit  in  law.  Even 
Cranfield,  though  bred  in  the  city,  cannot  call  their  fee  a  bribe.  Smithwick's 
gift,  being  found  irregular,  had  been  sent  back.  Thirteen  cases  —  those  of 
Young,  Wroth,  Hody,  Barker,  Monk,  Trevor,  Scott,  Fisher,  Lenthal,  Dunch, 
Montagu,  Ruswell,  and  the  Frenchmen  —  are  of  daily  practice  in  every  court  of 
law.  They  fall  under  Bacon's  third  list,  common  fees,  paid  in  the  usual  way,  paid 
after  judgment  has  been  given.  Kennedy's  present,  of  a  cabinet  for  York  House, 
has  never  been  accepted,  the  Chancellor  hearing  that  the  artisan  who  made  it  had 
not  been  paid.  Reynell,  an  old  neighbor  and  friend,  gave  him  two  hundred 
pounds  toward  furnishing  York  House,  and  sent  him  a  ring  on  New  Year's  day. 
Everybody  gives  rings,  everybody  takes  rings,  on  a  New  Year's  day.  The  gift  of 
^"500  from  Sir  Ralph  Hornsby  was  made  after  a  judgment,  though,  as  afterwards 
appeared,  while  a  second,  much  inferior  cause,  was  still  in  hearing.  The  gift  was 
openly  made,  not  to  the  Chancellor,  but  to  the  officer  of  his  court.  The  last  case 
is  that  of  Lady  Wharton;  the  only  one  that  presents  an  unusual  feature.  Lady 
Wharton,  it  seems,  brought  her  presents  to  the  Chancellor  herself  ;  yet  even  her 
gifts  were  openly  made,  in  the  presence  of  the  proper  officer  and  his  clerk.  Church- 
ill admits  being  present  in  the  room  when  Lady  Wharton  left  her  purse:  Gardner, 
Reeling's  clerk,  asserts  that  he  was  present  when  she  brought  the  ^"200.  Even 
Coke  is  staggered  by  proofs  which  prove  so  much;  for  who  in  his  senses  can  sup- 
pose that  the  Lord  Chancellor  would  have  done  an  act  known  to  be  illegal  and 
criminal  in  the  company  of  a  registrar  and  a  clerk  ?  It  is  clear  that  a  thing  which 
Bacon  did  under  the  eyes  of  Gardner  and  Churchill  must  have  been,  in  his 
mind,  customary  and  right.  It  is  no  less  clear  that  if  Bacon  had  done 
wrong,  knowing  it  to  be  wrong,  he  would  never  have  braved  exposure  of 
his  fraud  by  turning  Churchill  into  the  streets.  Thus,  after  the  most  rigorous 
and  vindictive  scrutiny  into  his  official  acts,  and  into  the  official  acts  of  his 
servants,  not  a  single  fee  or  remembrance  traced  to  the  Chancellor  can ,  by  any  fair  con-  % 
struction,  be  called  a  bribe.  Not  one  appears  to  have  been  given  on  a  promise;  not 
one  appears  to  have  been  given  in  secret;  not  one  is  alleged  to  have  corrupted  justice} 

And   yet  it    is  upon   this    proceeding  and   these  facts   that   the 

most  wonderful  intellect  of  the   race  has   been    blackened    in    the 

1  Dixon's  Personal  History  of  Lord  Bacon,  pp.  336,  337. 


9  8  8  CONCL  USIONS. 

estimation  of  the  whole  human  family,  and  sent  down  through  the 
ages  with  a  scurrilous  epigram  pinned  upon  his  back,  denouncing 
him  as  the  meanest  man  that  ever  lived  upon  the  planet. 

And  if  the  fair-minded  critic  will  set  aside  Macaulay's  shallow 
and  unfair  essay,  and  consult  Spedding  or  Hepworth  Dixon,  he 
will  find  that  every  minor  charge  against  Bacon  —  his  assisting  at 
the  torture  of  Peacham;  his  consulting  with  the  judges  at  the 
instance  of  King  James;  his  alleged  ingratitude  to  Somerset,  etc. — 
are  all  fully  met  and  disposed  of. 

VIII.     Why  did  he  Plead  Guilty  ? 

But  why  —  it  will  be  asked  —  did  he  plead  guilty  to  the  charges  ? 
Dixon  gives  these  reasons: 

In  a  private  interview  James  now  urges  the  Chancellor  to  trust  in  him;  to  offer 
no  defense;  to  submit  himself  to  the  peers;  to  trust  his  honor  and  his  safety  to  the 
Crown.  It  is  only  too  easy  to  divine  the  reasons  which  weigh  with  Bacon  to  intrust 
his  fortunes  to  the  King.  He  is  sick.  He  is  surrounded  by  enemies.  No  man  has 
power  to  help  him,  save  the  sovereign.  He  is  weary  of  greatness.  Age  is  approach- 
ing. In  his  illness  he  has  learned  to  think  more  of  heaven  and  less  of  the  world. 
His  nobler  tasks  are  incomplete.  He  has  the  Seals,  and  the  delights  of  power 
begin  to  pall.  To  resist  the  King's  advice  is  to  provoke  the  fate  of  Yelverton,  still 
an  obstinate  prisoner  in  the  Tower.  Nor  can  he  say  that  these  complaints  against 
the  courts  of  law,  against  the  Court  of  Chancery,  are  untimely  or  unjust.  So  far 
as  they  attack  the  court,  and  not  the  judge,  they  are  in  the  spirit  of  all  his  writ- 
ings, and  of  all  his  votes.  In  his  soul  he  can  find  no  fault  with  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, though  the  accidents  of  time  and  the  machinations  of  powerful  enemies 
have  made  him,  the  Reformer,  a  sacrifice  to  a  false  cry  for  reform.   .   .   . 

lie  pleads  guilty  to  carelessness,  not  to  crime.  But  he  points  out,  too,  that  all  the 
irregularities  found  in  his  court  occurred  when  he  was  new  in  office,  strange  to  his 
clerks  and  registrars,  overwhelmed  with  arrears  of  work.  The  very  last  of  them 
is  two  years  old.  For  the  latter  half  of  his  reign  as  Chancellor,  the  vindictive 
inquisition  of  his  enemies,  aided  by  the  treachery  of  his  servants,  has  not  been  able 
to  detect  in  his  administration  o/  justice  a  fault,  much  less  a  crime} 

But  behind  these  reasons  there  were  still  many  others.  He  was 
in  the  unlimited  power  of  the  King;  and  the  King  was  ruled  by  his 
favorite,  Buckingham,  a  merciless,  greedy,  sordid  wretch,  who 
desired  to  sell  Bacon's  place  to  the  highest  bidder,  and  would  not 
be  thwarted  of  his  victim.  The  King  was  alarmed,  also,  at  the 
storm  signals  in  Parliament.  The  tempest  was  rising  which  cost 
his  son  his  head.  The  cry  for  reform  must  be  appeased;  a  tub 
must  be  thrown   to   the  whale.     Bacon's   ruin  would   satisfy  for  a 

2  Dixon's  Perianal  History  of  Lord  Bacon,  p.  342. 


FRANCIS  BACON. 


989 


time  the  clamorous  reformers,  while  it  would  enrich  Buckingham 
and  his  clique.  Bacon  was  doomed.  He  understood  the  situation. 
He  regarded  himself  as  a  sacrifice.  He  said,  in  a  letter  to  the  King, 
in  1620: 

And  now  making  myself  an  oblation,  to  do  with  me  as  may  best  conduce  to  the 
honor  of  your  justice,  the  honor  of  your  mercy  and  the  use  of  your  service,  resting 
as  clay  in  your  Majesty's  gracious  hands,  etc. 

And  again  he  said,  with  the  voice  of  prophecy: 

Those  who  now  strike  at  your  Chancellor  will  yet  strike  at  your  crown. 

What  would  have  been  the  result  had  he  stood  out  and  refused 
to  plead  guilty?  He  would  certainly  have  been  convicted,  impris- 
oned, ruined  by  a  heavy  fine,  perhaps  sent  to  the  block. 

By  the  King's  grace  his  fine  of  ^40,000  is  remitted;  he  is  released 
from  the  Tower,  and  he  has  time  to  complete  his  great  works. 

He  writes  in  cipher: 

I  was  the  justest  judge  that  was  in  England  these  fifty  years;  but  it  was  the 
justest  censure  that  was  in  Parliament  these  two  hundred  years. 

That  is  to  say,  while  personally  innocent  of  bribe-taking,  his 
condemnation  had  led  to  the  reformation  of  the  abuse  of  gift-giv- 
ing to  judges. 

But  he  puts  this  in  cipher, —  he  whispers  it, —  and  opposite  it  he 
writes  ustet" — as  if  he  was  preparing  his  papers  for  posterity,  and 
eliminating  those  things  which  might  tell  more  than  he  wished  the 
world  yet  to  know;  just  as  we  have  seen  his  correspondence  with  Sir 
Tobie  Matthew  excised  and  eliminated. 

He  bowed  his  neck  to  the  storm  which  he  could  neither  avert 
nor  control;  biding  his  time,  he  took  his  secret  appeal  to  "  foreign 
nations,  the  next  ages,  and  to  his  own  countrymen  after  some  time 
be  passed."  He  made  a  formal  confession,  it  is  true,  to  Parliament, 
but  it  is  a  defense  and  a  justification,  in  every  word,  as  well;  for 
with  each  case  he  gives  those  details  which  relieve  it  of  all  aspect 
of  bribery. 

And  he  turned  patiently  away,  with  the  burden  of  a  great 
injustice  and  a  mighty  sorrow  upon  him,  and  devoted  the  k.st  five 
years  of  his  life  to  the  putting  forth  of  works  unequaled  since  the 
ojiobe  first  rolled  on  its  axis. 


990  CONCLUSIONS. 

IX.     The  Doom  of  his  Enemies. 

And   yet,  being  human,   he  must  have   rejoiced   over  the    fate 
which  speedily  overtook  his  corrupt  and  malicious  persecutors. 
Hepworth  Dixon  says: 

From  the  seclusion  of  Gorhambury,  or  Gray's  Inn,  he  watches  the  men  who 
have  ruined  his  fortune  and  stained  his  name  fall  one  by  one.  Before  their  year 
of  triumph  ran  out,  Coke's  intolerable  arrogance  plunged  him  into  the  Tower, 
from  which  he  escaped  after  eight  months'  imprisonment,  to  be  permanently 
degraded  from  the  Privy  Council,  banished  from  the  court,  and  confined  to  his 
dismal  ruin  of  a  house  at  Stoke.  The  sale  of  Frances  Coke  to  Viscount  Purbeck 
is  a  dismal  failure.  She  makes  the  man  to  whom  she  was  sold  perfectly  miserable; 
quitting  his  house  for  days  and  nights;  braving  the  public  streets  in  male  attire; 
falling  in  guilty  love  with  Sir  Robert  Howard;  shocking  even  the  brazen  sinners 
of  St.  James's  by  the  excessive  profligacy  of  her  life.  Purbeck  steals  abroad  to 
hide  his  shame.     At  last  he  goes  raving  mad.   .   .   . 

Were  there  space  in  Bacon's  generous  heart  for  vengeance,  how  the  passions 
of  the  great  Chancellor  would  leap  and  glow  as  these  adversaries  fall  before  his 
eyes  like  rotten  fruit !  Never  was  the  wisdom  of  counsel  proved  more  signally, 
the  vindication  of  conduct  more  complete.  All  that  he  foresaw  of  evil  has  come  to 
pass.  He  does  not,  indeed,  live  to  behold  that  fiery  joy  which  lights  and  shakes 
the  land  when  Buckingham's  tyranny  drops  under  an  assassin's  knife;  but  he  lives 
long  enough  to  find  himself  justified  by  facts  on  every  point  of  his  opposition  to 
the  scandalous  family  policy  and  private  bargains  of  the  Villiers  clan.   .   .   . 

The  very  next  Parliament  which  meets  in  Westminster  strikes  down  two  of  his 
foes.  Three  years  after  his  return  to  that  trust  he  so  grossly  abused,  Churchill 
comes  before  the  House  of  Commons  as  a  culprit.  He  has  been  at  his  tricks 
again,  and  is  now  solemnly  convicted  of  forgery  and  fraud.  Two  months  after 
Churchill's  condemnation  Cranfield  is  in  turn  assailed.  Charges  of  taking  bribes 
from  the  farmers  of  customs,  of  fraudulent  dealing  with  the  royal  debts,  of  robbing 
the  magazine  of  arms,  are  proved  against  him;  when  abandoned  by  his  powerful 
friends,  he  is  sentenced  by  the  House  of  Commons  to  public  infamy,  to  loss  of 
office,  to  imprisonment  in  the  Tower,  to  a  restitutionary  fine  of  ,£200,000.  "  In 
future  ages,"  says  a  wise  observer  of  events,  "  men  will  wonder  how  my  Lord  St. 
Albans  could  have  fallen,  and  how  my  Lord  of  Middlesex  could  have  risen."  ] 

X.     The  World's  Indebtedness  to  the  Great  Philosopher. 

There  have  not  been  wanting  those  whose  devotion  to  the  man 
of  Stratford  has  been  so  great,  that  they  have  not  only  disputed 
the  title  of  Francis  Bacon  to  the  Plays,  but  have  even  denied  that, 
as  a  philosopher,  he  had  any  claims  upon  the  respect  of  mankind. 

Let  us  examine  a  few  witnesses  upon  this  point. 

First,  let  us  call  that  distinguished  biographer  and  essayist,  but 
not  historian,  Macaulay,  who  has  done  more  than  any  other  man, 

1  Dixon's  Personal  History  of  Lord  Bacon,  p.  356. 


FRANCIS  BACON.  99I 

Pope  alone  excepted,  to  injure  the  reputation  of  Francis  Bacon. 

Macaulay  says: 

Ask  a  follower  of  Bacon  what  the  new  philosophy  has  effected  for  mankind, 
and  his  answer  is  ready:  "  It  has  lengthened  life;  it  has  mitigated  pain;  it  has  ex- 
tinguished diseases;  it  has  increased  the  fertility  of  the  soil;  it  has  given  new  secur- 
ities to  the  mariner;  it  has  furnished  new  arms  to  the  warrior;  it  has  spanned  great 
rivers  and  estuaries  with  bridges  of  form  unknown  to  our  fathers;  it  has  guided  the 
thunderbolt  innocuously  from  heaven  to  earth;  it  has  lighted  up  the  night  with  the 
splendor  of  the  day;  it  has  extended  the  range  of  the  human  vision;  it  has  multi- 
plied the  power  of  human  muscle;  it  has  accelerated  motion;  it  has  annihilated  dis- 
tance; it  has  facilitated  intercourse,  correspondence,  all  friendly  offices,  all  dispatch 
of  business;  it  has  enabled  man  to  descend  to  the  depths  of  the  sea,  to  soar  into 
the  air,  to  penetrate  securely  into  the  noxious  recesses  of  the  earth,  to  traverse  the 
land  with  cars  which  whirl  along  without  horses,  and  the  ocean  with  ships  which 
sail  against  the  wind.1 

But  how,  it  may  be  asked,  has  all  this  been  accomplished  ? 

By  using  the  senses  to  understand  external  nature,  and  the 
powers  of  the  mind  to  master  it  for  the  good  of  man. 

And  therein  is  the  key  of  all  that  we  call  progress  and  civiliza- 
tion. Bacon  perceived  that  the  mind  of  man  was  a  divine  instru- 
ment, lent  to  him  for  good  purposes,  not  to  be  used  on  itself,  but 
to  be  turned  upon  that  vast  universe  of  matter  which  lies  outside 
of  it.  And  hence,  as  he  made  Montaigne  say,  "  the  senses  are  the 
beginning  and  end  of  knowledge:  —  there  must  we  fight  it  out  to 
the  end." 

Macaulay  says: 

The  chief  peculiarity  of  Bacon's  philosophy  seems  to  us  to  have  been  this  — 
that  it  aimed  at  things  altogether  different  from  that  which  his  predecessors  had  pro- 
posed to  themselves.  .  .  .  He  used  means  different  from  those  used  by  other  philoso- 
phers, because  he  wished  to  arrive  at  an  end  altogether  different  from  theirs.  .  .  . 
It  was,  to  use  his  own  expression,  "fruit."  It  was  the  multiplying  of  human 
enjoyments  and  the  mitigating  of  human  sufferings.  It  was  "the  relief  of  man's 
estate."  .  .  .  The  art  which  Bacon  taught  was  the  art  of  inventing  arts.  ...  He 
was  not  the  person  who  first  showed  that  by  the  inductive  method  alone  new  truth 
could  be  discovered.  But  he  was  the  person  who  first  turned  the  minds  of  specu- 
lative men,  long  occupied  in  verbal  disputes,  to  the  discovery  of  new  truth;  and  by 
doing  so,  he  at  once  gave  to  the  inductive  method  an  importance  and  dignity 
which  had  never  before  belonged  to  it.  .  .  .  Two  words  form  the  key  of  the  Bacon- 
ian doctrine —  utility  and  progress.  The  ancient  philosophy  disdained  to  be  useful, 
and  was  content  to  be  stationary.  It  dealt  largely  in  theories  of  moral  perfection, 
which  were  so  sublime  that  they  never  could  be  more  than  theories;  in  attempts  to 
solve  insoluble  enigmas;  in  exhortations  to  the  attainment  of  unattainable  frames 
of  mind.  It  could  not  condescend  to  the  humble  office  of  ministering  to  the  com- 
fort of  human  beings. 

1  Macaulay's  Essays  —  Bacon,  p.  278. 


992  CONCL  U  SIGNS. 

It  is  marvelous  that  the  world  could  not  see  that  Shakespeare 
was  preaching  this  very  philosophy: 

Nature,  what  things  there  are 
Most  abject  in  regard  and  dear  in  use! 
What  things  again,  most  dear  in  the  esteem 
And  poor  in  worth.x 


And  again: 


Most  poor  matters 
Point  to  rich  ends. 


But  it  is  claimed  by  some  that  Bacon's  influence  on  our  modern 
civilization  has  been  exaggerated.  Let  me  call  another  excellent 
witness: 

Fowler  proves2  that  Bacon's  influence  predominated  in  the  mind 
and  philosophy  of  Locke,  who  alluded  to  him  as  "  the  great  Lord 
Verulam;  "  and  that,  through  him,  Bacon  acted  upon  the  minds  of 
"  Berkley,  Hume,  Hartley,  Reid,  Stewart,  the  two  Mills,  Condillac, 
Helvetius,  Destutt  de  Tracy,  to  say  nothing  of  less  known  or  more 
recent  writers."  He  adds:  "  Descartes,  Mersenne,  Gassendi,  Peiresc, 
Du  Hamel,  Bayle,  Voltaire,  Condillac,  D'Alembert  in  France;  Vico 
in  Italy;  Comenius,  Puffendorf,  Leibnitz,  Huygens,  Morhof,  Boer- 
haave,  Buddaeus  in  Germany;  and  in  England,  the  group  of  men 
who  founded,  or  were  amongst  the  earliest  members  of,  the  Royal 
Society,  such  as  Wallis,  Oldenburg,  Glanville,  Hooke  and  Boyle,"  3 
all  bore  testimony  to  the  greatness  of  Bacon's  service  to  science. 

The  great  Scotchman  Mackintosh  says: 

Bacon  was  not  what  is  called  a  metaphysician;  his  plans  for  the  improvement  of 
science  were  not  inferred  by  abstract  reasoning  from  any  of  those  primary  princi- 
ples to  which  the  philosophers  of  Greece  struggled  to  fasten  their  systems.  Hence 
he  has  been  treated  as  empirical  and  superficial  by  those  who  take  to  themselves 
the  exclusive  name  of  profound  speculators.  He  was  not,  on  the  other  hand,  a 
mathematician,  an  astronomer,  a  physiologist,  a  chemist.  He  was  not  eminently 
conversant  with  the  particular  truths  of  any  of  those  sciences  which  existed  in  his 
time.  For  this  reason,  he  was  underrated  even  by  men  themselves  of  the  highest 
merit,  and  by  some  who  had  acquired  the  most  just  reputation,  by  adding  new  facts 
to  the  stock  of  knowledge.  It  is  not  therefore  very  surprising  to  find  that  Harvey, 
"though  the  friend  as  well  as  the  physician  of  Bacon,  though  he  esteemed  him 
much  for  his  wit  and  style,  would  not  allow  him  to  be  a  great  philosopher,"  but  said 
to  Aubrey,  "  He  writes  philosophy  like  a  Lord  Chancellor," — "  in  derision,"  as 
the  honest  biographer  thinks  fit  expressly  to  add.  On  the  same  ground,  though  in 
a  manner  not  so  agreeable  to  the  nature  of  his  own  claims  on  reputation,  Mr.  Hume 
has  decided  that  Bacon  was  not  so  great  a  man  as  Galileo  because  he  was  not  so 

1  Troilus  and  Cressida,  iii,  3.  2  Bacon,  p.  193.  3  Ibid.,  p.  195. 


FRANCIS  BACON. 


993 


great  an  astronomer.  The  same  sort  of  injustice  to  his  memory  has  been  more 
often  committed  than  avowed,  by  professors  of  the  exact  and  the  experimental 
sciences,  who  are  accustomed  to  regard,  as  the  sole  test  of  service  to  knowledge, 
a  palpable  addition  to  her  store.  It  is  very  true  that  he  made  no  discoveries;  but 
his  life  was  employed  in  teaching  the  method  by  which  discoveries  are  made.  This 
distinction  was  early  observed  by  that  ingenious  poet  and  amiable  man,  on  whom 
we,  by  our  unmerited  neglect,  have  taken  too  severe  a  revenge,  for  the  exaggerated 
praises  bestowed  on  him  by  our  ancestors: 

Bacon,  like  Moses,  led  us  forth  at  last, 

The  barren  wilderness  he  past, 
Did  on  the  very  border  stand 

Of  the  promised  land, 
And  from  the  mountain  top  of  his  exalted  wit 

Saw  it  himself,  and  showed  us  it.1 

Taine  says: 

When  he  wished  to  describe  the  efficacious  nature  of  his  philosophy  by  a  tale, 
he  delineated  in  The  New  Atlantis,  with  a  poet's  boldness  and  the  precision  of  a 
seer,  almost  employing  the  very  terms  in  use  now,  modern  applications,  and  the 
present  organization  of  the  sciences,  academies,  observatories,  air-balloons,  sub- 
marine vessels,  the  improvement  of  land,  the  transmutation  of  species,  regenera- 
tions, the  discovery  of  remedies,  the  preservation  of  food.  "The  end  of  our 
foundation,"  says  his  principal  personage,  "is  the  knowledge  of  causes  and  secret 
motives  of  things,  and  the  enlarging  of  the  bounds  of  human  empire,  to  the  effect- 
ing all  things  possible.     And  this  'possible'  is  infinite."   .   .   . 

He  recommends  moralists  to  study  the  soul,  the  passions,  habits,  temptations, 
not  merely  in  a  speculative  way,  but  with  a  view  to  the  cure  or  diminution  of 
vice,  and  assigns  to  the  science  of  morals  as  its  goal  the  amelioration  of  morals. 

In  1603  Bacon  said  that  he  proposed  to 

Kindle  a  light  in  nature  —  a  light  which  shall,  at  its  very  rising,  touch  and 
illuminate  all  the  border  regions  that  confine  upon  the  circle  of  our  present  knowl- 
edge ;  and  so  spreading  further  shall  presently  disclose  and  bring  into  sight  all  that 
is  most  hidden  and  secret  in  the  world. 

Have  not  his  anticipations  been  realized  ?  Does  not  the  great 
conflagration  of  science,  kindled  by  his  torch,  not  only  burn  up 
the  rubbish  of  many  ancient  errors,  and  enlarge  the  practical  powers 
of  mankind,  but  is  it  not  casting  great  luminous  tongues  of  flame, 
day  by  day,  farther  out  into  the  darkness  with  which  nature  has 
encompassed  us? 

And  how  grandly  does  he  prefigure  the  station  which  he  will 
occupy  in  the  judgment  of  posterity  when  he  says  that  the  man 
who  shall  kindle  that  light 

Would  be  the  benefactor  indeed  of  the  human  race,  the  propagator  of  man's 

1  The  Modern  British  Essayists-  Mackintosh    p.  18. 
2Taine's  History  of  English  Literature,  p.  155. 


994  CONCL  USIONS. 

empire  over  the  universe,  the   champion  of  liberty,  the  conqueror  and   subduer  of 
necessities. 

He  tried  even  to  hurry  up  civilization.  He  sought  to  use  the 
royal  power  to  give  the  seventeenth  century  the  blessings  now 
enjoyed  by  the  nineteenth.  He  writes  King  James,  in  1620,  present- 
ing him  with  the  Novum  Organum: 

I  account  your  favor  may  be  to  this  work  as  much  as  a  hundred  years'  time  ; 
for  I  am  persuaded  the  luork  will  gain  upon  mens  minds  in  ages,  but  your  gracing  it 
may  make  it  take  hold  more  swiftly;  which  I  would  be  very  glad  of,  it  being  a 
work  meant,  not  for  praise  or  glory,  but  for  practice  and  the  good  of  man. 

And  again  he  says,  in  the  same  letter: 

Even  in  your  time  many  noble  inventions  may  be  discovered  for  man's  use. 
For  who  can  tell,  now  this  mine  of  truth  is  opened,  how  the  veins  go;  and  what 
lieth  higher  and  what  lieth  lower? 

His  heart  thirsted  for  the  good  of  mankind.  He  saw  in  his 
mind's  eye  things  akin  to  the  marvels  of  steam  and  electricity. 
And  if  Bacon  had  been  king,  or  had  ruled  England  with  unlimited 
power,  instead  of  the  foul  and  shallow  Buckingham,  who  can  say 
how  far  the  progress  of  the  world  might  have  been  advanced  in  a 
single  generation  ? 

But  he  realized,  at  last,  how  delusive  were  these  hopes.      He 

says,  in  a  letter  to  Father  Fulgentio,  the  Venetian: 

Of  the  perfecting  this  I  have  cast  away  all  hopes  ;  but  in  future  ages  perhaps 
the  design  may  bud  again.  .  .  .  Such,  I  mean,  which  touch,  almost,  the  universals 
of  nature,  there  will  be  laid  no  inconsiderab/e  foundations  of  this  matter. 

And  in  the  sonnets  he  says  he  had 

Laid  great  bases  for  eternity. 

But  he  knew  that  progress  is  a  matter  of  great  minds  ;  that  civ- 
ilization moves  with  giant  strides  from  the  apex  of  one  grand  soul 
to  another.     He  says: 

And  since  sparks  can  work  but  upon  matter  prepared,  I  have  the  more  reason 
to  wish  that  those  sparks  may  fly  abroad,  that  they  may  the  better  find,  and  light 
upon  those  minds  and  spirits  which  are  apt  to  be  kindled.1 

XI.     His  Prophetic  Anticipations. 

"  His  mind,"  says  Montagu,  "  pierced  into   future  contingents.'* 

He  could 

Look  into  the  seeds  of  time, 
And  say  which  grain  would  grow  and  which  would  not. 

1  Letter  to  Dr.  Playfer. 


FRANCIS  BACON. 


995 


In  The  New  Atlantis  he  anticipates  the  discovery  of  means  of 
"flying  in  the  air;"  also  of  vessels  that  move  under  the  water; 
also  of  "  swimming-girdles,"  or  life-preservers.  He  also  believes 
that  some  forms  of  perpetual  motion  will  be  discovered.  He  pre- 
figures the  telephone  and  the  microphone  when  he  represents  the 
people  of  the  New  Atlantis  possessed  of  "  certain  helps  which  set  to 
ear  do  greatly  further  the  hearing  ;  "  and  he  anticipates  a  recent 
useful  invention  in  these  words:  "  We  have  also  means  to  convey 
sounds  in  trunks  and  pipes,  in  strange  lines  and  distances."  He 
also  foreshadowed  our  Signal  Service  establishment: 

We  do  also  declare  natural  divinations  of  disease,  plagues,  swarms  of  hurtful 
creatures,  scarcity,  tempests,  earthquakes,  great  inundations,  comets,  temperature  of 
the  year,  and  divers  other  things;  and  we  give  counsel  thereupon  what  the  people 
shall  do  for  the  prevention  and  remedy  of  them.1 

He  anticipated  our  system  of  patent-rights  for  the  encourage- 
ment of  inventors,  and  even  our  national  gallery  of  models: 

For  upon  every  invention  of  value  we  erect  a  statue  to  the  inventor,  and  give 
him  a  liberal  and  honorable  reward.  We  have  two  very  long  and  fine  galleries: 
in  one  of  these  we  place  patterns  and  samples  of  all  manner  of  the  more  rare  and 
excellent  inventions;  in  the  other  we  place  the  statues  of  all  the  principal  inventors.2 

He  anticipated  Darwin  when  he  said: 

It  would  be  very  difficult  to  generate  new  species,  but  less  so  to  vary  known 
species,  and  thus  produce  many  rare  and  unusual  results. 

He  foreshadowed  in  The  New  Atlantis  the  system  now  adopted 
by  all  civilized  nations  of  conserving  the  health  of  its  own  people 
by  establishing  a  quarantine  for  strangers. 

He  anticipated  the  recent  studies  upon  the  shape  of  the  conti- 
nents 3 —  "broad  and  expanded  toward  the  north,  and  narrow  and 
pointed  toward  the  south." 

He  anticipated  Roemer's  discovery  of  time  being  required  for  the 
propagation  of  light. 

He  inclined,  toward  the  last,  to  accept  the  doctrine  of  the  rota- 
tion of  the  earth  on  its  axis,  because  if  the  heavenly  bodies  movec| 
around  the  earth  they  would  have  to  travel  with  inconceivable 
velocity  to  make  their  diurnal  journey. 

He  says: 

J  New  Atlantis.  *  Ibid.  *  Novum  Organutn,  book  ii. 


996  CONCL  USIONS. 

For  if  the  earth  stand  still,  and  the  heavens  perform  a  diurnal  revolution, 
undoubtedly  it  is  a  system;  but  if  the  earth  be  rotary,  it  is,  nevertheless,  not  abso- 
lutely proved  that  it  is  not  a  system,  because  we  may  still  fix  another  center  of  the 
system,  such  as  the  sun ,  or  something  else.  .  .  .  And  the  consent  of  later  ages  and 
of  antiquity  has  rather  anticipated  and  sanctioned  that  idea  than  not.  For  the 
supposition  of  the  earth's  motion  is  not  new,  but,  as  we  have  already  said,  echoed 
from  the  ancients.1 

The  Italian  anatomist  Malpighi  was  "  the  first  to  apply  the 
microscope  in  investigating  the  anatomical  structure  of  plants  and 
animals,"  but  he  was  not  born  until  after  Bacon's  death.  And  yet 
we  find  Bacon  in  The  New  Atlantis  saying: 

We  have  also  glasses  and  means  to  see  small  and  minute  bodies  perfectly  and 
distinctly,  as  the  shape  and  colors  of  small  flies  and  worms,  grains  and  flaws  in 
gems,  observations  in  urine  and  blood,  not  otherwise  to  be  seen. 

We  have   seen   him    in   the  Plays    approaching  very  closely  to 
Harvey's  discovery  of  the  circulation  of  the  blood. 
We  also  have  him  saying: 

The  very  essence  of  heat,  or  the  substantial  self  of  heat,  is  motion,  and  nothing 
else. 2 

Let  it  not  be  forgotten,  therefore,  that  Bacon  was  the  first  in 
the  world  to  reveal  the  great  truth  that  heat  is  a  mode  of  motion. 
The  savage  regards  heat  as  an  animal.  Lucretius  believed  it  to  be 
a  substance  akin  to  the  substance  of  the  soul.  Aristotle  thought  it 
a  condition  of  matter.  Bacon  called  it  "  a  motion  of  expansion;  a 
motion  and  nothing  else."  Descartes  followed  him  and  defined  it 
as  the  motion  of  the  insensibly  small  parts  of  matter.  Locke, 
carrying  out  the  same  thought,  called  it  "  a  very  brisk  agitation  of 
the  insensible  parts  of  an  object.'*  But  long  after  Bacon's  time 
Lavoisier  and  Black  still  believed  that  heat  was  an  actual  substance. 
Science,  however,  two  hundred  years  after  Bacon's  Novum  Organum 
was  written,  has  settled  down  into  the  conviction  that  the  philoso- 
pher of  Verulam  was  right;  and  that  heat  is,  as  Davy  expresses  it, 
4*  a  vibratory  motion  of  the  particles  of  matter;"  which  is  but  a 
condensation  of  Bacon's  view  that  heat  is  "a  mode  of  expansion  of 
the  smaller  particles  of  matter,  .  .  .  checked,  repelled  and  beaten 
back,  so  that  the  body  acquires  a  motion  alternate,  perpetually 
quivering,  striving  and  struggling." 

1  Description  of  the  Intellectuai  Globe,  chap,  vi,  §  2.  9  Novum  Organum,  book  ii. 


FRANCIS  BACON.  99" 

He  approximated  very  closely  to  Newton's  discovery  of  the  law 
of  gravitation.     He  says: 

Heavy  and  ponderous  bodies  must  either  of  their  own  nature  tend  towards  the 
center  of  the  earth  by  their  peculiar  formation,  or  must  be  attracted  and  hurried, 
by  the  corporeal  mass  of  the  earth  itself,  as  being  an  assemblage  of  similar  bodies, 
and  be  drawn  to  it  by  sympathy.  .  .  .  The  attraction  of  the  corporeal  mass  of  the 
earth  may  be  taken  as  the  cause  of  weight.1 

And  we  find  him  in  the  Plays  saying: 

But  the  strong  base  and  building  of  my  love 
Is  as  the  very  center  of  the  earth, 
Drawing  all  things  to  it} 

He  suggested  experiments  with  the  pendulum  upon  great  heights 
and  in  deep  mines, 

Which  have  since  been  used  as  the  most  delicate  tests  of  the  variation  of 
gravity  from  the  equator  towards  the  poles. 

In  the  Gcsta  Grayorum*  we  find  him  anticipating  public  libra- 
ries, public  gardens  of  plants,  zoological  gardens,  and  even  the 
British  Museum  ! 

Even  in  other  directions  his  vast  mental  activity  extended  itself: 

Nicolai  claims  Bacon  as  the  founder  of  Free  Masonry.4 

And  I  have  shown  that  his  philosophical  thoughts  have  pene- 
trated and  permeated  all  the  great  minds  who  have  since  lived  in 
England  and  Europe.  But  who  shall  measure  the  influence  of  his 
genius  through  the  Plays  upon  the  thoughts  and  opinions  of  man- 
kind ? 

De  Ouincey  calls  him 

The  glory  of  the  human  intellect. 

Carlyle  speaks  of  him  as 

The  greatest  intellect  who,  in  our  recorded  world,  has  left  record  of  himself  in 
the  way  of  literature. 

Dr.  Chalmers  describes  him  as 

An  intellectual  miracle. 

Emerson  says  of  him: 

It  was  not  possible  to  write  the  history  of  Shakespeare  until  now;  for  he  is  the 
father   of   German    literature:    it    was    on    the    introduction   of    Shakespeare    into 

1  Noviim  Organum,  book  ii.  3Li'/e  and  Works,  Spedding,  vol.  i,  p.  335. 

3  Troilus  and  Cressida,  iv,  2.  4  A  New  Study  of  Shakespeare,  p.  192. 


998  CONCLUSIONS. 

Germany,  by  Lessing,  and  the  translation  of  his  works  by  Wieland  and  Schlegel,. 
that  the  rapid  burst  of  German  literature  was  most  intimately  connected.  It  was. 
not  until  the  nineteenth  century,  whose  speculative  genius  is  a  sort  of  living 
Hamlet,  that  the  tragedy  of  Hamlet  could  find  such  wondering  readers.  Now, 
literature,  philanthropy  and  thought  are  Shakespearized.  His  mind  is  the  horizon 
beyond  which,  at  present,  we  do  not  see.  Our  ears  are  educated  to  music  by  his 
rhythm.  Coleridge  and  Goethe  are  the  only  critics  who  have  expressed  our  con- 
victions with  any  adequate  fidelity;  but  there  is  in  all  cultivated  minds  a  silent 
appreciation  of  his  superlative  power'and  beauty,  which,  like  Christianity,  qualifies 
the  period.1 

1  Representative  Men,  p.  201. 


or  THE 


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